Smell the Bacon

This past weekend my band made the trek up to Syracuse to play the annual New Years Day hardcore show held there. As usual, we got off to a late start and finally ended up leaving town about three hours behind schedule. We weren’t too happy at the prospect of missing half the show and hurried to make up some lost time. Of course, such an objective required that we drive at speeds surpassing the posted limits and about two hours into the trip we saw a police car pull out from a hidden trap and turn on its lights. Annoyed, we pulled over hoping that we’d have a quick stop and be back on our way.

The officer stepped out of the car and walked up to our van. No sooner had she stopped at the window, than she demanded, “Who has the weed?” Slightly taken aback, we looked at each other confusedly. Of course, none of us had been smoking and we were baffled by the accusation.

She continued, “I know I smell weed. Tell me who has it or all of you will be sorry.” Not knowing how to react, we told her that she must be mistaken. At our denial, she only became more insistent, threatening to search the van and throw us all in the clanger.

After retiring to her vehicle to run our plates, she walked back to our van and forced the owner to step out. She informed him that his name and birth date matched that of an escaped felon and began questioning him. After pushing him up against the van and intimidating him with a barrage of empty threats, she finally allowed him back into the vehicle. She finally issued us two traffic tickets and, lecturing us on what would happen if we didn’t clean up our act, she finally allowed us to get back on the road.

Of course, her pretenses were completely false. She could not have smelled marijuana smoke because there had been none and she did not truly mistake the vehicle owner for an escaped felon. She was hassling us for naught but her own amusement. She had decided not to search the vehicle, but only after admitting that she didn’t want to rifle through the trash that was littered about the van’s interior. The law allows an officer to search a vehicle if “probable cause” exists. Of course, and as this situation so aptly demonstrates, an officer can fabricate such evidence to harass and pester unsuspecting bystanders.

Since she was an officer of the law, she could have gotten away with the search. Who would ever believe that she hadn’t actually smelt marijuana smoke, that there had never even been any in the first place? There was no way for us to prove it, and even if we had, she could claim she had made a simple mistake and would face no consequences for her actions. She held exclusive power over the situation as we were left to helplessly sit and watch our fate unfold before us.

I can barely describe the sense of powerlessness and despair that such a situation arouses deep within, the feeling of vulnerability that truly shakes the individual to his core. The realization that one is entirely at the mercy of malicious power is wholly demoralizing. There is no amount of protest that could level the playing field; there exists no effective office to petition, no real check on the power of such malefactors. We are all defenseless; our futures left to the whim of these such individuals with whom society vests this unbridled power.

There is something so horribly wrong with a society that cultivates these situations. The affording of power to an exclusive group of individuals to exercise and abuse at will over the remainder of the population is not conducive to either freedom or justice. Even more sickening than the presence of such power structures is the fact that the populace not only accepts this abuse and malevolence, but more often than not, actually embraces it. What pathetic mental state have we reached, where such relations seem to be beneficial to us rather than oppressive? There is nothing more wretched and dismal than the victim who yearns for the abuse to which he is subjected.

This asymmetry of power within society prevents any productive and unprejudiced interactions from ever taking place. This sense of coercion permeates every aspect of our very existence, becoming so common that we cannot help but fail to notice its manifestation. But it most certainly is there, lurking beneath the surface, shaping every interaction, every decision we make, every fleeting thought that crosses our mind.

This may all seem quite overwhelming but that’s only because it actually is. Escaping the grid is all but impossible. One cannot simply choose to exist outside of these forces and relations so wound up are we in their intricacies. Sure we can resist here and there, as we most certainly should, but let us never be deceived by the illusion that we have somehow freed ourselves from its vice-like grasp.

Understand we're fighting a war we can't win
They hate us, we hate them
We can't win, no way

Because You're Young

With the holidays over, we it was time to begin our trek back to reality. The drive was relatively short, four or five hours in all, but that didn’t make the prospect any less daunting. Again and again over the past few days we’d heard talk of a great snowstorm. In fact, that seemed to be all anyone had to talk about anymore. I, of course, assumed that the fears and stories we were hearing had been exaggerated for the most part and felt pretty confident we’d make it back all right.

We saw nothing that indicated anything out of the ordinary as we made our way back to the city. The sun shone, the roads were clear and if anything, traffic seemed to be even lighter than usual. We mocked the reports, amused by the inability of New Yorkers to cope with even the lightest dusting of snow. After all, we’d grown up in the north country where morning often greeted us with several feet of new snow left over from a blizzard the previous night.

As we finally entered the city, we came upon an abrupt change of scenery. Suddenly there was snow everywhere; it was as if the dull grey of the city had been painted a bright white. Abandoned buses, cars and trucks were strewn about the streets. Snow drifts covered vehicles parked along the streets, making it all but impossible for their owners to move them and make way for the plows. Subsequently, many roads were left unplowed, and remained impassable.

With the snow, a strange quiet had descended over the city. It was as if a bomb had gone off, leaving the survivors to sullenly sift through their wreckage. Most all businesses were closed and the public transport system had ceased to run; for all intensive purposes, the entire city had been shut down for the time being. Now and then, we’d see people pushing, shoveling, fighting to navigate their way through the snow-covered streets; while the vast majority of the city’s inhabitants elected to spend the day behind the thick walls of their warm apartments.

The snowy streets were complemented by a whipping wind. The pounding gales rattled street signs, spun traffic signals, blew snow about and made it that much more unbearable for those relegated to foot. The whole affair gave off the feeling that we had entered some sort of twilight zone, losing ourselves to another dimension of reality.

As we got closer to home, the roads became less negotiable and even more desolate. Entire blocks were unreachable. Drivers ignored traffic signals and signs and roads became blocked by immobile vehicles and massive piles of snow. We ended up pushing the car on several different occasions, and more than once I found myself driving the wrong direction down one-way streets.

Even still, beneath the solemnity I could sense something of a blissful air. In spite of the added labor and nuisance brought about by the snow there was something more agreeable. A childish sentiment of sorts, it was as though the whole city had been issued a massive snow day. While many rushed to grab sleds, others joined in to help push stuck vehicles. With some careful observation one could almost certainly make out passersby chuckling to themselves at the absurdity of it all.

“And it was absurd wasn’t it?” I found myself thinking as we finally pulled up to our apartment. In less than 24 hours the city had been completely transformed, almost unrecognizable by its former state. The next few days would be frustrating, at least until all the snow was cleared away. “Still, there’s no point in boding on it.” I thought to myself as I hastened to unpack my things, rushing to get outside and join in the fun before it was too late.

A Day In The Life

"I read the news today, oh boy
About a lucky man who made the grade;
And though the news was rather sad,
Well, I just had to laugh—
I saw the photograph..."

There comes a time in life when a person’s actions and manners come into conflict with that person’s understanding of self. The experience is, in all likelihood, quite shocking and perhaps overwhelming to the individual, rattling their understanding (world-view) to the very core. It forces us into a state of cognitive dissonance of sorts, as we’re left to rectify this inconsistency between our moral foundation and our behavior.

About a week ago, I had a disquieting experience of this sort. I was at my place of employment, early on a weekday morning, working to get the restaurant open for the day. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and was feeling rather sluggish. The streets outside the restaurant were filled with trucks, loading and unloading, from the distribution center across the way. As I stepped through the front doors to pull out the bench and open the store, I noticed a truck directly in front of me backing up. The driver, blinded by the general enormity of the truck itself, was rendered unawares of a middle aged women standing directly behind the truck, and she, absorbed in her own musings, was also oblivious of the moving truck.

I was just close enough to the scene to alert the woman to her immediate peril, saving her from certain injury and possible death; but, for whatever reason, I chose not to do so. I’ve always though myself to have an unrelenting sense of justice, laboring always to defend the defenseless and protect the undeserving from falling into harm’s way. Needless to say, I was surprised at my own indifference to the apparent peril of the woman in question and my failure to respond to the situation; but that wasn’t even the half of it. Not only did I feel indifferent to situation, but I also felt a sense of exhilaration at the prospect of watching the scene unfold. As it was, the truck happened to stop just short of hitting the woman and she, completely ignorant to her peril, walked away unharmed.

Due to my own conception of self, the thrill I felt was, and understandably so, rather troubling to me and left me feeling quite disturbed. I was unable to understand what might persuade me to react in that way, relishing at the sight of another’s pain or affliction. It was such a new, foreign emotion, yet, how familiar it felt and how easily it came to me. How was I to explain the display of this cold, hard, detached emotion, so uncharacteristic of me?

Contemporary thought would most probably try attribute it to a process of desensitization; the side effect of life in New York City and exposure to more than one’s fair share of horrible sights. With the excess of violence that occurs around the world today, the images on the news, the carnage and bloodshed of videogames and movies; it doesn’t seem so unlikely that one might become desensitized, or feel indifferent when confronted with such violence in the real world. Perhaps we become used to such images, comfortable enough with them that they become the norm, and we no longer react to them in horror and shock.

Still, that seems to be a horribly simplified explanation, and doesn’t really get to the root of my own problem. After all, it wasn’t just a callous indifference that characterized my experience. There was something else there, beneath the indifference; there was that sense of excitement, thrill or perhaps even pleasure as I watched the scene unfold, a sort of hopeful lust for the calamity I believed to be inevitable.

What could lead such unbridled emotions to rise to the surface and how does one push them back down, regaining control and discipline over the self? Answers to such questions do not, most certainly, come easily and probably require an in-depth analysis of the individual in question. As for myself, the peculiar state philosophically that I have more recently reached may have had some bearing on the off-hand enmity I felt; or it could have perhaps been my own subliminal misery with the current state of things invoking a desire to see this agony shared amongst others as well.

More recently, I have come to the acceptance that human life is itself insignificant and trivial. Despite our wishes, we have no meaning, purpose or relevance outside of ourselves beyond the friends and peers (other humans) who have something invested in us. The matter of our life and death is literally inconsequential. To attach a deeper meaning or importance feels so utterly arrogant and represents just the sort of juvenile egotism so characteristic of the modern man. What difference does it make in the course of the planet, the galaxy, even the universe if any one person dies now or twenty years down the line?

This line of reasoning may seem horribly callous, heartless, cruel, and unkind but at least its an attempt at being honest. Even still, I cannot truly comprehend my thoughts at that particular moment, nor wholly understand why I failed to react in the way I did. Perhaps the episode was nothing more than a consequence of fatigue or some other anomaly deep within myself. Most importantly, as humans we should realize that we never understand ourselves as well as we like to think. Incidents like these provide a rare glimpse into our very selves and, with critical reflection and thought, help us to better understand why it is that we act and think in the ways that we do.

"He blew his mind out in a car;
He didn't notice that the lights had changed.
A crowd of people stood and stared;
They'd seen his face before..."

October Again

The last rays of the summer sun dissipate into the crisp, cool, air of the autumn breeze. That hopeful frivolity of summer has since passed, the vivacity of those promising days long since faded. It’s all gone in the blink of an eye; we never truly had anything more than that anyway. Besides what could we ever really do about it? After all, we’ve already resigned ourselves to the coming winter, bracing ourselves against the cold, harsh, bitterness of those long, barren months.

It’s so hard to get a grip on it all. All the doing and going, the passing of time, the dwindling flicker of this thing called life. I don’t know what it is we’re looking for; and, the older I get, the more I’m convinced that no one really does. We’re all caught up in the day to day, it’s practically impossible not to be. There’s never any time for reflection, never time for any sort of convalescence; and, before we know it, it’s October again; winter fast approaching, that deep chill settling itself into our bones, the depths of our souls.

Our ships set sail so long ago, leaving us to struggle; tossed about, subject to the whims of the callous sea; trying with all our strength to catch up, to grab hold, to pull ourselves out of the swirling depths. But it’s all far too much for us; we were always just a few too many steps behind, always a little too late.

But with time, and the wisdom that most certainly comes with it, we may finally realize that we never had a chance at all. Ah yes, the game was fixed; it must have been. Or perhaps there was never even a game at all. No winners, no losers, just actors. For what are we ever but actors? Even living at its very best is nothing more than a good ruse; a performer who is especially good at his trade, but still left to make it all up as he goes along.

Now the burden of old age is quickly approaching; and with it the frailty, the hollow emptiness, the realization that our best days are far behind. It all passes so quickly, and we find ourselves thrust into October again, dreading the cold, harsh, hollowness of that ever-looming winter. But then, what more can we do than sit back, trying to enjoy the fading light of these October days; to tell ourselves its not so bad really, for surely it could be much worse. After all, we can always cling to the fleeting hope that summer will one day again be back, that the chill cannot possibly last forever. So hope and will and cling for all its worth, and perhaps, someday, you’ll again find yourself enjoying the cool, crisp breeze of an October day.

Mad Girl's Love Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)


Sometimes you read something and it just gives you this crazy, weird feeling inside. It’s the feeling of pure emotion, passion in its rawest form. It’s like someone took your insides and shook them all up, sending them swirling into oblivion. The heart beats faster and the head spins, just enough to set you over the edge.

It’s an odd phenomenon and it usually catches me by surprise. You can’t plan for something like that to happen, it just does. It could just be the way something is phrased or an intense connection with a certain concept. It may sound cliche, or even a bit trite, but the truth is, there's nothing else like it.

Cause of Death

I've begun working on a few new projects that have been taking up most of my free time lately. I'll hold out on talking about them for the moment, but I promise to have some updates soon.


We're always moving faster but that clock never stops ticking... www.deathwontwait.com

New Beginnings

We were always a little too late. Time dies slow, but death won't wait.

http://deathwontwait.wordpress.com