August 20, 2009
Craig Owens’s screaming is calming me down right now. It’s keeping me in the clouds. His screaming does two things for me. Either I want to headbang to the sound of Chiodos’s music or I want to go to relax to it. Not that it’s boring, but that it calms me down and puts me in a mixture of reality and fiction. It’s like I could pretend I feel the same way as Craig did after his first love broke his heart (thus he wrote an album about her). Yet this time I feel more like the instrumental rather than the lyrics. It’s like when I was listening to Brand New’s Déjà Entendu record.
Press my face up against the glass
with both eyelids shut and
baby this won’t get any easier
baby this won’t get any easier
baby this won’t get any easier
I’ll lie on the dirty carpeting in my room (that can’t be fixed unless we were willing to pay for new wood floors) and breathe. I like taking deep breaths because it makes me feel a little better. It takes some of the frustration away. — I sound cheesy again. — When I push all the frustration back I feel like and old toy disguised as a new one.
It’s not a big deal. It has been three weeks since my last guitar lesson but I’m mad at myself. This is part of learning, but I am always angry at myself for not knowing what he might throw at me. School starts next week. I was supposed to read two non-fiction books from a list they sent me. I lost the list and didn’t read the books. I have to be tested on them. I guess I’m just looking for more stuff to mope about.
We all have our good days and our bad days, yesterday was a mixture of the two.
Song Of The Day – “No Hardcore Dancing In The Living Room” by Chiodos http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJCX_Nit388
July 29, 2009
I was panicking. We were living in a house with other vampires (think “Breaking Dawn” by Stephenie Meyer) who have all caught a disease. I don’t know what the disease is called, but it’s making them really hungry. Hungry for human blood. And I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to die because I don’t want it to be a gore fest. Whenever I read about vampires and events similar to this, I am not frightened. Of course it’s a book, but now after dreaming this, vampires are definitely scary.
My mom came home and walked into the bathroom. I opened the door to see her rubbing a washrag over her eyes. My mom put down the washrag; one of her eyes was an intense shade of red. She informed me about the disease, which turns out, is the reason why all the other vampires left the house. “Your scent was calling me back,” my mother said. I froze up and left the room.
There was a woman in the kitchen working on wooden crates. “These are for when it comes,” she said. ‘It’ meaning the slaughter. “Who is that for?” I asked, pointing down to a small crate split in half. The woman replied, “Your sisters.” I was scared and panicking again. I called my youngest sister into the kitchen. She tried to fit into one side of the wooden box and it wasn’t working. It was too small. I looked up at the woman and said, “She doesn’t fit.”
I woke up from this dream thinking, Thank God vampires aren’t real.
Song Of The Day – “Chocolate” by Snow Patrol http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GV6-pVn3Yo0
February 16, 2009
I was thinking. If I was offered the opportunity to be a journalist for a music magazine (possibly Alternative Press or Rolling Stone) or to be a guitarist in an amazing band. Which would I choose? I had wanted to play guitar since I was nine years old. Practicing my air guitar in the privacy of my own room, completely spazing. Or pouring my guts out with ink and paper in hopes of becoming an utterly brilliant writer.
Being in a band would be quite interesting. I’d enjoy the fun questionnaires you get in interviews and your “humble” opinion on things. Looking super fierce in when you play live so you can intimidate people. Or to be some coffee drinking freak, blinded from the sun, glued to your computer, writing obsesser. Wearing T-shirts and tight jeans, strutting around like you know what you’re doing. Reader, does that thought ever cross your mind? I wonder where life will take me quite often. Who will I end up being in the next couple of years (I’m hoping I’ll stay true to who I am now.)?
Reader, let’s be honest. Would either of those jobs fully satisfy me? I seem to be quite an undecided person. I purchase an item at a store. “I love it! I’m so happy I bought it!” The next twenty minutes. “What the heck did I just waste my money on?! I could have bought ‘such and such’.” Yep, that is me. Being on the road with a band would be fun for a while. Awake at all hours, doing what you love, traveling, and playing shows. My only problem? I get motion sickness. I’d practically be bulimic. Then the shows would get tiring, performing the same songs until you write a new one. I suppose I shouldn’t think so negatively, maybe I’d be able to make a big impact on a lot of kids. Then there is writing. After a while, what is there to talk about? You are usually seen with a pen in your hand or your eyes are burning from staring at a computer screen for so many hours.
I guess I can be quite the “party pooper”, but that’s just me my friend. You either do or don’t like me, I don’t care too much. Either one I’d love. Writing would be easier to handle, though I’d miss the comfort of my guitar, Bella, too much. The excitement of playing a gig and going crazy on stage sounds and looks intruiging. Who knows where the world might take me….
February 15, 2009
I’ve got an unquenchable feeling of uncertainty. I feel it when I fall asleep at night, I hope it will not wake up to it in the morning. I feel out of place with this feeling. Like I could use it to do something daring, something that the regular Phoenixx wouldn’t do. Maybe I’m just stressing myself out for no reason. Have you ever gotten the feeling where it feels like the skin over your ribcage is tightening? That happens to me when I’m hungry and occasionally when I’m stressing. I don’t understand myself fully. One day I’m, lighting the room with my smile, the next I’m sulking because I can’t find reason in ANYTHING. Some days I don’t know what I’m worried about. Though it could be everything. There is always something wrong with the picture you see. Whether it’s small or large, but the world is obviously an imperfect place.
Music is my cure for all of that. My medicine. My hate notes. My excitement. My everything. Music is there for me. If I’m happy I “head bang” to some Paramore, if I’m feeling angry I turn on My Chemical Romance’s first album (“I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love”) and blast “Our Lady of Sorrows” while screaming the lyrics. If I’m feeling whimsical and lighthearted I might fancy for some MGMT or Vampire Weekend. If I want to dance I’ll turn on the Gym Class Heroes. Feeling indie, maybe Radiohead, Straylight Run, or Lovedrug. Needing to relax I’ll play my Feist (“The Water” is my personal favorite). Anberlin just makes me want to take a minute and think about the lyrics then get back up and jump around. The Academy Is… is a good definition of pop punk. Punk but not to ranting instead, poppy, definitely something you could jump to. Maybe I should just turn on some music. Though it will only push back problems, but maybe that’s what I want.
“You gotta swim, and swim when it hurts.” — Jack’s Manequinn
“Can’t walk it off, can’t come clean.” — Lovedrug
January 14, 2009
Earlier I had told my mother she could watch American Idol in my room since my father had just hooked up another Xbox 360 into the living room. I did not mention a word about anyone else barging into my room. I’m logging off of the computer. I decided what the heck, maybe I’ll go watch American Idol up with my mom. I walk into my room the light is on for no reason, it is effing hot, ALL of my siblings are in there, and there is junk lying all over my bed and floor like it’s some kind of party. Wake up call, get the hell out of my room!!! I say, “Why is it so hot in here? Why is all this stuff lying around in MY room?!” My sister Kate replies, “That’s Eleanor’s stuff.” I groan. “Get it out!” and storm out of my room.
First off I keep my room chilled because I change temperatures rapidly and in the summer it gets stiflingly hot because my walls are painted bright red. Second I keep my room clean and pristine. Third I do not want the light on unless I would like to read. Wouldn’t you think the light from my TV would be enough?! Grrrrrrrrrr!!! Why can’t anyone just deal with my room and not screw with it?
Anywhoo, I go out and ask my mom, “Why did you turn the space heater on?” she replies, “I was cold.” My eyes light up, “Then use a BLANKET.” I go on, “And why is all that stuff in my room. Why are… They in my room?” My dad yells from the living room, “Phoenixx, stop complaining.” “NO.” I shout back. I am angry, and if you had another thought in mind you are sorely mistaken. I am a picky perfectionist and you never know what to expect with me. So here is a tip, ask before you cross me. This must mean nothing to you reader, but I extremely frustrated right now. Four more words, “Dance to this beat.” (Panic! At The Disco lyrics.) End of story.