It has been quite some time since I wrote here, not that anybody is listening anyhow, but the year thus far has been less than stellar, but i will save that for another day. The past few weeks have been incredibly rough for a number of reasons, but mainly because of this overwhelming feeling of having wasted my time and my life thus far. I know that many people have not done the things that I have. There are tons of kids who wish that they could have been in a band that put out records and toured, let alone making a nice little name for itself in its community. But maybe I'm wondering if it was all just a mistake. I have never felt normal, hell I have never been normal. I have spent the greater half of my life playing in punk and metal bands, reading punk and metal zines, being part of a scene that was my community. For all its faults it was mine.
And now I find myself isolated from the very place I grew up, and frankly I feel a little lost without the comfort of a scene to fall back on. Out here in this helliest of hellish places (Boston, MA) I am largely without friends and community. Living outside of the current of life is okay by me, I don't mind living on the fringes of society. But, I must admit that this city is pretty devoid of any subversive scene worth being a part of. I left Portland, OR with the idea that the east coast was something I needed to experience. I have not necessarily given up on that notion, but here in Boston is definitely not the place to live out a fulfilling life of meaningful activity.
The years leading up to living here were fairly uneventful, and were more an attempt at reconciling what had happened to me and who I had become. Now I look back and feel a whole lot of regret for what i view as having lived a bucket of mistakes, making a trail littered with all the people I hurt or abandoned along the way. It's just that I no longer feel a part of anything, and that's hard feeling alone. I find myself looking back and staring at all the idleness just to wonder what the fuck was I waiting for, this? this life? I feel empty in spit of all the accomplishments, in spite of the love I receive and I am a selfish prick for it.
My past isn't this horrible spectre even, it is just what it is. I was manipulated by my friends, I let myself be manipulated, that is what makes me so angry. That I felt so shitty about my life that I let fuck-ups fuck up my life. And now after damn near 15 years of hesitation and the punk rock runaround, here I am, working towards something, an education I guess, to what? I don't know, I'm still figuring that out and working towards being okay not being anything. It is awfully hard when you spend so much time in scenes where everything is compartmentalized, to not compartmentalize yourself.
Trying to move away from identifying myself by the bands I listen to and just identify me. Nope, no longer a punk, a crust punk, a trash punk, a pop punk, a metal head, a black metal kid, a trasher, a doomhead or for that matter an indiepop kid. just a kid who isn't a kid anymore. I'm almost 30 and I still feel 20, man, where did the time go? I wish I could count the cigarettes I smoked and the gin and tonics I drank maybe that would tell me something useful.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
A little less than expected
These first two weeks of school have been fairly painstaking, insofar as things not working the way I had envisioned them. Two weeks away does not seem like an inordinately long time, but it is surprising just how much you lose in terms of memory in that short span. I'm not exactly sure if that means that the things I lost from last semester were of no great import, or if I simply did not work hard enough to retain them.
So what that means is continuing the path I was already following, but in some ways it is starting over too. Every new year is like another chance to fix the problems of the past. While that does not always happen, it at least feels like you're given another chance. Lat year was incredibly hard and long. Never have I felt so isolated from people, from friendship, and in no small part, from life. A little lesson from the learned: Never move to a city without sufficient research.
I still find Boston to be a place that is full of ugliness in all its myriad forms. I just don't like it here. Instead of feeling vital and vibrant, a place with a human heart beat coursing through the very veins of the city, all I feel here is death, the void and bad juju. This is one of the most disconnected places that I have ever been. It seems to me that people here are so self-involved and selfish, that it is hard to find valuable human interaction.
While living in Portland, I was close friends with people who were from here, and they missed the directness of this place. But I view the directness, as a means of gain and protection. What can you give me, and how do I get it from you. I know these are gross generalizations, yet this is how I feel in large part. On a recent trip to San Francisco, I remembered just why I miss the west coast, and why it is very likely that I will someday call that coast my home again. There was that missing vitality, that creative spark, that rampant kindness. I do not like how many layers of ice you have to chip through to get to people here.
I know that I complain a lot about this place. It's just that Boston has turned out to be a little less than expected. A little less than expected. A little less than expected.
hearts and daggers,
Scot
So what that means is continuing the path I was already following, but in some ways it is starting over too. Every new year is like another chance to fix the problems of the past. While that does not always happen, it at least feels like you're given another chance. Lat year was incredibly hard and long. Never have I felt so isolated from people, from friendship, and in no small part, from life. A little lesson from the learned: Never move to a city without sufficient research.
I still find Boston to be a place that is full of ugliness in all its myriad forms. I just don't like it here. Instead of feeling vital and vibrant, a place with a human heart beat coursing through the very veins of the city, all I feel here is death, the void and bad juju. This is one of the most disconnected places that I have ever been. It seems to me that people here are so self-involved and selfish, that it is hard to find valuable human interaction.
While living in Portland, I was close friends with people who were from here, and they missed the directness of this place. But I view the directness, as a means of gain and protection. What can you give me, and how do I get it from you. I know these are gross generalizations, yet this is how I feel in large part. On a recent trip to San Francisco, I remembered just why I miss the west coast, and why it is very likely that I will someday call that coast my home again. There was that missing vitality, that creative spark, that rampant kindness. I do not like how many layers of ice you have to chip through to get to people here.
I know that I complain a lot about this place. It's just that Boston has turned out to be a little less than expected. A little less than expected. A little less than expected.
hearts and daggers,
Scot
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
A lesson in suffering
It has been a long time since I wrote a blog on this here little thing. And you know what? It is high time that I make this a regular exercise. I guess it could be called a New Year's resolution of sorts, but really it is just an excuse to rant, to rave, to wave my arms in the air like a madman (metaphorically speaking of course).
So far this new year has been a bit rough. I most certainly hope this is not indicative of things to come, so help me....Anyways, here's the haps: school has been in session for three days and the books I need have not arrived in the mail. I won this scholarship for college books, sweet right? But, since my damned school starts almost a month before everyone else's, a mad rush occurred by the kids at the scholarship, they found my books, bought them and had them shipped via next day air. Here it is four fucking days later and still no fucking books. I am totally at my wits ends as far as that goes. I do understand that I should have given the scholarship people my info earlier (I have a bigtime problem with organization), but what the fuck? Fucking Amazon.com is a bastard enterprise. I vow that you will never get another cent from me. I have emailed the president of the scholarship, and just my luck, he hasn't responded to me. I am so fucking full of rage I want to punch babies.
I have a song that I sing sometimes when I'm at work, and the customer doucebaggery exceeds acceptable levels:
Your life makes me want to punch babies!
In this particular instance, that life would be mine, if you have a baby that would like to be punched, for a small fee i would be happy to oblige you.
So here I am scrambling like crazy to find any copy of Norton Anthology of English Literature volume 2. Who would have thought it would be that fucking hard to find a single copy of that book. The obvious place to look would be the school library right? Well, someone beat me to it. Next step: look at the public library. I did that and the online catalog said there were multiple copies in the library. The truth is that there was not a single fucking copy on the shelf. But luckily I found one, only it was in book delivery, which means in library use only, oh how genius! Except, the Boston Public Library is a monument to all things inefficient and bureaucratic. Imagine that, a Boston instution full of idiotic assholes...sigh. So I fill out the little tag, wait for a book from closed stacks for 25 fucking minutes, just for them to ignore it. I question them, and they hustle about, only to give me the wrong damned book. I tell them they gave me the wrong book, and I am informed they don't have the one I need. Perfect.
I hate that place with crazy homeless people huddled at every table in a crumbling building resembling the very finest craftmanship of soviet Russian architecture. Then heaven forbid you need to copy anything there. I searched for a working copy machine for twenty minutes, only to then pay 15 cents for a shitty, grainy copy. I have a new enemy: Boston Public Library. Oh how i despise you....
Hearts and daggers,
Scot
So far this new year has been a bit rough. I most certainly hope this is not indicative of things to come, so help me....Anyways, here's the haps: school has been in session for three days and the books I need have not arrived in the mail. I won this scholarship for college books, sweet right? But, since my damned school starts almost a month before everyone else's, a mad rush occurred by the kids at the scholarship, they found my books, bought them and had them shipped via next day air. Here it is four fucking days later and still no fucking books. I am totally at my wits ends as far as that goes. I do understand that I should have given the scholarship people my info earlier (I have a bigtime problem with organization), but what the fuck? Fucking Amazon.com is a bastard enterprise. I vow that you will never get another cent from me. I have emailed the president of the scholarship, and just my luck, he hasn't responded to me. I am so fucking full of rage I want to punch babies.
I have a song that I sing sometimes when I'm at work, and the customer doucebaggery exceeds acceptable levels:
Your life makes me want to punch babies!
In this particular instance, that life would be mine, if you have a baby that would like to be punched, for a small fee i would be happy to oblige you.
So here I am scrambling like crazy to find any copy of Norton Anthology of English Literature volume 2. Who would have thought it would be that fucking hard to find a single copy of that book. The obvious place to look would be the school library right? Well, someone beat me to it. Next step: look at the public library. I did that and the online catalog said there were multiple copies in the library. The truth is that there was not a single fucking copy on the shelf. But luckily I found one, only it was in book delivery, which means in library use only, oh how genius! Except, the Boston Public Library is a monument to all things inefficient and bureaucratic. Imagine that, a Boston instution full of idiotic assholes...sigh. So I fill out the little tag, wait for a book from closed stacks for 25 fucking minutes, just for them to ignore it. I question them, and they hustle about, only to give me the wrong damned book. I tell them they gave me the wrong book, and I am informed they don't have the one I need. Perfect.
I hate that place with crazy homeless people huddled at every table in a crumbling building resembling the very finest craftmanship of soviet Russian architecture. Then heaven forbid you need to copy anything there. I searched for a working copy machine for twenty minutes, only to then pay 15 cents for a shitty, grainy copy. I have a new enemy: Boston Public Library. Oh how i despise you....
Hearts and daggers,
Scot
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
a remembrance
Today i am recalling those instances of first love. these ideas are brought to my attention by the movie eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. granted that is just a movie, but i think that some of the concepts touched on are incredibly apt and correct. for instance, remembering that first touch, the first moment of contact when the beginning of a relationship comes about. there is something magical about those moments that remains etched in memory. that sickening expectancy, the intense anxiety, and of course those first moments when you touch, when the other persons body seems like a unknown relic waiting to be explored. who doesn't love those moments? the time that it takes to know someone can be endless, but i find it interesting how when you fall in love, how quickly that feeling of laying next to a stranger ends. the days then become one of not only physical intimacy, but also one of mental intimacy. of knowing your partner, their ideas and thoughts, their personage.
i have been lucky enough to have fallen in love several times in my life. many people do not get to enjoy that at all. so i sometimes take it for granted that my loved one is there laying next to me, sleeping in the same bed. but there are those moments when i am so overcome by how lucky i am to have found the person that i am with. mostly i find that emotion when i am walking home from work. the twenty minute walk both ways is some of the greatest quality time i get to myself. my headphones in, strolling at a loping pace, pondering my position in life. all of this is accompanied by a soundtrack, lately a rather melancholy one of sparklehorse and papercuts.
but, i think that we have a tendency to become so comfortable that we take our lovers for granted. not in a physical sense per se, but in the sense that we don't always acknowledge how great a person can be. thats all.
hearts and daggers,
scot
i have been lucky enough to have fallen in love several times in my life. many people do not get to enjoy that at all. so i sometimes take it for granted that my loved one is there laying next to me, sleeping in the same bed. but there are those moments when i am so overcome by how lucky i am to have found the person that i am with. mostly i find that emotion when i am walking home from work. the twenty minute walk both ways is some of the greatest quality time i get to myself. my headphones in, strolling at a loping pace, pondering my position in life. all of this is accompanied by a soundtrack, lately a rather melancholy one of sparklehorse and papercuts.
but, i think that we have a tendency to become so comfortable that we take our lovers for granted. not in a physical sense per se, but in the sense that we don't always acknowledge how great a person can be. thats all.
hearts and daggers,
scot
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
in the early hours
funny how this works huh? you find yourself thinking about what has passed and what you didn't do. that always seems to find me in the early hours, those hours when your loved one is asleep and you're sitting up almost an insomniac from so much coffee earlier in the day. the quiet creeps in and take holds and lets your mind just wander; thinking of all the regrets the past transgressions. all those hearts you broke and the ones that got away. but is life really so bad? have you come so far as to only look at your life as a mistake?
well, many times i find myself there. to preface though, i don't dislike my life, in fact i rather enjoy it. just sometimes the terrible feelings that well up behind the curtain flow above the dam, and flood down into my heart and mind. years ago i had a name for this and his name was steppenwolf. i looked at him with this sort of fear and awe. he was the other half of my mind; the part that lurked on the outskirts looking for a vulnerability to exploit. time and time again he came through and ravaged me. surely though as years have gone by those instances have become less rare and self-assuredness has taken the place of quiet insecurity.
that really is the nice part, to have come out of years of self abasement to this somewhat more feasible mode of living. i spent years looking for the perfect something to fill the emptiness, much to no avail. the big question remains: who would i be if i did all the things that i now regret? im sure that everyone has that same question. i know very few people who don't look back and question things that could have been. the important part is learning how to cope with the could have beens that essentially end up as never weres. not to let them eat away too much, to not have too much control over your head and heart.
its just that i look back at friendships that now look like they were a total waste. love affairs that shouldn't have happened, those are the worst, feeling that sickening shame of having slept with someone you definitely shouldn't have, and living in a city small enough that you see them all the time. those instances made me feel like i painted myself into a corner and when the paint finally dried many years later, i booked it to the other side of the country with haste.
it seemed like a great escape plan, and there are many great plans coming to fruition slowly but surely. i just hate the interim, the waiting, i have very little patience and less pretense to keep myself from feeling that stabbing bastard, steppenwolf. this time though the beast is a little different, its loneliness for friendship in a city that isn't a tight fit for me. but for now i have to be here, its where we have to be. maybe i'll cross paths with all those wasted friendships of the past and reconnect on a level that is at once meaningful and fulfilling. but until then i just try to view some semblance of the future and although it's blurry it doesn't seem so terrible.
well, many times i find myself there. to preface though, i don't dislike my life, in fact i rather enjoy it. just sometimes the terrible feelings that well up behind the curtain flow above the dam, and flood down into my heart and mind. years ago i had a name for this and his name was steppenwolf. i looked at him with this sort of fear and awe. he was the other half of my mind; the part that lurked on the outskirts looking for a vulnerability to exploit. time and time again he came through and ravaged me. surely though as years have gone by those instances have become less rare and self-assuredness has taken the place of quiet insecurity.
that really is the nice part, to have come out of years of self abasement to this somewhat more feasible mode of living. i spent years looking for the perfect something to fill the emptiness, much to no avail. the big question remains: who would i be if i did all the things that i now regret? im sure that everyone has that same question. i know very few people who don't look back and question things that could have been. the important part is learning how to cope with the could have beens that essentially end up as never weres. not to let them eat away too much, to not have too much control over your head and heart.
its just that i look back at friendships that now look like they were a total waste. love affairs that shouldn't have happened, those are the worst, feeling that sickening shame of having slept with someone you definitely shouldn't have, and living in a city small enough that you see them all the time. those instances made me feel like i painted myself into a corner and when the paint finally dried many years later, i booked it to the other side of the country with haste.
it seemed like a great escape plan, and there are many great plans coming to fruition slowly but surely. i just hate the interim, the waiting, i have very little patience and less pretense to keep myself from feeling that stabbing bastard, steppenwolf. this time though the beast is a little different, its loneliness for friendship in a city that isn't a tight fit for me. but for now i have to be here, its where we have to be. maybe i'll cross paths with all those wasted friendships of the past and reconnect on a level that is at once meaningful and fulfilling. but until then i just try to view some semblance of the future and although it's blurry it doesn't seem so terrible.
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