Monday, October 26, 2009

The mysteries of Eastern Warshington

For some reason my vision is so clear when I exit the freeway here.
I think it might have something to do with the cows.
Perhaps the methane gas they release with their poop
makes the air crystal clear.
........ That makes no sense. Does it?

This trip takes me over mountain passes,
where the melting snow has frozen again
while coming down the sheer face of the freeway retaining wall.
It creates this fantastic icicle effect 
and looks like something out of middle earth.
You would think the air would be clearest here, 
in this high precipitous place.
Nope.
The cow pasture in the valley wins.
........ Probably the poop. 

xo

Monday, October 19, 2009

Round 2, FIGHT!

Back in the early days of The Damage Done, TDD B.C. (before Chris), we wrote speedy little ditty called Students of The Beat. The words I wrote for it were a declaration of independence, of sorts, albeit disillusioned independence. It came out sounding like your standard broke-as-fuck anthem, no money, angry with dad, lost and okay with it. You know.... punk.  

The new ways I've had to view and adjust my own passions since having a kid of my own, have got me thinking. This song has now taken on a whole new meaning for me. Now I'm really in a position to not only help keep my own kid from having to feel that lost, but to teach him the importance of living for his own passions, even if you lose yourself through them at times. Or if you  lose day-jobs because of them at times. Of course the real tough part for me now, is finding the balance between passion and day-job. Still workin on that one, probably always will be. 

In any case, this song is still pretty badass, so I thought I'd share it with the folks that hadn't heard it. Or the folks that just couldn't understand the words that I was screaming unintelligibly on the record or at the shows. 

STUDENTS OF THE BEAT
You got this virus 
live with your vices
take all your vitamins.

It's worth every second spent
every last red cent 
til you can't make rent.

Sing these words into the ground!
Til they got no meaning left, sing them into the ground!

Sins of the father, visited upon the head of the son
ten fold!

Matters of the heart 
stories of the soul
open up your mouth 
just let them go.
Inside your head you'll still be screaming.

Sing these words into the ground,
til they got no meaning left, sing them into the ground!

Sins of the father, visited upon the head of the son,
ten fold! 


Sunday, October 18, 2009

Inaugural blog/test

This is a test. In the event of an actual blog you will hear the doomsday whistle blowing above your house, drowning out the screaming of the winged seven-horned, seven-eyed beast. Upon tuning in to this page you'll probably be greeted with sappy triumph/love/poor-mouthed poetry, or semi-historical fiction about stinky van adventures. I was even thinking about posting some future historical accounts that take place a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Whatever you're into, you probably couldn't give two shits about what this hairy true-believer has to say. Keep checking back though, if for nothing but a good laugh. Talk soon!

Until next time, keep your heads up kids, and keep moving forward. xoRYxo

P.S. Go see Where the Wild Things are! It'll make you feel like the guilty little trouble-maker bastard that you were when you were ten.