The Days Are Good

I knew 2010 was a gonna be a good year. I felt it November. I don't know if you noticed but, the weather was amazing this last November. The skies were especially beautiful and the clouds brighter than ever. The weather had cooled down from the awful heat of last summer. November has always been my favorite month and I think last November has been my favorite thus far. These last few months have been better days and they keep getting better. I'm ready to face the challenges. I'm ready to have fun. I'm making it happened. The way I see it, in 2014 I'll be 25 and considerably successful. This is the uphill. I'm still climbing. It seems like every time I try to walk away from music I end up walking right back into it. It's a good thing.

I got accepted in to the Art Institute. Not to be confused with the Academy of Arts. I got accepted but, it seems like this time the cost outweighs the worth. I'm happy with that. This year is getting better by the minute. I feel good about it, like a rising sun. This is dawn. Time to shine some light and leave the darkness behind.






2011

I get that "pointing finger" feeling. When everything collapses I want to blame the world. But there is no blame. There is no world. Only me. I am the beginning and ending result of my own creation. I have my fathers genes, but not his blood - not any more, at least. I have my Mothers lessons, good and bad. I have all of these things, these tools. And I use them for what? To live? To survive? To get through another day? I have a dark mind. Painful thoughts linger.. This is experience. But, it is young. It has the potential, just as I do, to grow. Become something greater than, even if it is in a small way. Like Bill Withers said... you have to get used to OK, because sometimes that's as far as you'll make it. I'm getting used to OK. I'm getting used to not pursuing. And it's hard. It's hard to have no direction. It's hard to live like a drone. But, this could be what I was made for. Not for anything special.. not to astound the world with what I can do, but to be apart of the world and drone along with it. To do drugs and drink and fight and brawl. To be selfish and ignorant and nonchalant. But, also to love and give and be caring and compassionate. To make greater mistakes and distances. To stoop so low that I don't recognize even myself. And then to emerge in some yellow light as some victorious hero. A hero of my own fashion. I don't want to be my own enemy. And that, I have. My only competition is me. The only one that knows every one of my weaknesses is me. Sure, I have friends, enemies in disguise, suitors, tailors, lovers, and foes. And I know them just as they know me. We are surfaced. Shallow, individuals. We want it to be pretty. I want to live an ugly life. A gritty, modern pirate, sort of life. I want to work on some huge machine with a hundred other men and live the life of true hard work. I want to pay homage to those who work so hard before me and for me. I don't want to live in the plastic society. I want to scrape the bottom with fellows that know that empty feeling, that hole that lingers in your chest when something great has been lost. My broken spirit wants to mingle with other broken spirits. Spirits that have healed and grew stronger. Souls that are wise and aren't jealous. Keen spirits. Deep spirits. Mellow souls. I want to feel some warmth in the cold. I want to love some honest woman with a soul as gritty as mine. We'll roll embraced on the dark wet concrete. Everything has been so pretty... It's not real. This is my lack of satisfaction seeping through. That wanting feeling disguising itself yet becoming unmasked. It's not deep. It's shallow. It's not real, it's fake. But, it is, and it is true. I'm bored...
I'm just bored. Bored with this industry. My soul needs more. 

Another empty corner of the internet to be unveiled

Stop. Think About it. I already am.
Done.. I'm done. It feels useless. It's annoying. It's frustrating. It's stupid. I don't get it. I got it once, it has died out. It's pressure. It's tension. It's stupid! I don't want to do it anymore! But, I feel so obligated to it. Like I have to. But I don't have to. Everyone else has to get used to the fact that I don't have to. Fuck everybody else. It's me I'm talking about. I just don't care. It's useless. It's weird. I feel haunted by it. I have other things. I have many other things. Maybe it's this place. Maybe it's my Mom in every other room, her voice traveling the walls. Maybe it's my hands. Maybe it's my voice. My brain? My mind? My soul? Destiny? Maybe are must. It MUST be me. It MUST be my mind. It MUST be my hands. Now, jealousy. Why be jealous when we're all equal? Though I have what others may not, other have what I will never. So stay happy and fat inside your private gate, with your four wheel drive and your warm lover. Some people have it. Others don't. I'm somewhere in between having and have not. Wanting to want not. Nothing to not. Tied to many knots followed to loose ends. Everything slows down. People slow down. Skin droops. Nails thin. Hair trimmed. I'm sick of trying this over and over and over. There was a time for this. There was a time. Now it's old. It's done. I've heard the future. There is no room for my noise. Even if it's only for me. There is no patience here. I've been waiting. And there is the problem. WAITING. Waiting is not action, but rather the action of waiting. I'm tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired. Tired.

It's just nonsense. Why did it work so well  a few years ago? Why does it all feel so lost? Why. Why. Why.

Disconnected from myself.... Disconnected from the people around me. I'm caring more and less at the same time. Because everything feels the same. Who are these people? What are they saying? They're all talk. And they will talk about hopes, dreams, passions, ideas. But there is no ACTION. Don't wait for me. Take off. Or help me help myself. I can't be helped, but only by myself. My ideas clash, my attitude high. What am I? Some lost treasure? Never to be found? Buried beneath some sand? I am tired. TiRED. It's stupid. I can't say it enough. I SO TIRED. I don't want to watch TV. I don't want to do anything. I'm just waiting around in this place. In this tired apartment amongst tired dreams, amongst, tired decisions. I'm taking care of you - perfectly able to take care of yourself. I'm trying to be nice about it. But I'm furious inside. I'm angry ALL THE TIME. I don't want to be here. But, I have to be. And I KNOW I'm supposed to be. I KNOW I'm being Taught a lesson. I KNOW I'm being punished. I know I know I know. Just GO AWAY. For a little bit. JUST GROW into something larger. A place I can be alone. I like it there. Alone. Alone. Alone. I don't care to be anywhere. ANYWHERE AT ALL. It's the same. It's all the same shit. Shot. Dead. Killed. Murdered. Suffer. Pain. Move on. IT's all sad. It's all trouble. It's money. It's power. It's greed. It's detention. It's arrested development. The SOUL IS HUNGRY. THE SOUL IS HUNGRY. I'm need nourishment. It's all sooooo gray. The plainest shade of gray drenches my mind. The shroud of colorless grief overhead raining down wont pass. All this wrought because I can't play guitar? I just want to fucking sleep. I just want out for a while. I can vent can't I? I can let my frustrations build and burst right? It's ok because it's all planned anyway right? My destiny predetermined RIGHT? My choices already made right? this verse already written OK? Who does that? Who puts us here? Who drives us to this lonely place? I don't want to decide for myself. I want you to choose for me. I want you to take control. Take everything. I am willing. I've been willing all my life. If I can't decide and you wont. Then just stay here. Nothing anyway. Nothing at all. Perplexed am I. Always. Forever. Never again. Fuck it. Dammit I'm lost. Lost in this maze. Just let it all out. Pouring through me. Dripping off me. Imprisoned in this big head of mine. Breathing gets shorter and shorter. My head starts to ring with the pain of an oxygenless brain. YEA i make up words. Yea, I have long legs. Yea I have man tits. Yea yea yea yea yea yea... So bored. SO BORING. Everything out here is a wasteland. Wasted PEOPLE. Wasted time on memories. NOthing last anyway. Nothing is important nothing is alive. EVERYTHING is DEAD. I'm bored bored bored. So bored that I don't even care anymore. I stopped caring a long time ago. BECAUSE I CAN. I chose to. Nothing NOthing NOTHING. I'm bored... This place is nullifying. These people are tiresome. This job is useless. And it's customers DRONES. DRONES OF THE FAKE WORLD OF SHITTY DESIGN. SHITTY INDUSTRIAL DESIGN. SHITTY INVISIBLE CHEMICLE  DESIGN.
I"M DONE.

I care not to be too obvious
for that I always am
even now.
Even on "frayed edge" that
John Fucking Hollander warned me about
I'm still obvious.
Did you know I stole you're book, John?
I bet you did not. This isn't about you, anyway.
It's about being totally obvious. To the point -
something I am often not -
even now - evasive.


This is a love letter to lovers. This is a song of sweet solemn to those that have hearts far beyond vast canyons. A homage to the braves of marriage - matrimony's white doves (in love).
This is for the long haired, forever-changing-colors girl. The pierced cheek - silver tongued beast - of beautiful merit and honesty. I became you for a while and now you me. So, you must be blind. As I was and remain. I'm boasting you to the highest praise. For you, there shall be no other praise worthy. High up on some great steep I will shout down for you, toward you.
Will you ever hear me?


So to evade is to wash away what I really want to say. Growing in me are many personalities - all disillusioned and honest liars. They speak for you, they speak for me.*
One of these souls reads you in black forms. Exciting your words into inspiration, for that, you truly must be. Every sentence in your poems, though simple, extends complexities beyond the reach of any man. That it is true, the woman in you. She's a loving soul. A spirit worth no dollar, but of a million verses of gold. I'm mean to you, because somehow I love you. I'm afraid of you. I'm afraid of myself. I'm afraid that my sensitivity has gotten in the way. That I'm becoming less-than a man. And I'm afraid it is true. Though, I am in love with you. This is not weakness, my nerves grow stronger day by day and in Gods name I pray for you, love. Majestic lady, hear me not as a weak man, but as a man than had been weakened and grew mighty out of gloom - though, different.


I tell you to stay away because it is honest. I tell you to stay away because it's fair. I tell you to stay away because I am unaware of your exact intentions, but I know you. I know what you want. I can't succeed in this. I have my own fight to carry out. I wont be caught in what ifs. I wont strive toward anything. I will only be in love and out of sight, thus out of mind.


I want to tell you the truth, but I'm so scared. And Proud of that fact. So what.










*My usage of commas has become absurd.

Blaine Counter is

lost in theory.

My Own

The year is here. The year of the great the Dragon. 23 years ago I was born. I've been looking forward to this year as my year. A year where I can aspire toward something more - or less.

Twenty three. I look back on all that I have done. Things I have said, mistakes I've made, friends I've gained and lost, lessons learned... all chapters begin and end. To me, 2012 represents the grand opportunity of starting again. Of collecting the trials and tribulations of the past and observing them as a shore boarded sailor observes the storm still at sea. "I was there." So much has happened... I feel it longingly. It's a sad and true mystery of events gone now. All I can do is move on. I am a bull going on forever. Peering at the vast collection of works both complete and unfinished I see many inconsistencies in my progress. Two steps forward - three steps back. My drawings mere doodles on doodles. Endless doodles... feelings, none the less. Curious musical experiments and ideas laying about either in my mind or on my hard drive. Poems written.. some charged with emotion - others soulless and dull. All apart of a much larger experience - the experience of me. I've been wrong many times, I've been wronged by a few. It's the things that I got right which I emphasis with a more profound understanding (of self and others).
I came across a small notebook. Inside was my resolution for 2011. The date was set in early January. It listed everything I wanted to change about myself (at that time) throughout the course of the upcoming year. I read the entire list and took a moment to reflect. I thought something along the course of, "I wrote this in 2011 expecting to make all of these changes.. and here I am doing the same things and it's the middle of November! What happened?" I don't believe in the excuse "Life gets in the way." Life isn't something to get in the way of. Life is a constant. Nothing gets in life's way. Not even death. There is life in death. Death is not evil just as life is not necessarily good. But, they can't exist without each other. The changes I wanted to make couldn't have taken place without acknowledging that change was needed. So maybe I felt I didn't need to change. Or maybe I felt as if I could not. The feeling that swept over me once I had read that list couldn't have happened had I not written it down. What made me evaluate my myself was when I realized that I was feeling a that moment everything I felt when I made the list and then some. So something changed... not necessarily a good change, but a change indeed.
I can wasted no time blaming the past for who I am today. The past is an apparition come and gone. I am a constant, arguably so. The difference between the past and me is I can change - the past cannot (at least not yet. I'm sure the men in white lab coats and their funding associates are working hard at changing that fact). Change doesn't come easy. "Anything worth it hurts a little bit." A good piece of advice I picked up from a song. So I'm patient.. always have been. Asserting assertion into my life. Picking up the pieces. Completing tasks. I'm a better communicator. I read into peoples characters very deeply. I'm polite. Moderate. Consistently improving. I complete tasks. I lead myself toward good places. I am my own man. And I'm honest with myself. I'm happy. Thanks.

I should keep  one of these things with me at all times. That way when ever I get ideas I can jot them down quickly here.

Recently, I've learned that my preferred medium of writing (quickly) is via keyboard. I love hand writing certain thoughts and poems (using poems loosely), but typing is almost... second nature. It's been integrated into expressive traits. This must be through circumstance of being born in the computer age. My generation, and one before me, were a part of that great transition where computers were readily available for the new-wavers and still a gray mystery to the old-schooled. My mother, for instance, doesn't know jack about computers (or pretends not to). She is always asking me for help, she operates in waves of curiosity and insecurity when it comes to computers. For a time this frustrated me, but I came to a greater understanding of her struggles once I learned more about my great conveniences. It's easy being 23 in the 20th century. Everything is laid out in front of you. "How do you tie a knot?" "How do you give a massage?" "How do you sing?" One can almost guarantee that any question someone may have has already been adhered to the sticky walls of the internet (and, yes, they are very sticky). It may not be in English, it may not be worded the same way you would word it, but it has most likely already been asked. This isn't to say there is nothing left to be said or asked, but that there is going to be that much more to be questioned! Now that our puny species has come this far, our apex, we will continue to out-do ourselves by creating even more conveniences, more readily available information with ingenious practical ways to access said information. The "push-button" mentality has become greater. Search, find, devour. We are hunters and gatherers of the 20th century. We need not nutrition for our bodies any longer, flesh is now obsolete. We hunger now for vanity. This is the era of beautiful us. "Look at what WE have done, Great Universe! Look at us now!" It is a beautiful thing living in the future. Magic is real. Sustenance is possible. Immortality is just beyond the horizon (very advanced nano-technology will take care of those too quickly diminishing cells of ours). Quantum gravitation is here! We can make shit float!! What a rush of intense feeling I had when the assumed scientist placed a smoking disc atop a circular track, to see the disc floating there "locked in Quantum space." A flick of his finger and the disc raced above the track about an inch high. Possibility is here.

One morning, traveling from a small town to a larger town with a small city to a larger city with a small town, I began to get sick. I went from a warm bed, to a cold bathroom, to a warm showers, back to the bedroom, to a even colder outside, on to a very warm bus, to a cold bart station, to a warm bart train, continued on long cold walk to work, and finally to a mild stockroom. See the pattern yet? No wonder I was getting sick, my body is startled by these changing conditions! So now I leave the house wearing enough clothes to only feel one thing: cozy.

Recorded some songs the other night.. A session of live songs sung here in my bedroom. A comfortable setting for me.. alone in a dim lit warm space. Wearing the clothes that fit me best with a blonde guitar that buzzes and sings with the sweetest harmony. The buzz used to annoy me until I realized it wasn't the guitar that was buzzing, but buzzing because of me. So I changed my tune.. I play her differently and she sings to me. Very sweetly, the blonde guitar. Gave the redhead away to my sister. It wasn't until I gave it away that I realized how sweet she is. I played her softly against my chest and we sang together in the same breaths. Me and the redhead guitar. The brunette lost her strings because of a broken nut. I tried to repair it, but had purchased the wrong replacements. Now she's just hanging around, strings unbound. Went and bought a Frankenstein. A Fender-Johnson hybrid. Hums nicely. The Ibanez bass is quiet these days, but we play around every now and then. And the classic keeps me entertained.

Feeling pretty good about myself these days. Breaking bad habits down bit by bit. I've gone one week without a certain couple of poisons. Come one week two! Also changing my diet. Watched a documentary last night called Forks Over Knives. Very informative. I suggested anyone interested in bettering their health should watch that particular peice of work.

The night is dead and the day has begun. Off to have some fun. 

Always Greener

always will be.

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Zodiac Shit

Eh.. Listening to new music today, mate. In an Australian accent on a dirty beach. Waiting on still corners to meet Mr. Flash. Anywho, drugs are bad. How about you?  

Under a freeway

waiting for a train

In my bedroom

laying on my bed

an abandoned house

 by wayfaring tress

 name tag elephants

the smallest mushrooms

my feet in the sand

sun shining down on me

bigger things up ahead

better drinks to be had

treasuring the memories

all the faces I've seen

someone was always there

walking with me

underneath a freeway

hanging out with my shadow

The Accused

If I died today, I would be ashamed. Assured that my God would forgive me for the troubles I created. Approaching the lovely gates in awe as the accused, and, the accuser points his red fingers at me.

"He!" would he scream. "He is the child of yours that has disobeyed! That has lied! That has cheated his way! He! The uncanny soul that has drought of selfishness and not one ounce of pure honesty has dripped from his lips! He!" I would stand accused. My eyes large. Beckoning in trembling patience as the accuser jabs his crooked fingers at me. My body would be no more. Only a airy soul. And on some grand throne of which gold was born and pearl was inspired, the white-bearded judge. A smirk on his lips, eyes brows fashioned into a questionable state. He listens to the accuser, as he has listened time and time again, he listens to the red fingered hand, he listens to my trembling, he listens nothing between it all - and hears every thing. "He!" I stand. "He!" I shake. "He!" I stumble.
"He!" I interrupt.. "Have I not loved? Have I not toiled with hearts in the absence of emotion? There I found not love, but nothing. And that was all I found. Nothing was there when there wasn't love! I felt nothing.. But before then, before the passions of sin and the dangers of passion were invoked into me, was I not ignorant and loving? Did I not care with the tenderness of a man? I grew into a boy! And here, I stand, accused! I felt nothing when she was taken away!"

"STOP!" calls the judge.

"This has gone on long enough. You, son, were given only circumstance. Never coincidence. That is why you are here now. Not by coincidence, but because of circumstance. Do you know why you're here?"

My blank face sweeps into a puzzled stare.

"You, son, are here because everybody comes here. You are not the only one. You are not alone. Everyone must fall. You, son, have fallen no harder than I."

"..Than you?"

"Than any! We all suffer the same pain. We are tormented only by ourselves. You have been accused before, young man. You have been your biggest accuser, thus far! He..!" The judge points to the red fingered man,"He has accused you no more than you have accused yourself. Less, in fact. For you had to live in that body, on that rock. It is true, you are selfish. But, necessarily so. As a fish is selfish to eat another. As the ocean is selfish to the desert. You, young man, were merely irresponsible. ..and doubtful. You're doubt clouded your judgement, plagued your well being. Fear! Fear was your demon! Fear haunted you, caressed you, distressed you, and turned you to turmoil. It is true, I assigned fear to you. And, at times, you fought with courage. You held your head high with tears in your eyes. And at others you folded. Defeated."

The red fingered man sighed.

"Boy" said the judge "I am not your judge. I am your conciseness. I've spoken to you many times and many times you did not listen. In the end, you learned the ultimate lesson in the only way that your circumstance would allow."

A silence lingered.

"Boy" refrained the judge. "I will let you live. And you will live happily if you allow yourself to be so."

"But he!!" started the red fingered man.

"Silence!" The judge boomed. "The boy has learned but one lesson. He shall return to his Earth and he shall remain.. ..until he has learned his final lesson or until he is no longer fallible. If you continue to make mistakes, and you will make a few, you are to return here and we will continue this case and rest on a decision. Is that understood, boy?"

"Yes.. yes, sir."

"Then be gone. You will awake and you will continue your work. Goodbye"

A brilliant light shone from the judges throne and at once all was white. The boy aroused from his sleep. The morning was dark and pure. Red lights indicated the time: it was 4:42am. He felt as though he had slept for 100 nights. He was relieved to be in his bed. A nervous calm crept up his spine. He soothed his aching body with his hand and discovered a scar that had not been there before atop his head.