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Trying to Find a Balance

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Dec. 30th, 2009 @ 04:44 pm

I am slowly learning to carry pen and paper on me at all time. 

You must always have last two pens on you--you never know when an idea will hit you and you don't want to be caught without a working pen.
If you're second pen fails it wasn't meant to be.

A letter to Granda (rough draft):

Dear Grandpa,
Thought I'd write you a letter to say hi, since I haven't gotten to go back to Illinois to visit you and Grandma for awhile.  I've been thinking about you a lot lately; I'm playing blues music with my new band (mom sent you our first recording--there should be more and better stuff coming!) and have been pining for some of the blues records I used to listen to at your place.  I've also been really jumping into jazz ensemble and been working hard at learning to play jazz and using that in my blues band.  Also on that note--thanks for the $100 check for x-mas!  I'm using it to get my guitar worked on it (it's a little worse-for-wear right now!)
How are you and Grandma doing?  Did you get dumped with snow over Christmas just like we did?  We were snowed in over Christmas.  My girlfriend Gabbie was visiting us, and she's from Florida, so that at least made the snow storm a fun experience.
I'm slaving away up in St. Paul, working on doing some research with one of my professors (lots of reading--stuff like James Baldwin and Ralph Ellison at the moment) and taking a creative writing class for our J-Term here.  Should be plowing snow at night for $13 per hour too with any luck.  Anywho, I just wanted to say hi.  I miss you guys!  Say hello to Grandma for me.

Hope you're well,
Ike
Current Mood: blankblank

Dec. 30th, 2009 @ 02:59 pm
Been a few days.

Gabbie left yesterday, and I'm bummed out, but I suppose that's what happens.  I just really miss her.

I need to stay on track with writing.  Imma try and write a poem a day once New Year's hits.  Should be interesting.

Dad gave me Howl for Christmas and I need to read it.  I never realized that's where the band name "Fugazi" came from.  Except in the poem it has two "Z's."

I tried to be productive this morning by looking up stuff for the Preachers.  Found about four possible bands to play with and got a couple new venues recorded.

I think to continue being productive for the time being I'll post a little to do list here:
Read for project with Jermaine
Write something--short fiction or poem
Practice guitar
Send  PBP guys band and booking info

A Foorish Carcuration! Dec. 24th, 2009 @ 11:14 pm
Poem idea:
Food.  Smells..."Empanadas"?  Some variation thereof. 
Soul Food.

I've got the beginning of this short story about some teenage nerd guys in a sci-fi bookstore.
Need to work on it.  I finna start posting it.

Also:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGGNG1KBgx0&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gpG4bme9nyU&feature=related

10-Feet.  Legends of Japanese rock and roll.

Christmas Eve Dec. 24th, 2009 @ 10:06 pm
The thing I miss most about home is the cooking.  My soul food, home cooking.  I woke up late with Gabbie this morning (green day, and Grandma's Boy has to be the best stoner movies I've ever seen) and ate Christmas Stolen and coffee for breakfast.

Stolen is a curious food--essentially it's a loaf of sweet bread, with nuts and candies inside it, and it's iced and topped with almonds and more candy.  It's somewhat comparable to fruitcake, but compressed into a loaf of bread.  It's like someone couldn't decide if they wanted to make coffee cake or a loaf of Italian bread.
Anyway, Christmas Stolen (no clue where that name come from either) has been a tradition ever since we moved to the farm.  It's delicious with coffee and it's comfort food.
And all this while George sat at the table for the neighborhood gossip, family complaints, and cable TV run down.
George has this tendency to sit back in his chair with a smug grin and occasionally sigh: "Well I suppose I better get goin' and get back  to work, before somebody finds out I'm playing hooky."  But he keeps on sipping his coffee.  It's a procedure that must be repeated at least three times before he can actually get up to leave.

I love cooking for Gabbie.  After my stolen I made us a full breakfast of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns, brought a plate out to her while she did a puzzle with my sister.  Complete contentment.  Oddly enough, it made my morning.
Watching her roll sweet potato empanadas with my little sister sealed the deal.

Too good though, obviously.  Ended up fighting with Gabbie after that.  She saw this random girl from lastFM on my AIM buddy list.  I should have deleted her months ago.  Never even talked to her once, and there was no reason for it.  I got all depressed and mopey as usual and she got angry and things just sort of devolved.  We eventually worked it out and we're good for now I think.
I still feel like an ass though.  I hate myself sometimes.  (Note to self--Don't be an idiot!  Every time you start to wise up you turn around and do something dumb again!)
I fucking love that girl.  I never, ever want to hurt her.
I am totally committed to Gabbie.

Some day, I want to make empanadas with her in our own kitchen.
Current Mood: calmcalm

First Post in Over a Year: Verbal Diaharrea Dec. 23rd, 2009 @ 10:59 pm
Gabbie thinks that writing in my livejournal again will be a good way to get me writing more, and she's probably right.  I've never written more than when I was writing in greatestjournal, livejournal, or my MySpace blog.  So I can try to write a little bit here everyday and see whatever comes out.

Yes, I am aware that I have tried this before.  No reason to start again.  I can be like William Burroughs in Junky.  (Or is it an "ie in his title?  I can never remember.)  In any case, the point is that there's no reason not to.  Plus, I made a new default icon and uploaded two other ones Gabbie made me to make it official.

Today was fun.  Woke up with Gabbie (fuck yes, so much better than coffee) layed around for an hour or so, then off to Red Oak to finish our Christmas shopping.  McDonalds.  Small fight.  I should not take things so personally.  And I should talk to Matt soon as I get back.

Matt, Matt, Matt.
What the fuck am I going to do with that kid.
It's okay for him to be fucked up right now.  Because he is really fucked up.  But it's not okay for him to take it out on everyone else.  Which is what he's doing.  And he needs to learn when to fucking quit with the stupid jokes, because 3/4 of them end up being flat-out disrespectful.  He's essentially throwing a giant temper tantrum, has been...ever since Madi broke up with him.  I've talked with him before, but I should be more assertive still, and so should everyone else.  Because it's not okay for him to throw temper tantrums at this age.

You fucked up with Steve, you fucked with Lindsey.
Get over it.

Good to get that off my chest.  I think I've been thinking about that a lot lately...so I shouldn't let that interfere with Gabbie and I.  I think that's probably why I got overly defensive earlier at McDonalds.  
I need to quit being overly defensive.

I'm not in much of a writing mood right now.  I'm completely content.  I love Gabbie, and I love having her here.  I'm settling in.
The future is a little bit scary still.  Why?  I don't know what the fuck I want to do.  Do I really want to go through all this stuff to get into grad school to become a professor?  I don't know.  
I know I want to be with Gabbie, and I want to play music and I want to write.  I think I just need to calm down, relax.  Which is what I've been doing.  Just...being her with the family, with Gabbie.

Gabbie is becoming part of the family, and I love it.  Slowly but surely, we're settling in here.  I wish she could stay longer.

Either way, once I I know what I'm doing when I finish at Hamline, Gabbie and I can figure out what we'll do, and that's what I want.

Let's think about options here.
Grad school is a yes.  I can keep studying, keep figuring out my writing, and figuring out where I want to take it.  
Teaching?  After grad school.  But why not?  I don't know for sure, I've never really tried it, but I really think I could be a really good teacher.  I could work on writing, share that with students, share teaching them about literature, revolution, how fucked up it all is.
Okay, so realistically...that's overly idealistic.  But it's not totally far fetched.  I want to help people see how fucked up our humanity is.  Or, I guess, American Society.  Teaching at the very least would be a way to do that.
Community college seems semi-cool.  Lower key than university, still more mature than high school.  What are the requirements like to teach community college?
Grad school where?  Well...I'll start figuring that out over the next year or so.
As I see it, the first places to check out are: U of Iowa, the Writer's Workshop.  FSU...anywhere else in Florida?  Look into it.  Hamline.  U of M.  Otherwise, research Grad School programs for Creative Writing.
With the band, see what happens as I go along.  Don't matter in comparison.

I fucking love Gabbie, and I want to be with her.  I never get tired of her.  There's something about her that constantly excites me.
Love is weird.  It's hard and crazy and confusing too.  But it's wonderful.
I love Gabbie.

So over the next few weeks Imma try and write in this every day.  And Imma keep spending time with Gabbie, because it makes me happier than any Goddamn thing in the world.  Imma keep playing guitar because I wanna get better.  I wanna get back my speed and work on getting a punk band together again.  Imma do some reading, especially for my study with Jermaine.  I love researching African American Literature.

More to come.  This feels like a beginning.

P.S.

Thank you so much to Gabbie for getting me writing again.
You don't realize how much that means to me.  I love you.

Other entries
» (No Subject)
Jay-Z's "Moment of Clarity" was not meant to be about love.
Or being in love with a woman anyway.  Jay-Z's lines in it are all about trying to find your voice as an artist, your place in the world, the social implications of rap and the rap and hip-hop cultures.
You look at "the real shit you get when you bust down [his] rhymes" you'd be hard pressed to ever run out of meaning, and I sincerely mean that.
This shit is poetry to me.
But lets go to the chorus:
Thank God for granting me
This moment of clarity
This moment of honesty
So you can feel my truths

I know that's not the full chorus.  I know that I'm projecting my life onto the song, my feelings and experiences right now.
But I don't give a flying FUCK.  This isn't a goddamn literary review.  This is my blog about my life and this is what I'm feeling.

 

Over the past two days I've had my own two moments of clarity:
I love Gabbie.  And I am in love with Gabbie.
Now, I already knew that.  I already felt it, undoubtedly.  It was sneaking up on me after the first few times we started talking.
It punched me in the face when we met.  But the past two days I had these two incredible moments where my brain said "Yes...you're not only in love.  You are madly, hopelessly in love."  So in love that I can't even say.

"You get so alone sometimes it just makes sense."
-Charles Bukowski

I dunno why that applies, because I am NOT alone.  I fucking have Gabbie.
I think why it applies is because the other night when I had my first moment of "Yes...you are completely in love with her."  I was having one hell of a late night walk, just me and the moon and the streetlights.
Moving through space, listening to my own footfalls.  And then it just made sense.
Because I could so clearly feel my own heart.
So...I thank God (or whatever it is) for granting me this moment of clarity.

Thank you Jay.  HOV!
 



» (No Subject)
If I ever become cannonized as a great English author, or come to be an influential musician (or, ideally, both) the summer of 2008 will likely come to be known as my blue period.  Or perhaps just the Summer of Nothing, because I suppose I wasn't in that bad of shape.
All I'm trying to say though is that I'm fucking glad summer is over.  I felt like I needed some clever beginning to my entry.

My thoughts are so thick my words end up thin
I'm stuck in the middle of maze don't know where to begin

Alright.  So let's go through some things:
I used to write fiction.  Somewhere in the past two years...my fiction engine threw a rod and my poetry pistons kicked in full throttle.  I think perhaps I need to read more.  We'll see how things go when I get further into classes.
All I know is when I sit down...to write.  Rhymes start pouring out and I get a few lines out and that's all I want to write.  I can't finish a short story plot.  But I don't mind the poetry thing either...for some reason when I write rhymes I spit out lines that make me understand my own emotions like I never could before.  I wanna traslate that into some non-rhyming poems.  Hmmm.  Goal for something to work on over the next week?  I think so.  Next time I post I VOW to have a poem, or else...well fuck that or else nothing.  I aint gotta do NOTHIN' I don't wanna.
Breaking up with Lauren...I've never been something that put me so off-kilter but still was so right.

For the most part...I felt sick in Iowa this summer.  It hit me like never before just how little there is for me there.  I felt that even more strongly than when I was in high school.  I remembered why I wanted out so much, why I fell in love with punk, why I felt a song like "Born to Run" so much.  Oddly though...I LOVED feeling all that again.  I'd sort of forgotten the power and edge that comes with some discontentment.  More and more, I find duality to be a recurring them in my life (I still fucking hate that Slipknot song though).  I just  feel that almost every positive thing has some negative side to it...simple obvious concept I know, but more and more I see most of my favorite things as a coexistence of positive and negative, which impossible to separate from the other....Perhaps not even negative and positive, but merely multiple opposing but necessary sides.
Maybe I've just listened to too much blues.
I'm gonna keep fingering that jagged edge though.
R.IP. Ralph Ellison, as well as all the great bluesman that have passed.

So I'm gonna go to my main music class in a bit.  Rhythmic Solfedge.  I fucking hate it and love it.  It'll make me a better musician and it's really basic music stuff, but at the same time it seems like pretenious bullshit.  I dunno.

 


» Back from the dead!
This could be the best or worst idea I've ever had.
I used to keep blogs because they forced me to write.
And that's definitely something I need still/again.
I quit because it started to seem silly.
But what the fuck...I DO enjoy keeping a journal of sorts.
A cousin on my mom's side of the family started a blog spot for the Miner Family collective, so's we can keep better track of one another.
I posted on it today to tell 'em I was down and thought "Hell...might as well revive the LiveJournal.
So here it is.
Real posts...
Sometime.
Peace.
» (No Subject)
So. I think I'm abandoning this blog, and my greateste journal one. And just using MySpace. Having three blogs is stupid and it means some get neglected. So...yeah. Wacha.
» (No Subject)
MySpace is quickly becoming the most fun way for me to waste time on the internet. Damn it and all it stands for!

If anyone ever trys to tell you that 100 watt Fender guitar amps aren't heavy, they're lying. Because I've discovered that they most definitely ARE from all the times I've had to move mine from home to school to John's and back. That fucker is ALWAYS heavy. So in any case, yesterday afternoon I threw my guitar and two amps into the back of my van, put on a nice ringer tee, and headed to Griswold to practice with John and Jeremy. My first stop once I got into town was the Griswold American office. I talked to the owner, and it seems as though she's going to hire me to do some reporting for her. After visiting the American office, THAT'S when I went over to John's for our band practice/jam session. We played for about an hour and actually DIDN'T get really pissy and angry at each other. Band drama is so uncool.

Then it came time for me to leave John's...just as it starts raining. Just my fucking luck. I pulled the van into John's driveway so my amps and guitar wouldn't get as wet on the trip to the car, and we loaded up. Just as I was leaving Griswold, it started to downpour. We're talking torrential downpour, Wrath-of-God type shit. It was the kind of rain that makes it so you can barely see ten feet in front of your car because of the curtain of steel-grey rain you're driving into. It was more like driving into a wall than it was like driving through a rainstorm. The good news is that I survived to tell the story on my blog with a very melodramatic, overly descriptive zeal.

"...Climb unto my big-ass steed...then we gonna ride gonna smoke some weed!"
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