ground level

Another night.
Another glass of whiskey and coke.
Another cigarette.
And time continues to descend through the cosmos.
Recent weeks have been enveloped in blackness. Creativity has been an empty well. Inspiration, nonexistent.
I made a vain attempt to maintain communication with L but two text messages buried any hope of a friendship. "Fuck off and go away... I don't want to be friends with you!"
I've damaged her, and in doing so, damaged myself. I'm certainly no stranger to self-inflicted pain, and despite the number of scars -- physical and emotional -- it hurts every time.
Like a beautiful cathedral from some foreign land I think of L every day. I'm riddled with guilt and remorse for what I've done because I've had my heart and hopes dashed countless times. Now, the blood is on my hands.
Last Sunday, I walked along the same trail we had wandered several weeks ago. As I walked alone, I could clearly recall some of the things we discussed when we walked together. And when I drive around town or as I lie in bed her ghost slips inside my mind and a memory as fresh as yesterday floods my heart, and for a brief moment I have to remind myself that she's gone, despite the realness of the memory.

I haven't spoken to Mother in a week, two weeks, I don't know. Any conversation would ultimately lead to the train wreck that is Sister, and I don't need to hear about her problems/lies, not now. What difference would it make if we were to discuss Sister? She is just another human being roaming the face of the Earth. Whatever meaning Mother or I try to attach to her life is fruitless. Human beings create the meanings, or lack thereof, to our lives (see: existentialism).
I believe we all have self-perceived holes in our identities. Some choose to fill these holes with god or some higher force. Others choose drugs, legal or illegal (ultimately, what's the difference between the two?). Others search for love. Others find sex as their opiate, the plug for their hole. But what if there is no real remedy for the cavity in ourselves? What if our consciousness is always conscious of something -- and that something is simply our existence, our beating heart?
The hour is late, but, in future posts, I plan to expand on some of the concepts expressed in this entry.

Good night and good luck.

mc

gay flamingos, a good junkie, and gravity in heaven

The hilarious David Cross at Bonnaroo 2007 (in two parts):

Part One


Part Two

dead rock star for sale

Last year, after selling a 25% stake in her husband's song catalog for $50 million, Courtney Love also sold Kurt Cobain's image to the National Entertainment Collectables Association (NECA) for an undisclosed sum.
For $19.95 you can purchase the NECA Kurt Cobain Lunchbox. Here is the actual item description: "Come as you are. Come to lunch with this collectible tin lunchbox and show your coworkers that you are a child of the 90s. Featuring an iconic image of that Seattle grunge rocker, Kurt Cobain, this full size lunchbox is a unique collectible that features the former Nirvana front man."
Not interested in this tasteful item? How about the $14.99 Kurt Cobain Mini Flask Keychain? Again, here is the item description provided by NECA: "Smells like teen spirits. This mini flask has Kurt Cobain's signature and photo printed in high-contrast black & white on the face. Convenient keychain hook makes it easy to add and remove from your keyring. Order yours and we'll drink a toast to Kurt's genius together." Simply disgusting.
If neither of the above items strike your fancy then preorder the Kurt Cobain 7-inch Teen Spirit Action Figure for $16.99 (the 7-inch MTV Unplugged figure is coming soon!). NECA's item description: "Can you smell the teen spirit? From that infinitely famous Nirvana video for "Smells Like Teen Spirit," comes the action figure debut of Kurt Cobain. He stands 7-inches tall and comes with his Fender Mustang guitar and a gymnasium floor display base. He didn't enjoy the spotlight, but he might enjoy your living room." Wait. "He didn't enjoy the spotlight, but he might enjoy your living room"? Unbelievable.
Sorry, Kurt.

mc

twenty-one days

Twenty-one days until Interpol's highly anticipated third release, Our Love To Admire, is unleashed. This will be the band's first release on a major label (Capitol Records), so I'm hoping they stick to the sound that's kept me company on many a lonely night. Judging from their first single, "The Heinrich Maneuver," it sounds like Paul Banks and Company stuck with the melancholic formula that made Turn On The Bright Lights and Antics must-have albums of 2002 and 2004, respectively.
Click on the banner above to hear "The Heinrich Maneuver."
(I'm also extremely psyched about Interpol's show at The Murat's Egyptian Room on 31 July 2007. I feel like a kid in a candy store just thinking about the forthcoming show.)

mc

A T.S.Tv.S. BONUS!
From the forthcoming album, Interpol perform "Pioneer To The Falls." Simply amazing.

it was a lie

Earlier today (Saturday), Mother called Hometown Police Department to verify if Sister had indeed filed a police report relating to the alleged mugging and raping mentioned in my previous post.
At 11 AM my phone rang. It was Mother calling to inform me that no report was filed.
Mother asked me an obvious question: Why would Sister claim such a horrendous act had occurred? Did she fabricate the incident to deflect attention from the previous thefts of Mother's cash and jewelry?
"I don't know, Mom. I just don't know," I replied.
I'm at a loss for words. I no longer recognize Sister; I suppose I've failed to recognize her for some time now. Occasionally flashes of the sibling I once knew materialize, but these instances are rare.
Mother, Father, Stepfather, and I thought her demons died with the birth of her son, Austin, seven months ago -- we were wrong.
At the height of her drug and legal problems (how long has it been? Two years? Three?), which are documented in this blog, I stated that her ending will not be a pleasant one. The dark jaws of an early death or prison await. In light of recent events, this haunting premonition has replanted itself deep within the confines of my being.
Sister is no longer the sibling I once loved. She is a poor, lost stranger whom I still love; however, loving the unrecognizable is a difficult and heart-wrenching exercise.

And on my stereo Thom Yorke sings, "No alarms and no surprises, please."

mc

o sister

Because of a weekend scheduling conflict, Thursday I drove to Hometown to visit Father and Stepfather for Father's Day. Unfortunately the day was marred by Sister's strange behavior. She and her seven month old son were at Mother's, and something was visibly and emotionally wrong with her. She appeared to be under the influence of something and it certainly wasn't alcohol. She was lethargic and behind her sunglasses hid pinhole-sized pupils.
Outside of her presence I asked Mother about her odd behavior. Mother told me that cash and jewelry -- including a pair of diamond earrings -- had gone missing in recent weeks. Upon visiting Hometown's pawn shops, Mother was told that Sister was a frequent visitor, pawning a variety of items -- including jewelry. None of the shops had any of Mother's missing jewelry; the pieces had already been sold.
Sister's name is now in the pawn shops' databases and they will no longer accept items from her.
Hours later, after I had arrived home, I received a phone call from Mother telling me that, according to Sister, she was mugged and raped Wednesday night. Normally, Mother, Stepfather, and I would be shocked by such claims but after years of lies and ridiculous denials it's, unfortunately, difficult to take such allegations seriously. She said she filed a police report, but was a rape kit administered? I believe Mother said, according to my sister, no such action was taken, which sheds serious doubt on the validity of Sister's claim.
After hearing of the alleged assault Mother and Stepfather visited Sister's home. After a lengthy discussion Sister denied any drug use and miraculously returned Mother's diamond earrings. As for the stolen cash and other missing jewelry she denied any involvement (bullshit). Sister also said she would have killed herself long ago if it wasn't for Austin, her son.
Poor Sister... I don't know what to say. She loves Austin so much and she has the potential to be a terrific mother, but she's so confused and misguided, and it hurts to see your little sister in such a state knowing there's very little you can do to aid her to true happiness.
Poor Mother feels so helpless. She asks me for advice and guidance, which is odd for me because our belief systems are polar opposites.
"Things just happen and we're fools if we try to attach some higher meaning to them," I told her.
I relayed to her a wonderful quote from Mark Twain: "When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained."

mc

twenty-nine candles

This is my blog's 300th post. Today is also my 29th birthday.
Lately, much has been on my mind.
Some people seem to believe that I have used this space as a weapon, a tool to retaliate against someone I care about very much. Those people are wrong.
This blog is my journal. I use it to post a variety of things: writings, thoughts, feelings, and photographs. I do not consider the reader when I'm posting because this blog is my personal space. You, the reader, make the choice to read what I have written. Some bloggers use their space to post news stories, music reviews, and other material specifically meant for public consumption.
Since I started this blog I have received comments from individuals that I'll never meet. These people have found something comforting in some of my more painful writings; I feel less alone when I read such comments.
Some people might question why I would publish such a graphic post like Soldier Boy. Again, this blog is my journal and I have found confessing certain actions or exorcising the darkest of demons to be a therapeutic experience.
In closing, none of my 299 previous posts were specifically written to retaliate or attack anyone. Some posts might express anger, disappointment, regret, etc. about someone, but I've never used this blog to attack anyone personally.

mc

age

"Age" photo by mc
(Click picture to enlarge)