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antiguitarhero
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Name: Matt
Country: United States
State: Pennsylvania
Metro: Pittsburgh
Birthday: 9/27/1985
Gender: Male
Interests: SNOWBOARDING
///Rock climbing\\\ Reading books, playing flamenco music on my acoustic, watching movies, listening to music.
Expertise: Moving things, and not telling anyone where I put them... 1=2, I hope your rules and wisdom choke you.
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  ETXUR
Yahoo:  gbi_15
Member Since:
9/13/2003
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| Chris Pratt: I started skating again. I'm not as good as I used to be, but I'm okay. What happened that night along Route 24 is a part of me now. I just hope that one day Kelly will be ready to see me again and I can finally tell her what I've only been able to say in my dreams. Until then, all I can do is wake up, take a shower, with soap, and try to forgive myself. If I can do that, then maybe others will forgive me too. I don't know if that will happen, but I guess I'll just have to work backwards from there.(Joseph Gordon Levitt "The Lookout")
I wake up. I go to sleep. I have a lot to say. But I can barely ever remember half of it. Apparently the lead singer from Breaking Ben has that problem. Alcohol has severely impaired his neural functions. I feel like I could be on the same page. I've done so many drugs by now that my brain is probably at the very least impaired compared to what it used to function at. but that is beside the point. What I've found is an impairment to function properly in society. I can't do it. Anytime I do drugs it only makes me feel worse. I feel like drinking energy drinks all the time. Maybe doing narcotics constantly instead. Something to keep my mood elevated. Downers just make me want to kill myself. Which isn't abnormal. It's just something I don't want happening if I can help it.
Does it make anyone else want to cut their wrists open and bleed out when they see happy faces smiling fakley on facebook?
"Note to self don't die for anyone, note to self don't die.
Note to self, don't change for anyone. Note to self don't lie." (Ryan Adams)
My inherent value is that I place value on everything. It's all a matter of cost effectiveness. But. These sort of things make me want to set my computer on fire.
I can't bring myself to do it. Because I realize the necessity of such things, Buddhsim has taught me a lot. It still can't wrestle this anger out of my chest though.
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| "Is there room for one more sun?
If you can't hold on, hold on...
I wanna stand up, I wanna let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
I wanna shine on in the hearts of men
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand
Another head aches, another heart breaks
I am so much older than I can take
And my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no no no no
Help me out
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
Yeah, ]don't you put me on the blackburner
You know you got to help me out" (The Killers "All The Things I've Done")
I wonder, if every time that Mormon sings he remembers the reason he wrote that song. I feel like I am on the backburner. I feel like I've just been beaten up. I feel like I used to have a golden heart. But it got lost along the way, too much pain and suffering brought me down to its level. I let it get to me, with drug abuse. It used to shine so much I didn't need anything else inside. Now it just feels like a stinging blackness, a pain that can't be fixed. Can't be medicated. Can't be overcome. I've gotten the Fear. Anger and hatred has taken over my life.
It shouldn't be like this. I shouldn't be fucking depressed again. But what do I really have going? What do I want going? Creatively depression is better in every single way. I can't get back, I can't get Golden, I didn't stay Golden like Pony Boy ought to have. We both got tossed on the tides, and subsiquently thrown to the dogs.
I have no outlet for my emotions. None that I've found in a while. Skateboarding was it for a while. It still is. I just am so lethargic it's hard to get up and do it.
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| I keep listening to Coheed and Cambria over and over contemplating why it makes me angry that people percieve this music as "cool" now, when if they'd heard it from say, the place I heard it (Download.com by chance) they would have shrugged their shoulders and expressed a desire to find something else. It's exactly this sort of predisposition toward mainstream media that aggrevates me. If you found Coheed and Cambria by the new movie 9's trailer, then thought it was truly cool regardless, I salute you. But if you are merely latching on, as some trained behavior that PR and marketing companies dictate and ingrain in your mind then I would like to shove you out a 5 story window and hope you land on your feet.
It's not that I wish you to be crippled truly, it just aggrevates me. When did good music need the accompanyment of a major label or media outlet to tell you that it was good? When did good writing for that matter? Simply because it is not in "The Canon" doesn't mean you shouldn't read it. At one point Bukowski was muttered as a curse in the world of poetry, and only recently have the stiffs begun to look into the validity of his poems. Similarly, Hunter Thompson had carved himself an undisputable nitch that no one else can fill. But still, no one reads his journalism in class. Though he is, by the reckoning of one George Mcgovern, the "Least accurate, and most factual" journalist out there. I respect the opinions of McGovern. As I do Dr. Thompson, Dr. Gonzo, Bukowski, and any other hateful freak who dares scrawl an opinion on any surface. It's worth the time to look at Graffiti, it sends a message that few recognize. It speaks of culture.
And I guess that's what gets me.
Culture. Is the object achieved out of necessity from any given clay. We are shaped of this. And at the same time we make this. Biblical references aside, it's the moulding that allows give and take, for us to create nitches and achieve some semblance of joy or happiness.
You will never find happiness living up to others expectations of what you should listen to, write, read, make.
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| Thursday night was a confusing time. I spent the evening in Carlisle with Zacharias.
I sent Sabrina some messages about our goings on. These are the best description of the nights event, minus the videos I took. Which aren't suitable for anyone to see.
Message 1:
Mussey and I are at bar #1.
I have to go to work early tomorrow and he's already gonzo, but we'll see how many spots we can hit before he passesw out on me. Fast Eddie's is next. We're at the G-man now. Then maybe coming back. Drink's are expensive here. I haven't spent a cent. I need to use the bathroom.
Message 2.
We got 2 pitchers of yuenling for 8.50 each, so it's not "my god, I've just been raped!" bad, but it isn't so good! Mussey is in the bathroom, drunk. I'm trying to get there. Good times. We're going to fast eddies soon. I'm excited. Bunch of ho's and popped polo;s in this bar. Need some dirty countertops and expatriots instead of brightly colored new Hampton yuppies.
Message 3.
Tony Hawk was at Mussey's uncles bar. Both he and I missed it. fml.
Message 4.
Yes, it's pretty depressing. But not so much. I place a lot of value on personal lives to believe too much in celebrity. Too much bullshit. T.Hawk didn't want to be rich, just like Jay Adam's didn't want to be a celebrity. We all choose our paths. And the number 1 person in skateboarding I want to meet is jayboy. Not tony fucking technical skating hawk. he can (trails off into obscenities)
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| "I broke free on a saturday morning. Put the pedal to the floor. Headed north on Mills avenue. And listened to the engine roar.
My broken house behind me, good things ahead. A girl named Kathy wants a little of my time.
6 cylinders underneath my hood crashing and kickin ahaha listen to the engine wine.
I am gonna' make it thru this year. If it kills me.
I am gonna' make it thru this year if it kills me" (Mountain Goats "This Year")
 (Charles Bukowski)
It's carthetic to write the soothing words of others in place of your own tormented ones. This I've found out. It get's you into the mindset. Lets you feel their rythmes. It clears your mind of your own thoughts, a medititation of sorts which enables you to focus on the things you need to focus on and forget about the rest.
I abused this method of functioning a while ago. I guess we all abuse things sometimes. It ends badly as you might imagine...
"I played video games in a drunken haze, I was 17 years young.
Hurt my knuckles punching the machines, taste of scotch rich on my tounge.
And then Kathy showed up, and we hung out.
Trading swigs from the bottle, all bitter and clean.
locking eyes, holding hands, twin high maintanance machines.
I am gonna' make it thru this year, if it kills me.
I am gonna' make it thru this year, if it kills me."
We've all punched things and regretted it. I once punched a ceramic sink. Very hard. Bruised my bones for weeks. Didn't break anything of course. I never do. But sure as hell left a nasty gash and bruised bones. Little scar and some heavy calcium deposits later I still haven't learned any lessons.
"I came home in the california dusk, I could feel the alcohol inside of me.
Picture the look on my stepfathers face.Ready for the bad things to come.
I downshifted as I pulled into the driveway. Moter screaming I'm stuck in 2nd gear,
the scene ends badly as you can imagine.
in a cavalcade of anger and fear
there will be feasting and dancing
in jurusalem next year
i am going to make it through this year
if it kills me
i am going to make it though this year
if it kills me"
("The 7th Seal", a Knight challanges Death to a game of Chess for his life...)
People keep telling me that my sensitivity will be the death of me. Everyone from a priest I spoke to right down to my own mother. Isn't sensitivity salvation? Have I been mistaken on the virtues of this hardline Christianity I've been taught since I was young?
"I'm waiting for a train, subway that only goes one way.
This stupid thing, will come to pull us apart, and make everybody late.
And you spent everything you had. Wanted everything to stop, that bad.
now I'm a crashed credit card registered to Smith, not the name that you call me with...
You turned white like a saint... I'm tired of dancing on a pot of a gold, flecked paint...
oh we're so very precious, you and I. And everything you do, makes me want to die.
Oh, I just told the biggest lie... " (Elliot Smith) 
Is it my idols who have shaped me into a misfit or is it my misfit-ness that has shaped my perception to revere such idols?
 (Bill Hicks)
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