Wednesday, November 24, 2010

giving thanks

It took me three days of meeting people in Vail to finally meet someone else who is from Denver. Hearing about the journey's people went on, across states and countries, suddenly made my big move seem so trivial. Even so, I missed home before I even left, and my last few days in Denver were sentimentally melancholy, "bittersweet" to be cliché. Ten years it's been since I've lived in Colorado, five years in Denver, and as independently as I thought I had been living, I just now realized how heavily I relied on friends, connections, and family to get me through life. Sure, I'm only an hour and a half, two hours tops, from a familiar place I once called home, but the unfamiliarity of people, the change in lifestyle, this small town subculture, and the great unknown of my future makes me feel like I'm worlds away. I'm grateful for the loved ones in my life..old friends, new friends, family..friends who made plans to visit, parents who are on their way up right now, and all the lovelies who took the time and effort to genuinely wish me luck and good times. It must be thanksgiving. What a coincidence.

this is a great song.

Sunday, November 21, 2010

super combo

a fun combination of things I enjoy..
attractive man.

Friday, November 19, 2010


randomly discovered that these two songs are completely unrelated (except for the fact that they're both classic indie rock bands) but they're basically the same melody.

just thought I'd put that out there.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

it's a mystery

What is the appeal of going somewhere for a glass of wine and good company when I could do the same thing at home for half the price and twice the convenience? Is it the lure of being surrounded by strangers as I sit there uncomfortably alone, feeling vulnerable, waiting for a friend to show up? Is it being interrupted by one of those strangers, pretending to be interested as to why I am there, as I sit there sipping on my wine, whilst furiously writing in my book? Or maybe it's eavesdropping on the people around me, listening to their intricate conversations, getting a glimpse into the lives of others, much like looking into the window of someone's home. My voyeuristic tendencies go beyond the practices of looking. Maybe that's why I'm so deeply in love with music. Even odd and unfamiliar foreign music is appealing to me. However, I'm certain I'm not the only one. Why would cozy coffee shops play romantic French, Italian, Spanish music if they didn't think anyone would enjoy it. Whats the appeal of listening to music with lyrics you don't understand? Do people in other countries (who don't speak English, although that's pretty rare nowadays I think) listen to American crap the same way? Or do they play American treasures, the hidden gems in our music, in their quaint coffee shops? Sure, I understand that sometimes it's the music, the instruments, the sound that makes music so amazing to listen to, but sometimes I wonder, if we understood the lyrics to these romantic foreign songs, would they be as good? Or would it be the equivalent of the same ol sappy crap that play on soft rock radio stations here?

Whatever the reason, I'm starting to believe that it's the beauty of the unknown that makes things so music, in people, in possibilities, the lyrics to that charming french song, the way soup dumplings are made, the potential of a friendship/relationship, if UFO's are in fact real. I used to be the one to chase after potential, possibilities and mysteries, but recently I've been thinking that maybe some things (not all) are better left undiscovered. Maybe some things are beautiful because it's hard to notice the flaws from afar. Why get to know it if there's no point? I've been thinking a lot about moderating the obsessions in my life, and I'm coming to the conclusion that there are things in life that should probably not be consumed to excess because there's a possibility that you might end up slightly to severely disappointed. Once you figure out that beautiful mystery that drives you crazy in all the right ways, it might end up driving you crazy in all the wrong ways..and nobody wants that.

Monday, October 4, 2010


I've been lethargic, indifferent, uninspired.

It's a horrible feeling, yet I have no motivation to change it. This is my sad excuse of an attempt to do anything that involves "creativity."

...Clearly, it's not working.

I have a pattern of indulging in excess. Going beyond sufficient or recommended limits. Many would say that everything in moderation is key. But how about moderation? Everything in moderation including moderation? Moderate moderation? I've over done it and now I'm in search of something else to over do, so I can kill that too.

Monday, September 13, 2010


10 minutes into the show I fell in love with David Bazan. 20 minutes in, during the "question and answer" portion of the show I found out he was married. Somehow Max had indirectly found a way to break my heart. Congratulations.

No but really, I didn't so much fall in love with him as I just wanted to be him. I envied his nonchalant state of being, his intimately small group of fans and his lyrical and musical talent. This night, I wanted to be somebody else. I wanted to be a balding bearded man in a simple black shirt and jeans rockin' out with my band in a small denver venue. How I envied the life I imagined he lived. They were headed to Nebraska next to continue their tour, just on the wide open road doing what they love. No bullshit. No fuss of the ridiculous reality of what I call life. I'm sure they have their own problems, but I don't see them as real human beings. I idolize the people I admire cause it gives me something to envy, and to reconfirm that my life sucks.

Ok so yeah, I have a lot to be thankful for. Depending on the perspective, some might say I live a good life. I have loving friends and family, a job to pay the bills, hobbies that make me happy (and frustrated) and a sweet little kitty. But I was told last night that I was the most lost person he had ever met in his entire life. And this is coming from someone who knows fuckin' everyone. And maybe living just a good life isn't good enough. I'm constantly unsatisfied with what I have and always searching for something better. The grass is always greener on the other side..and when I take a leap of faith and hop the fence to step foot on that greener grass, I realize there's another damn fence with blazing neon green grass on the other side of that. It's an eternal field where the grass just gets greener and brighter and blinding and I keep hopping that damn fence hoping it'll be the last but it's not. Instead, I become blinded by the grass and somehow lose my way and find myself standing in the middle of a damn field wondering where the next fence is.

At least I know that temporarily, I can stand there and feel the fresh green grass between my toes..and damn it feels good. I'm currently mid climb on my millionth life fence. Hopefully this climb is successful and I find myself on the other side. I'm hoping that other side is on a mountain in Vail, where the grass is fuckin sweet and the fresh pow is even sweeter.

Monday, September 6, 2010


I biked home furiously from the hi dive, on the first chilly night this summer had seen, feeling my face freeze from the speed at which I was going combined with the brisk breeze, reflecting on one of the more heartfelt shows I've been to all year. Sure it was a small show. There were only a handful of people wandering in and out, having meaningful and meaningless conversations with one another, as I stood there from start to finish. There were so many thoughts and emotions running through my mind as my heart beat in my chest and up against the strap of my side satchel purse, but during my bike home, all I could think about was how he thanked me with such modest and humble humility when I told him how much I enjoyed his show. There's nothing like experiencing a show of someone you've never heard before and being reminded of so many different moments and people throughout a forty five minute to an hour span. I stood there up against the wall where the cool breeze was the strongest in the indoor venue as his music took me down memory lane. It reminded me of my dad, and how I used to snuggle up next to him on the couch and watch his favorite dvd, The Eagles Farewell Tour, while he sipped on a glass of Johnny Walker Red on the rocks. He stood up there, face against the harsh lighting, eyes closed because the lights were so bright or because he was so into the music, but either way, I felt like a small town country girl with sun kissed dirty blonde hair in a summer sun dress. That's when I know the music's good, is when it makes me feel like someone/something I clearly am not. His cover of Wonderwall reminded me of my brother, who introduced me to Oasis when I was 10 and I remembered when we used to blast that song in our family's new Land Cruiser, parked in the garage of the small house we called home, at 1am. It also took me back to a few days prior to the show, when I attempted to play the rewritten version of the song to Max and told him about the time my three close friends and I rewrote that song about going to the Aurora Mall back when we were in high school. Why is it that I felt the need to write down all the emotions I felt, but when it came to writing it all down I couldn't remember? All I know is that, on this particular night, I kept to myself. I shelved my social interactions for the night and stood there to enjoy the music, and I did, I really did.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

i'll have a manhattan please.

They waited in line for a circus.
It's not worth it, she claimed.
But they waited anyway.
The sky was an off white gray.
Velvet when they left.
Some canines sniffed around as
genuinely shallow conversations emerged.
Bowls were emptied.
We disperesed.
The night continued with dissappointment
And ended with Manhattan beautes.
Fin with chai.

Monday, August 30, 2010


What is it about reminiscing that makes the past seem so much better than it actually was?
Looking through old photo's is a dirty trick, especially in this digital age where you can keep and delete whatever you please. It's like creating a past for yourself the way you want it to be remembered, like old history books that are no longer reliable, biased and untrue. I've spent the last week looking through old photo's at my parents house and old photo's saved on my computer and it feels like I'm looking through a window into another lifetime of another person. "That's not me, is it?" is the thought constantly running through my mind. It's hard to look at pictures of myself and my family, looking wholesome and dandy on a family Christmas vacation, or a deliriously happy smile plastered across my own face snuggled up to someone I once called my other. This makes it difficult to remember the hard times, especially when it's hard to imagine that these times even existed. I leafed from photo to photo, through box to box, from digital album to digital album, skimming through the perfectly composed tri-pod/timer set family photo "masterpieces," desperately hunting for those genuine moments and expressions that only a photograph could capture. There were quite a few within those piles actually, who knew. Turns out a photo can deceive but also reveal a pure and honest moment. I always get a pang of guilt with a dash of depression looking through old photos the way I have been. Maybe I should stop. "So, they love me in indescribable amounts. Unconditional. But they drive me fuckin crazy." "So, they were once young and beautiful and full of hopes and dreams." "So, I really did break his heart, I guess." "So, we were once the best of, and I've deemed never to speak to you again." "So, we went our separate ways and that's just the way it is." "So, he's got a new family now and could care less about me." "So, you were my idol and for some reason you still are." Some additional thoughts that decided to make an appearance. Obsessed with reminiscence. I'm pretty sure it's another unhealthy obsession to add to my list.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010


The innocence is slowly chipping away
from an element that I once thought was solid
and precious.
It sure as fuck ain't pure either.
I'm watching it disintegrate
in slow motion. 

"what will grow crooked you can't make straight. It's the price that you gotta pay"

"cause this is fucked up, fucked up"

Sunday, August 22, 2010

blurb on 8/20

Little did I know that one the most grueling days I've had at work would end with the one of the most amazing Red Rocks experiences I've ever had. I dragged home from an 11 hour work day, partially not even wanting to go to the show due to exhaustion, and attempted to mentally prepare myself to encounter the thousands of people that would attend, because a friend of mine happened to have a ticket for me and it was an opportunity not even a fool should turn down. I was about to see Rodrigo Y Gabriella, rhythmic gods on the acoustic guitars, to say the least. We chugged some Stella's in the parking lot and hiked our way up those horrendous Red Rocks stairs, making our way through quite the eclectic gathering of people to get to the top. I was insufficiently buzzed and fuckin spent by the time we sat down with our ridiculously over priced Red Rocks beers in hand. As I sat there trying to regain my energy, and telling myself to fuck all the life issues I've recently been encountering and to just enjoy the show, the lights turned off and the duo emerged from the darkness and onto the stage. Finally the yammering of all the hippies, hipsters and middle aged beige toned people around me stopped (although this is when the hootin' and hollerin' began) and their music, as well as the smell of weed, started to fill the amphitheater. I didn't give a shit about anything anymore because I began to feel that special high I get from beautiful music in my chest and throughout my entire body. Soon it just consumed me. I had gotten my fix and suddenly all of my troubles were forgotten. I stood there, soaking up the beauty of Red Rocks, the splendor of their music, and the majestic Colorado skies as my overly enthusiastic friend continuously bounced around next to me, yelling excited profanities throughout the entire show, while the hand full of middle aged attendees occasionally glanced back to see him damn near tears, he was so excited. Rodrigo was a god and Gabriella was a goddess in their plain shirts, jeans and tennis shoes. I lost myself in the music...

this video doesn't even do it justice for how beautiful it was but my best attempt to capture it at least.

Sadly, it ends quite abruptly but I had to set the camera down and enjoy the show!

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

denver knights

As requested per JGA, and because youtube blocked my video.

Denver on a Thursday night.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010


I've been pretty wound up for the past few years of my life, caught up in the chaos of work and school. Since graduating in May, I've taken notice to bits and pieces of my life coming undone. Aspects of life that I used to be so sure of no longer make sense and I'm starting to get quite cozy in this place called limbo. I know this may seem like quite the cliché of a post-grad rant, but I guess that's because it is, simple as that. I am Benjamin in The Graduate, in a giant scuba suit, jumping into a pristine pool as adults yell things at me while I don't listen, wanting nothing but to get laid and for people to leave me the hell alone. "Ben, what are you doing?" "Well, I would say that I'm just drifting. Here in the pool." "Why?"

Well that's a GREAT question.

I'm leaving this post the way it is. Even if it makes absolutely no sense. Much like my life right now.

Friday, August 6, 2010

half asleep

Sometimes I go whole days
listening bored, half sleep
I won't say anything
that's worth a thing to me
One day, suddenly, time
took a turn that once felt so brief
I blinked to see polite ghosts fading quickly

What begins as an unguarded
train of thoughts slowly can become
an addiction to the slumber
of disconnection and the resonance
of memory that no longer has a shape
but keeps you numb through
the hours till gone is another day

Be aware, my darling
these things I say I mean
are just traces of something
I long to feel again
I see our time expand
in the air almost forcibly,
spreading thinner till it dissolves completely.

I wish I could say I wrote this but sadly I did not. Actually, these are the lyrics to Half Asleep, by  School of Seven Bells, a band I just recently got into, thanks to a good friend. This is one my favorite songs of theirs and I've probably listened to it everyday since I've heard it.

Their music is like a mixture between electronic and 80's shoegaze music, using the best of both genres, creating a dreamy feel-good sound. I am addicted to this feeling. There's nothing like absolutely perfect harmonization that puts into you a beautiful haze, almost like a hypnotic trance. Quite lovely, kinda like being on painkillers, except you don't get sick.

as i am

cha·me·leon (kə-mēlˈyən, -mēˈlē-ən)
  1. Any of various tropical Old World lizards of the family Chamaeleonidae, characterized by their ability to change color.
  2. A changeable or inconstant person.

is what I've considered myself to be over the years. Does that make me fickle? Some might say. I don't think it's a flaw. Many may disagree. I think it broadens my horizons.

I despise consistency, but the aspects that remain constant in my life are constant for a reason.  J'adore. No, I don't speak french. Sometimes I wish I did. Not often enough to do anything about it.

My obsessions are brief, but the ones that count stick around. That's what I've convinced myself to think at least.

This is my first post.


crawlers & riders

They pushed the silver and white strands away
to hang their feet down low.
Swinging them back and forth
as the sun set behind them.
A cherished moment
ruined by an inevitable end.
The crawlers climbed their silver ropes to hunt
all at once, like clockwork.
The sun was set and they rode off with red lights
blinking behind their behinds.
Their stomachs warm and happy, their minds free
and at ease.
Only for a moment..