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My blog, where I store those thoughts rattling around my brain |
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Welcome to the insanity of my mind! Please excuse the cobwebs and clutter, I've been meaning to clean the place up a bit... Stop in and read some of my nonsense whenever the mood strikes you :) |
| Somewhere in the outskirts of Rochester, a murmuring crowd gathers in a dimly lit basement. People filter downstairs and squeeze into the growing throng, lingering on the steps, heads poking through the doorway, grasping drinks as everyone waits for the first band to finish tuning. This is Jam Night. There is a buzz of excitement in the air, an undercurrent of nervous energy. It wasn’t instantly apparent to me but I quickly realized that for most of these musicians this was one of their first live performances. While there were a few hiccups and technical issues, each group displayed impressive talent. Unfortunately, you won’t find them on Spotify or YouTube. Not yet, at least. The sheer amount of raw potential I witnessed was exhilarating and I look forward to hearing more from these underground bands in the future. Keep your eye out for these up and comers, Rochester! Public Decency unleashed a wonderful ‘American Boy’ rock cover which was both soulful and triumphant. All five members played with infectious enthusiasm, mirrored by a rollicking audience. I really enjoyed the solo which moved from guitar to drums, granting everyone a moment in the spotlight. It was a nice showcase of skill. This garage band is ready for the big stage and don’t let the name fool you. They are more than just ‘decent’. Highlight: A buttery smooth transition between songs which was a pleasant surprise. Dark Licorice came right out of the gate with an off-beat style that I would say is equal parts experimental and comedic. The variety of instruments they incorporated into their sound was fascinating. All the quirkiness added to an already entertaining show. It’s always fun when unexpected props show up out of nowhere. I was a bit too far away to notice the shaker used during a song was really just a box of Sour Patch Kids! This edible instrument was later shared with the crowd, revealing this group’s whimsical flavor is undeniably sweet. Highlight: The “Silly Song” which brought a slide whistle into the mix. Mt. Goose revved things up with some hardcore punk, starting the night’s first mosh pit. Despite a minor issue with the lead singer’s microphone, the roaring instrumentals had everyone thrashing and head-banging. The lead singer also demonstrated his prowess as a guitarist by playing with a spoon, then taking a break from a grueling song by laying down and playing from the floor. Eccentric and energetic, you’ll agree this band is a honking good time. Highlight: The humorous song warning against taking the campus bus. One Lomb Drive took the heavy vibe and ran with it. Things really got moving when the iconic intro to “Shove It” started, eliciting hoots and cheers. After that excellent Deftones rendition, the dial turned up to eleven with the debut of their first original song: a snarling metal ballad. “The Hunt” is an ode inspired by the gothic horror RPG ‘Bloodborne’. As a fan of the game, I really enjoyed the lyrics referencing overwhelming hunger and ferocity, reminding me of werewolves like Blood-Starved Beast. Highlight: “The Hunt” was a devilishly brutal song! Seek the O.L.D. blood… Slick Mick and the Novatones got seriously funky with some fun crowd participation. After some catchy original songs, Slick Mick handed off the mike to a Novatone who busted out a spicy tune by the name of Blood Sugar Sex Magik. As each song progressed, it was clear this band was all killer and no filler. The crowd certainly thought so. That mosh pit nearly got out of control a few times! Highlight: Slick Mick ensuring everyone in the crowd was well-hydrated. While I wasn’t able to witness the ensuing shows and after party jam session, I want to shout out to the other performers: Thank You Ryan, Courtyard, DJ Mik, and DJ Ecnesa. A big thank you to Mikaela for hosting this event and keeping everything running smoothly! |
| Farewell, little shop. You were never mine, but that couldn't stop me from pretending. Each day I would say hello to your mannequins, my footsteps echoing in your empty rooms. I love to breathe you in. Your exotic perfumes, your musty corners, the lingering scents of old clothes. I've grown familiar with your creaky boards, yet I'm always surprised when I stumble over your warped spot. Just before opening is my favorite time. I savor your stillness just before the speaker kicks on and the doorbell starts ringing. I listen to your music: The footsteps above dance a stucco, humming engines whiz by, horns honk, sirens whistle, people mumble, and I am your audience. You are the beating heart of this city, pumping with nervous energy. Then the lights flicker on, and you come to life. Do you know how many times people have told me, "I love your store!" "Thank you," I always respond sheepishly. "But it's not mine." Nick insisted I was wrong. "You work here, so it counts." Not to me, I could never rightfully claim your vibrant displays or your eccentric style. Perhaps that is why I sometimes felt discomfort behind your counters, I'm but an imposter, taking credit for accomplishments I've never achieved. At other times my unease was when people knew I didn't belong. "Where's the owner?" I would shrug or play it off with a joke, but their smile never fully matched their eyes. They weren't happy to see me. But as time grew on, people began to recognize me and warm up to my strange presence. You began show me you weren't a merely place of commerce, but a lively community - one tightly knitted group which I was soon being woven into. The feeling was alien, like an ill-fitting shirt. I've never had something like this, always drifting on the outskirts of groups but too shy to let myself be drawn in. By the time the attention is on me, I'm already gone. It was with great dread that I soon sensed an unknown shift in the winds, raising the hairs on my neck. For the first time ever, there were visitors in search of me. "You know I'll be here," I'd joke. Well, that was more of a reality than I'd expected. Too much of my identity was being attached to your hoarder's haven, so much so that I was afraid it would leave a mark. But the worst thing of all: I was feeling happy. I found myself looking forward to these weekends, eagerly awaiting the chance to turn the key and unlock your doors, entering into a whimsical time capsule. I've never been good at dropping my defenses. Fight or flight are the only responses I know for these kinds of situations. How could I ever fight you? All I can do is escape before I let you peel back my remaining layers and expose my vulnerability. Run, little rabbit, run. The tiger is coming. Can you forgive me for turning off your signs and not being there to light them? Would you understand if I didn't drive by your street? I don't know where these feet will take me, but maybe one day they will haunt your doorstep once again. |
And I do believe it's true That there are roads left in both of our shoes But if the silence takes you Then I hope it takes me too |
| Here I am again. Do any of you sit in dark rooms and listen to moody music as you ponder life? Or am I just a weirdo? When I lived with my sister, I would sit on the couch with my laptop as the sole light in the house. I hear that's bad for your eyes. But it's more economical not to have everything lit up, right? That's the excuse I'd make when she came home and scolded me for sitting in the dark. "Hey, I'm saving power ya know!" She wasn't a fan. Why are people afraid of the dark? I mean, that's a silly question. We're all wired to fear things we cannot see, shapes we cannot define, threats we cannot predict. The unknown is a terrifying subject. Humanity has always feared what it cannot understand, which is why we have countless wars and racism and endless amounts of suffering caused by ignorance. But darkness... Darkness is a blanket. A soothing void which eliminates visual noise, distractions that would drag our attention away. But of course, it is also a canvas. We project things onto blank spaces, deep seated anxieties, subconscious worries, nebulous terrors, you name it. I understand people who fear the shadows. But do they understand me, who wishes to wrap myself in them and hide away from the visible world? Is it a strange request? Perhaps. I am an eccentric individual, after all. This type of setting is the best one for my creativity, I would argue. I am most at ease in my dim surroundings, free to focus on my projects as the screen sucks in all my attention, pale hands reaching out from the umbra while I pour out the animus within. Let me brood. Leave me to my devices, do not cast light upon my twisted form. I am a creature of the night. |
| City pavement whizzes by Streetlight reflections waver As our tires splash through puddles. You're always slightly ahead But you know these cracked stretches every faded brick, each hidden alley. I don't mind tagging along, catching your slipstream. A cool night breeze whips my face Laughing as I pedal harder Trying to stay abreast So I can share my breathless grin And glimpse those tawny eyes. There's an undercurrent in the air stirrings of an adventure. Every stop we make is unknown to the stranger shadowing your step. Yet they are all familiar haunts old stomping grounds, filled with years of history. Sometimes I witness a faraway look the thousand yard stare taking you to a place where I cannot follow. After Time's veil lifts; You return to me once more with a new plan, a different venue. Do you even have to ask? We speed off down busy streets, swerving around pedestrians, racing the stoplights. I marvel at your serenity: chestnut locks flying, eyes sparkling, purely in your element. Cars honk, drivers curse at us, You couldn't give a damn, more savage than this concrete jungle, more brilliant than the rising moon. At each location, hands wave Cheers erupt, calling out to you. Doesn't matter where we go, the spotlight seems to follow. And here I am, basking in the presence of a celebrity. It's a sea of hand shaking, introductions, countless names and faces, inside jokes, old stories, decades of friendships. It seems as if half the Genesee Valley has crossed your path at one point. All the sudden attention compels me to find a quiet corner content to let you thrive but reluctant to share your stage. It fills me with awe, witnessing your effortless charisma; floating through crowds flitting from social bubbles to new circles of acquaintances. The evening flies by and we are pedaling once more. Homeward bound, racing each other to the start. I am surprised to find myself already back, putting away bikes, gathering clothing and preparing for farewells. This is it, time to make the move, but my feet are frozen. You stand there, waiting. The ball's in my court, and I fail to catch it. So blinded was I by you, that when I regained my sight you were already gone. Your name means advisor, unique, and alone. My name probably means a blithering fool. When I awoke, all that remained was cold Thai noodles and the ghost of you. |
“... and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. What do you call it, freedom or loneliness?” ― Charles Bukowski |
Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd  How I wish, how I wish you were here We're just two lost souls Swimming in a fish bowl Year after year Running over the same old ground What have we found? The same old fears Wish you were here |
Radio, my radio (my radio) I let myself suck into the ether My ears become eyes Radio, my radio (my radio) So I hear what I do not see Silence secretly wanderlust |
Every time when I look in the mirror All these lines on my face getting clearer The past is gone And it went by, like dusk to dawn Isn't that the way? Everybody's got their dues in life to pay Yeah, I know nobody knows Where it comes and where it goes I know it's everybody's sin You got to lose to know how to win |
| "What does it matter," the disheartened creator asks. "It's all crap anyway, nobody's going to read it... So what's the use?" Manuscripts gather dust, Lonely stories wait, in hopes of curious eyes - hungry minds ready to digest, words feeding imaginations. What's the point in a solitary chef cooking for only himself? These hearty meals will spoil, if left out on empty tables. A single stranger wanders in, gazing 'round at the steaming buffet, eventually filling their plate with an interesting cuisine and settling down for a bite. The culinary artist hides away, cowering in the kitchen. Unable to watch their work be devoured with disdain, wishing it had a bit more salt. At length he braves the opinions, striding out to see an empty dish, a white napkin dabbing lips, before the gourmand goes back for a second helping. "How is it?" He questions, steeling himself for the criticism. The verdict weighs even more since the dining room is empty: a single soul judging his fate. Sweat trickling down a neck, suspense drags onward as the reviewer takes another bite. They look up and smile, saying simply: "It's good." Two words, containing nothing and yet - everything. A creative mind carries on sustained by meager validation. One person was all he needs. |
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