Smoking

The hardwood body vibrates with each pluck of the string.  Every kick drum excites some neuron in my brain that incites my finger to pluck a string.  As the smoke clears on stage I can finally see the crowd.  Each head is nodding in time.  The lights run across the room back and forth until the stage explodes with it's climax and bam the song is over.  I race back to my marshall to light a cigarette.  I breath a sigh of relief as the smoke coats my lungs like a warm blanket.  The first inhale always reminded me of the good times at the start of a good relationship.  The first few intakes feels like that perfect first kiss.  The lips meet exchanging soothing comfort.  Each exhale reminds me of being touched by an angel.  As the smoke clears the lungs you can feel the tender touch of a loved one caressing the side of your face.  The guitar screams with feedback, yelling down my back to be ready for the next song.  I leave the stoogie in my mouth and turn to address the crowd.  As the smoke stops stinging my eye, fucking habit is a selfish bitch, I catch the gaze of eternal beauty in the darkness.  The lights on stage start pounding my face as I begin to lose her in the crowd.  I race down one side to catch that one last glimpse of the fair creature as she walks right out of sight.  By the breakdown of the song I have to unleash hell, I stub the smoke out in world record fashion with my chuck taylors.  The band hits silence and I sling my head back to catch the downbeat.  I throw my head to the floor as the next beat starts to make my heart pound.  The end of the breakdown I'm sore, tired, and I can't walk straight.  I take a moment to breathe as the world finally starts to slow down.  The song ends with no surprise, same song same story.  I get a second to look around again for the enchanted being that crossed my path.  Through out the whole crowd of characters that would come out of some gothic high school fantasy I couldn't catch an eye of what heaven is like.  This was no time for silly games, it was time to focus and give a show.  I play the rest of the set leaving my heart beating on the stage.  The crowd breaks apart and find their way out.  As the last person on stage I found myself desperately seeking air.  I step outside only to be turned to stone.  I catch that one glimpse I was searching for on stage.  The moon held a spotlight on her and her only.  I felt my heart lurch forward in my chest to come out and greet her.  I walk up to her and say hello.  She replies with the sweetest voice Hi, you were great.  I thanked her and asked her name.  We converse about music and bullshit ourselves into hysterical laughter.  A few moments later another guy comes from out of nowhere.  He says his name and makes a quick witty remark.  I can see by the smirk on his chiseled face that he had already had her hooked.  Before the moment could even be enjoyed it was gone.  I was left on my own in some creepy parking lot of some creepy bar.  I scraped what was left of heart off of the pavement and gathered myself back inside with a caring beer as I sat on staged and jammed with myself.  I light one more cigarette and it's love at first sight.  My smoking was always a jealous bitch, but at least she was there.

This must be what strippers feel like under neon lights.

Today is the day of love.  A day to proclaim from the highest mountain your undying love for whoever your love interest is this year.  Today for me is the same as every other day, I wake up, practice my cello, practice my guitar, stumble through physics, and debate the true idea of love.
Last night I was watching King Kong, the Peter Jackson one, and I was at the scene where Naomi Watts is on top of the empire state building.  Some of my friends make the statement, Look at her she is so beautiful right there, perfect lighting, perfect dress, hair, makeup.  I started thinking to myself, does love really feel like that?  Is that really what love is?  I think it brings up a valid idea, are we imitating art with our lives?
Do we spend all of our hopes and dreams searching after a love that we want to recreate within our lives?  I'm starting to think we do.  Girls spending every moment trying to look like people they see on tv all day.  Guys trying to act like the cool character they see on some screen.  I'm starting to think we spend more time trying to be people we aren't.  Your love story isn't something that is already written.  It's something you write yourself, not something you steal from someone else.
I know my idea isn't true for everyone but I just don't see love around me like I use to.  I see a girl caught up on a good looking guy.  She says she wants a funny smart guy, but instead of finding that guy she thinks any moronic thing that comes out of that good looking guy's face is funny.  A guy spends all day chasing after a girl who doesn't want his funny, witty, caring soul.  Neither party is to blame it's just what we do.  We chase after the dream that we see everyday in the media and art.  It's not even our dream anymore.
I'd like to think that I've been searching after the love that I see from books and movies.  I want to think that there is love out there and we know nothing of it, because we are chasing after our ideas of what it should be.
I'm starting to think that our current collective idea of love is how strippers feel when they are under neon lights.  Sexy, powerful, naked, and wanted.

It's a simple choice

Life
Every fleeting second of our lives we are being born and are dying.  Each moment is a time in itself.  It is stated that in the blink of an eye there is 64 moments in time.  The blink of an eye brings 64 births and 64 deaths of yourself.  This is a concept I ran across while trying to disprove the idea of someone's self.  That is a concept for another post.  I know this is a silly concept, some dude who sat around meditating blinked his eye and said holy crap, I was just born 64 times and I died 64 times.  But before you call me some hippie stoner, hear me out.
I get depressed rather often and usually for no good reason.  Out of nowhere I'm sitting in my underwear, playing video games, drinking a gallon of mountain dew, and drowning in my own self pity.  I spent many years towards the end of high school trying to understand the point of my life and why am I so horrible that I can't feel good about myself.  Each day I just fed the fire for no reason.  I think around my first year back to college I made the realization of my lifetime........
Happiness is a choice.  It's as simple as a choice.  The choice between fear and love.  Once I realized this I felt like a dummy, how could it be this simple.  It's not simple to live as pure happiness but the choice was easy to make, I can attest to that.  So here it is 4 years later.  I've kept my choice and I'm happy to say, I now get happy for no reason at all.
Over the years my choice of love hasn't always been the choice I made, it slipped when a girl broke my heart or life didn't turn out right.  I have totally fallen off the wagon a few times and I slipped right back into my super depressed self who wants nothing to do with the outside world except have the world pitty me.  But those moments have become fewer and farther between.
This brings me back to my first subject.  I am making the choice 64 times in the blink of an eye to be happy.  What is stopping anyone else from making the choice?



Don't worry the next post will have my vulgar dick joke normal self.