I'd Commit History Suicide.

Sometimes, I really fucking hate your past.



My stomachaches aren't going away.

Just because i'm not dwelling doesnt mean its not there.

Plug In and Press Play.

Sorry that its taken me so long to post, i guess i haven't really had much to say. Although i keep having a few instances where i could babble on about something pointless although i feel if i did that, i'd be wasting my time and yours. Although finally, while sitting on the bus today i came to miss something i never really acknowledged before. So i would like for this to be my temporary goodbye, not with an undertone of saddness but moreso a belief that our meeting helped me become who i am today.

I grew up listening to music that i found suitable to my needs, just as we all do as we develop our own likes and dislikes. It became almost a vice that i would run back to in times of need, distress, angst, sadness or even happiness. The reason i became so transfixed was because of my steadfast commitment to the feeling of connection i developed between the sound traveling through my ears, and the message the author was sending. Moreover (a term my cousin likes to abuse), this connection became a type of therapy. Not to sit and complain about past instances but this relationship i had formed was my means of coping.

My experience would confine me pleasantly in my own existence, subtracting everything save my emotions, my headphones and the music. I would literally become happily alone. Not that this was a means of getting away from my problems, but quite the contrary, it was a means for me to sort, categorize, and develop strategies that would help me alleviate the problems that would be plaguing me.

Through this connection i developed with music i conquered some of the most devastating issues i have ever experienced, as an example when I was traveling south on the ontario northland buslines to visit my ailing grandmother and i received the call that she had passed and that i was never was able to say my goodbyes, i quietly put on my headphones, turned on some dashboard and cried. Music took me away from the evident problems i was facing, and replaced it with nothing but pure, uncorrupted emotion. I cried just that once about her passing and never again. I didn't need to. Music helped me develop the strong, rock of an emotional self i wasn't aware i owned. My connection was a way to deal with the weight of the world, and break it down into sections and deal with it individually.

Although im aware i still have my deep problems as does everyone else, my connection with music helped stablize the self that i am developing. Hopefully with this, Albert Camus would believe this to be a proper act of self-love...

Then, on one late fall day (the reasons i remember this will remain my own) i had, recognizably, my last connection with music.

I love now in a unique way, mostly void of anything other then her and our profound connection.

I cry now during the consumption of booze, or the times i pick up my mothers book.

I revel in the depressed manner that helps me cheer up almost never. Maybe less because of my loss of Music, and moreso with the concept of growing up and growing older.

I miss now, in a means that makes me write, and less in ways that make me seek solitude.

This is why i feel i have lost my connection with music. I dont believe it is lost forever, because i scratch the surface from time to time listening to songs like "Echo", "Let Go", and "Bubbly" although i feel like, in a manner of speaking, i'm passing it on unknowingly.

I believe that my art is not lost, but being formulated now in a way that will forever be a means of overcoming, and rejoicing. I believe, as i'm writing, that this will be a gift i hope to pass on to my children. From my soul to theres. I believe my better-half has this same understanding and connection with music as i do, which gives me no doubt that they will have SOME relationship with the one thing we can relate over even after i pass... Music.

A good friend of mine once said, 'after i pass i'll miss only one thing... the songs i'll never hear.' I wish i had a repsonse in which to give him some sort of comfort. Although i now believe that his connection with music wont be short lived, but through his children, and theirs, there will remain that everchanging, everpresent connection with beautiful music.

Therefore i guess with this... i'm more happy then sad. By hoping that one day my children might throw on a set of headphones, relax and be removed from all that troubles them.

Here's to hoping, Cheers.

Hi, My Names Nathan. Nice To Meet You

So i think, a small apartment, dim lights and maybe even a cliche amount of candles littered left-right and center to light the room. I think of stress, problems, work, bills, and maybe even the feeling of being a little lost. I think of second hand furniture, i think of the beauty in one bedroom apartments, i think of the cumbersome chore of paying rent.

... and then, as quickly as those thoughts enter my head they leave. They leave because you just entered the room. You drop your bag, you toss your keys on the table, you let out a sigh of relief because your finally home.

Ants in your pants plays in its low-quality way just loudly enough for you to hear it. I grab your hand, kiss your cheek and ask you to dance. I think of my heart smiling, i'll think its all been worth it.

So this, this is my introduction. I'd like to introduce myself to this feeling. This feeling of knowing im finished looking, im finished with feelings of hopelessness in thinking no one could understand my moods, my habits, or my understandings.

This isnt just love, its perfection. Its perfection with faults, scuffs and scratches. This is me saying that i love it the way it is, and this is what makes me happy. This is what keeps me interested and attentive.

So Hello, Nice to Meet You.

Here's To People I've Never Met.

Here's why I study History:

"And lo and behold there we were about five Germans, and maybe four or five of us, and we didn't give any thought whatsoever to fighting at first... Then i realized that they had their rifles, we had ours and then shells were landing and we were cowering against the side of the ditch, the Germans were doing the same thing. And then the next thing you know, there was a lull, we took cigarettes out we passed 'em around, we were smoking and it's a feeling i cannot describe , but it was a feeling that this was not the time to be shooting at one another....They were human beings, like us, they were just as scared."

This is why i dont find myself so detached from what i read. Here is why i love history. Hopefully you understand.

It's Like Falling In Love When You're Ten.

I don't understand. What ever happened to consuming oneself with the notion of a naive, fabricated version of a Hollywood-fashioned Love. Captial L Love. Before you say anything about the legitimacy of a Love only witnessed in the movies I want to explain that yes, i understand its got that extra flare. But fuck, whats wrong with a little flare?

The eldest part of me screams quite loudly, Be Realistic Nathan! Love is hardships, love's getting through the tough times and coming out on top, Loves eating on the floor together because you cant afford a table yet. God, i feel like im struggling to get what i have to say out on paper right now...

maybe, quite simply, im aware that realistically, love isnt the same in real life the way it is in the movies. Maybe it's knowing this which is consitantly distorting my perception of love.

Although I still, fight constantly to hold onto that feeling. I know she makes me feel the flare, the lights, the action.

I've grown up, basing my life on this fabricated concept. It's like that moment where you realize santa isnt real.. and you take a breath, knowing full well this isn't very shocking news, because you always had the impression that it was like this, but the sight of your mother signing, "from santa" kills that little bit of childhood innocence one always claws at, and refuses to let go.

Fuck, i almost feel apathetic... this all originally stemmed from a simple line my professor explained today during class. He explained, in complete harsh reality, as if to EMPHASISE the realism, not the pessimism, that at one point, eventually, everything you love will die.

For some reason, maybe the lack of sleep, the coffees i had choked back in order to keep myself awake, or the numbness of six hours of lecture straight caused me to get teary eye'd at this notion, at this concept this man felt completely at ease with unleashing upon a class of ill-prepard students.

To think, everything I hold closest... everything that I love, or believed to have once loved or will eventually love is, in the most honest way, tempral. You, reading this right now, think about what you love most. Don't you feel almost cheated? I think what really killed me about this theory is when he spoke about our children.

He explained, when you're sitting there, holding your new born son or daughter in your hands, the one thing you're supposed to love absolutely... unconditionally... with all of your soul... they will eventually, for one reason or another, pass away.

Yes, this is me finally dealing with death, this is my hatred, this is my bitterness, this is my complete and utter disdain for death. In every single selfish aspect i could possibly concieve of... death is cheating me... its stealing from me, its hurting me intentionally. So where does Hollywood, Captial L Love play into this?

It's my way of fighting back. It's my way of getting one thing out of my life that death can't take from me. You want to see Love as a weapon? Well here it is, in all of its glory.

I'll hold onto my nieve love, I'll hold onto my Capital L Love. I'll hold onto something so completely tempral that i'll take solece in the fact that no matter what, its the one thing death cant take from me, and even if it could, as long as i experianced it, it wouldn't matter. I have still already won.

Deep Breath

I have no idea whats going on. I need to take a few deep breaths, i need time to think, and time to just get things in order. There is nothing i hate more then that gap.... that feeling. You know the one im talking about.

Please.. help me.

Art And Pornography.

How do i go about saying this in the most accurate way i can.

I Utterly Despise When People Consider All SuicideGirls Photo-shoots to be Art.

Before i continue, there is much due credit to be given. I believe the concept of SG is wonderful. I believe that not only is it an amazing way to have people recognize beauty as it isnt traditional seen, but also as a beautiful way of self-expression for the models. Suicide Girls brought to the world a beauty that i dont believe has ever before been seen, although one may argue brothels may have once portrayed something of similar fashion. Like i was previously stating, its nontraditional beauty, its sexy, its artistic, its captivating. Its art. Simply put. Right?

So, lets present an argument that has no real "right or wrong" tie to it.

Art Vs. Pornography

Art: Oxford English Dictionary Suggests: "The application of skill to the arts of imitation and design, painting, engraving, sculpture, architecture; the cultivation of these in its principles, practice, and results; the skillful production of the beautiful in visible forms."

Keeping in mind there are obviously numerous amounts of "art" forms, or explanations i could choose from (if you want the link to what im looking at you need to have the dictionary or have a subscription to the site) although i do believe this one best represents the form of art we'll be examining.

Pornography: Oxford English Dictionary Also Suggests: "The explicit description or exhibition of sexual subjects or activity in literature, painting, films, etc., in a manner intended to stimulate erotic rather than aesthetic feelings; printed or visual material containing this."

I know what you're thinking... "Theres an argument to be made here... who's the one who gets to choose whether pornography is art or not?" This isnt what im going for, what im looking at here. What im examining is Suicide Girls skewed representation of what their "art" in about....25% of their collection of photo-shoots truly is.... pornography.

After getting over ourselves with the struggle of the theory of sex selling, we can start to look at the obvious facts. Yeah, they're naked, its going to turn guys on... guy's masturbate more frequently to visual stimulation, therefore, they keep coming back for more. ONCE AGAIN a generalization, but, come-on, in all seriousness we know its true to a degree. THEREFORE you can't run a successful business without knowing the fact that yes, sex sells.

NOW. You pay for a subscription, you have a "Tour", you have access to photo-shoots that "guests" do not, you get to see more "explicit" photos that "guests" do not. Not that im going to use this as a significant part of my argument but every porn site i've ever heard of... are ran identically.

I know these thoughts/arguments may be somewhat sparatic so forgive me. I'm also aware that NO i dont have a vast amount of art history/art theory to fall back on in this case, so i guess i have no concrete foundation for my reasoning behind my argument. But i just feel like SG is besmirching the idea of what is "art."

Art (in this case, to me) is shown through style, representation, and method (all synonyms obviously) but try to wrap your head around what i mean by this. To help explain what im trying say: Style, in the sense of the way something is shot, let it be lighting, props etc. Representation meaning, what the viewer believes to be displayed by the image. Method, the way in which the photo is taken, close-ups, angles, etc.

THIS presents the most uneasy, or questionable section of my argument. One could run away with some of the pictures that i view as pornography as being "shot in a specific way" or "displaying an emotion or feeling" which i guess i have to accept although, i do so with a bitter taste of resentment.

I believe there are photos that are displayed which lack a professional touch of style, representation, and method. Therefore, i argue, there are pictures that lack any ounce of credibility for what one would consider to be artistic. NOW that you've heard what theory, and foundation for my argument, lets move on to examples.

DISCLAIMER: The pieces used are a) obviously gross generalizations lacking all credibility for an overarching conclusion to this argument. B) single photos used from what presumably would be larger photo-shoots and c) two random pictures found off of google image that represent what i'm arguing.

SO, in proper essay format (not to consider this an essay, but a quazi-legitimate argument) the following will state arguments against my point, and promote the opposite view of what we are examining here.

Take this photo for example:

There are some "artistic" aspects of this photo which people may have help them classify this photo as being something other then pornography. For example, lets look at the style (falling back onto what how art is represented to me in the sense of photography such as this.) The lighting is pretty good, everything seems to be clear, the editing done to this photo suggest that the picture had some TLC in order to make it presentable for public consumption. The lighting makes it very precise and direct to what its showing (a girl). The girl has a latex glove on, suggesting sterilization, maybe a representation of being clean, although her face suggests maybe a naughtier side of being "clean."

Now to look at the representation of this photo, this would all be obviously an individuals perspective of what THEY see in the photo. So, trying to be as unbiased as possible, i see a beautiful woman who has been captivated in a very sexually erotic pose. The look on her face also suggests passion, in complete honesty it almost looks as though the woman is licking the tips of her upper teeth while most likely letting out a suitable moan for the moment. She also seems to be grazing her body with her left arm, which also happens to be eloquently laced with seemingly talented tattoos.

Method: This woman is the obvious centerpiece of this photo. It's close enough to display in vivid detail, all sections of her body, ranging from her eyes, lips, arms, chest, stomach, thighs, legs, hands etc. It also seems as though the girls chest is pressed outwards to suggest the attention being drawn to the natural center of the photo... the chest. It seems as though the models breasts suggest traditional (commercial) fashion. Meaning no surgery, no alterations. This chest, also, once again being displayed on a model who would in most instances be alienated in traditional fashion industries because of her tattoos, tongue peircing and fashion sense (black nail polish) THEREFORE having an traditional aspect of of a model displayed, on an individual who breaks traditional, fashion industry declared boundaries.

Now, for my rebuttal. Style. Well its nice to know any amature photographer who knows how to use low-grade lighting equipment and photo-shop CE can have their photo published on a revenue generating website, who, in all likelihood, got paid to take this photo. Style? What style? congrats, You had a model wear a latex glove and cover her vagina in order to add a touch of artistic flare to separate this from a completely 100% nude photo. Making the viewer stop and think for a brief moment, wow... the photographer obviously was aiming to display something here that wasnt just a completely nude model, until they realize... wait a minute... a college student probably shot this, neigh, a highschool student probably shot this. But i digress, maybe im being to hard on this photo for something probably shot out of entertainment, or practice. Who the hell gives me the right to cut up the style of this photo... i mean to do this only to prove a point, not to shatter the confidence of a photographer. Making me stuck up to even think the photographer of this photo even gives a shit about what i have to say about it, im a guy sitting in a dark room at 1:30 in the morning, ripping on a fucking photo because he feels his confidence in an argument he had earlier was slightly shaken out of being slightly uneducated on the topic... regardless... lets carry on.

Representation...this is a completely nude model, spread eagle on what one would be lead to believe is a table or a counter-top. She's touching her vagina to cover it from being displayed, once again, falling back on my theory of pseudoflare. She's moaning... doesnt anyone else see this... shes touching her vagina, moaning, with her tongue in her teeth spread eagle on a table/counter-top. This, to any viewer casually skimming the surface of this photo-shoot, would seem like a girl whos touching herself, and getting a fair-bit of pleasure out of it. Therefore, this would seem to be of pornographic representation.

There is no method to his photo. The eight year old who took it was lucky he got 85% of her body in the shot. Once again, i dont mean to specifically rip on the photographer, but the belief that THIS can even begin to be considered artistic. Its a close up shot, of her chest. The model is showing off the body she was given, and i respect that, but once again, this would lead a person into the belief that "hey, this seems kinda sexy" rather then "hey, this is a beautiful representation of the female body at leisure with itself."

I think i've stated quite well the point im trying to exploit here. There IS a significant difference between some of the photo-shoots on SG being artistic, and being straight up pornographic.

Just to make peace with those who might be thinking "Wow, way to pick the worst picture to represent SG" I will take a photo that I TRUELY believe to be artistic. For instance, i'll take a photo thats even a wee bit risk'ay for typical SG photo-shoots and use it to show what ART is, such as this:

This is an amazing shot for a variety of reasons, none of which allude to the possibility of even being able to be touched by the idea of pornography. To begin, the style of this photo is wonderful, the outfits (or lack there of) of the models dont allude to sex, so much as to hint at the idea of love. They're wearing almost nothing, also not displaying it as any type of fashion statement, but more so letting it resemble a sense of comfort and togetherness. Representation in this photo, once again is completely subjective, although, i will honor it by giving it an explanation of what i believe to be exhibited. This, like i previously stated, shows the raw, genderless, anticonformatist, pseudotypical embrace of one love person to another. The whole idea of two women sexually intertwined (legs in a completely mixed state) make it almost a slap in the face piece of art to those who even dare believe that gender should be any type of restraint to the concept of love. Finally, the methodology behind this photo speak for itself, its shot displaying a fury of legs which are almost impossible to separate, two women on the verge of meeting lips, shot from an angle which displays the whole canvas that makes their body, leaving room for little else to be let in, which doesnt matter anyways because whats important in this photo was obviously captured.

To finalize, i apologise to the photographer who took the first photo. I wouldn't know where to start in photography, so the fact that you even own one makes you substantially better then me in your art. I also would like to apologise to those who feel that SG weren't given a fair chance at proper representation. If you dont like what i've written, Well... quite frankly i dont care. This was my way of getting off my chest the way i feel about this website, and the way i disagree with how people are so quick to determine Suicide Girls as art. I enjoy this website quite a bit, and at the end of the day I am still a guy. Although i can safely say, avast thee who believes all of thee suicide girls as art, i disagreeeeee, YAR!

Trite: A Word I've Never Used <3

It's not so much the fact that im going to miss you. It's not so much the fact that im being a cliche over dramatic who loves spending his time with his girlfriend. It's more then that. It's more the lack of opportunity to with my best friend, it's the lack of opportunity to feel good in my own skin.

No, i shouldnt have to have you around in order to feel comfortable. But its not the social, physical type of satisfying dependency. It's the fact that its taken me twenty years to experience what love is. It's taken me this long to find out what i've been missing. Even still this may seem like mind-numbing repetitiveness... but to me it means more. It's a coming of age, its a right of passage, its me with you. It's me with the one i love, it's me with the one that means the most to me. It's me being able to rub your hip as you fall asleep, its being being able to kiss your head and feel your breath on my chest. Its the excited feeling i get every time i know im going to be seeing you again. Its the spark that i feel is stronger now then when we first met. It's the best friend i'll be missing, it's the kiss i'll be wishing for, it's the hug that i'll be waiting for. It's you. It's all you.

Yeah i know, its for about a week and a bit, suck it up, i know, i know. I needed to vent this out on paper though, i've been thinking about it all day and it made the day crawl by.

So, i guess what im trying to say is... i'll give you an "n" if you'll give me an "e". Im going to miss you sweetheart.


MAN im slacking in album reviews... i promise i'll have three done soon enough, one on the way/during/returning from halifax. Hopefully two more by the end of summer.

Sirens Song From My Guitar Gives Me Too Much Credit.

Know me through my writing, but please god know me face to face.



I will make you happy, i will do my best, i will try my hardest, ill always be there, i love you.

I hate making you cry. But when you do i try and hide my smiling because i fall a little more in love with you each time.

I like the nights we dont function so well. It makes this seem real, it makes us seem real. It makes me remember that this isnt something temporary, this is real, you're real.

I feel completely lost when you're not around. Unless im at work, life isnt normal unless you're there too.

These are my sappy comments. This is how im feeling right now.






I PROMISE i'll have another critique soon for an album, im thinking of a few i was just lent from a friend. It'll be here soon.

Iron and Wine

I don't really enjoy writing about my past anymore. In most cases, as far as im concerned i've learned the lessons to be learnt, and have moved on. Although, to be quite honest, what i find most remarkable about the past, is how subtle elements of a conversation, a tone of voice, a turn of phrase, or perhaps an outburst in a certain way. It's crazy how i've managed to bury away all the things that used to make me hurt in certain ways. Sorry if these seems somewhat jumbled, keeping in mind, i write whats in my head. In most cases i dont write to make sense. This all started when i was watching the last half of "Little miss sunshine." My brother had asked me to watch this movie a while back but, in quite eloquent nathan fashion, i "never got around to it." My brother doesn't, or at least to my knowledge, analyze things as deeply as i do. Although this movie may have gotten to him in a certain way he felt i might be able to relate to. Maybe he just believes this movie had a good message, maybe more, it's impossible for me to know without asking.

Although this movie was beautiful in a whole variety of ways, theres a couple scenes that kinda brought up memories id rather leave buried. I don't want to be a downer tonight. I wish there was a better for me to say downer. So i thought i'd leave this entry on here as my way of venting.

After my mom lost her job, after we lost the house, after we were homeless staying with friends. A night came about that i think may have changed me from being an optimist to a realist. I dont necessarily believe this is a bad thing although i can at least note the change. My mom had just recently had a falling out with her friend who happened to be the one putting us up while my mom was looking for a new job. I don't give my mom enough respect for the things she's done in order to keep us afloat (in the way my mom and i float) but maybe i do, but in my own way, my quite respect that i believe she knows i have. Anyways, if my mom had reasons i dont know, thats fine, but the way i follow the story is the way i saw it, so thats the story i'll tell. My moms friend (with us) just moved into a new house, kinda run down, but nice enough for low income families. There wasnt any furniture, and at this point im pretty sure the catalyst of the falling out had occurred and we weren't expected to be staying much longer. I was laying down on the floor in one of the empty rooms of this house trying to fall asleep. FUCK where the FUCK was my goddamn brother, god, im aware this resentment i feel is completely ridiculous, but jesus christ you dont stop calling, or having anything to do with the goddamn family, so you hated mom, you didnt hate me, i dont think you hated me. Anyways, so im laying down on the floor and my mom crawls in, im not sure if she had a couple to drink, or if she was just in a weird mood. But she knew i was awake, and then she layed down beside me. She asked me if i knew what was going on, i explained that i knew her and her friend had been fighting, but simply that. She rolled over and said, we have to find a new place to stay. I guess i had agreed, im not sure, but thats all besides the point. Im not sure how, but she still had a car so she said we should go for a drive. So i woke up, went out to where it was sitting and we both piled in. I'll never forget that fucking ford topaz, son of a bitch car. So we're driving and my mom breaks the news to me that we're in such rough shape we had to move back with grandma in toronto, and that i would be changing schools. I remember this so well its scary now that i look back on it.

This is where it becomes relevant to the movie. The boy in the movie finds out that he's colour blind and he cant go to flight school. So he starts to lose his mind. But what's amazing to me is that he did it in such a way i remember doing myself. He just starts screaming, and crying, and smashing around, and he gets out of the car and just starts running until he collapses.

Maybe you're wondering right now, "Wow, i mean i understand the situations bad, but its a little over dramatic to be reacting like that." Here's the thing, the character in the movie wasnt just upset about flight school but he was upset about the fact that he's colour blind, his uncle tried to kill himself, his parents are divorcing, and his families bankrupt.

This is exactly what it was, i wasnt losing control about having to move for the one-hundredth time. I was losing my mind because, as young as i was, i just couldnt do it anymore. It was the point in my mind where i just started breaking, it was breaking piece by piece, and this was that last final crack that collapsed the window.

I dealt with bathtubs and knives, i dealt with seeing my mom fall out of a bathroom drunk with her pants around her ankles, i dealt with hearing her have sex with guy after guy, i dealt with being fat, i dealt with being mad fun of, i dealt with having a friend, i dealt with my brother leaving, i dealt with being poor, i dealt with it all. I fucking did, im the shining testament to a will that can take such an absolute shitkicking that i can almost make it into an art. But here it was, here was the final crack, moving was unfortunate, that much was clear but for fuck sakes. Give a kid a break. So i just screamed, and cried, and screamed.

The kid in the movie gets back in the vehicle, and they finish what they were doing. The best part is it ends with all of them dancing on stage. All coming to peace with each part of themselves that they had to overcome to get there.

I never had that, thats what makes me sad. So here i am, 20 years old, finally learning a lesson.

The reason why i cant find my way of fixing these problems in my head is because theres only one person i think in the world who can, who just doesnt know it yet. The reason why i want to be a good dad.

I want my children to look back on situations not with heartache, anger or a feeling as if they were cheated.

I want them to look back on the time we danced on stage because i helped them get where they were. I want that point where i can finally feel complete, because my kids helped fix me without even knowing i was broken.

I have the best motivation to be a good Dad, i have the fucking heart. I have the fucking heart.

Thats my vent. My brother is a good person, he's my idol, i love him. My moms is absolutely untouchable in comparison with other people. She's the reason why im a good person. She's the reason why i dont feel ashamed to cry when i feel the need, and i do believe shes the reason why i can reflect on moments like these, write about them, and get passed them. I love you mom.

So thats my vent, i wont be a "downer" no one will even know this happened. It's my quiet little getaway. Thanks blog.

T-T-T-TANGENT

Where to start: It dawned on me recently that most of the goals i had for this summer are going to fall through. Nothing incredibly important or anything, just things that required an excess of money might not be as attainable that i had previously thought they were. These things include, a phone, guitar, camera. I'll have money for halifax but thats probably it. This jobs weighing pretty heavily on my soul, i swear if it wasnt for the constant reassurance from Athena that this is just temporary, id probably lose every aspect of myself to a constant state of robot-like-routine.

I've got to get back to my mindset where the only change that can occur to me and my body will come from my ability to actually get up and start doing something again. Seems pretty easy, but for some reason the hardest part for me isnt keeping up routine, its actually getting the routine started. When the rain stops, i believe i'll start going for morning runs. This might be killing two birds with one stone because i seem to be horribly grumpy every morning now for some reason. I believe its just a side-effect of working at satans workshop. I can stick it out, just a month and a half nathan, 30 days roughly and it'll be over. I can do this.

I just read the book "The perks of being a wallflower." This book kinda shook me in a few different ways. From what i was told by athena, and a few other people the next day, the book is considered the "bible for emo-kids." I kind of took that to heart when i started reading it. There are a few parts that got me choked up, that i can admit. Although, even more so then just the book, every night after i put it down, i'd get lost in my own head. I dont believe im the young hyper-emotional kid i once used to be. Maybe she was right in saying that im somewhat level-headed. Maybe i truly am starting to find my own feet. Maybe it really is time for me to grow up in a few other ways. I have to stop spending money like its going out of style. I have to better myself not only to fix my health, my image of myself, but also to kind of make myself something thats worth being with physically, and not just emotionally.

One more thing, i noticed the other day one of the most significant ways that Athena stands out to me, and maybe its more of a testament to the way im actually feeling about our relationship. I have never, or at least to the best of my memory, remember ever being scared of breaking up. As horribly narcissistic as this may sound [and ive been known to be at least cocky a few times], i've never been scared that someone would leave me because i always thought of myself as being a "catch" enough that i wouldnt be worth leaving. NOW deep breaths off of how horrible that sounded, keeping in mind that is NOT AT ALL how i normally function. But that time of mindset is a product of a few broken aspects of myself, thinking like that is how i learned to cope with relationships in order tip-toe around subjects like jealousy, or clinginess or whatever cliche word you'd like to use for disfunctionality. SO back to the topic [im horrible for tangents that i believe may help clarify certain things, when in reality they just make everything even further scewed] here is where Athena shines in brilliant light as being different.

I am literally, 100% scared that losing her would destroy me. Not that i believe she would just wake up one morning bored and leave, but more so i feel like this is so for keeps that i wouldnt even dare to chance anything that make shake this relationship. I even question normal things that a relationship does entail like jealousy, i know people get jealous, its human nature, although i dont believe at all that i have any reason for it. But once again maybe this is what makes this relationship the best i've ever had. Maybe its a combination of the idea of losing the girl that makes life worth living as well as the thought of losing my best friend.

It's crazy, i could write the definition on being able to say the difference between loving someone, and being in love with someone.

I love athena, and i am IN love with her. She rocks my world.

Welp. enough of this mushy schtuff. I'll have a new album posted soon. Promise.

Welcome to my head, My names Nathan.

Here it is, here it is, dont miss it. Take your breath, but dont take to many. You need to focus. This is that moment, here's the moment you wont get back again. The moods just right, the lights are dim. The music as that subtle setting where it's there if you need, and not if you dont. Theres that perfect bit of awkwardness, and that perfect bit of perfection. Okay, there it is, you took the breath, now hold it, now its time to say it. Now its time to do it. Wow, seems like you've been holding your breath forever. Im pretty sure if you took the moment to pay attention, you can feel the bed thumping. Who's to say its the size of your heart thats doing it, hell maybe her heartbeat is adding to it. Okay okay, you can exhale, but pay attention, if you keep doing this you'll miss it. The songs half way through now, you know in your head that the second half should be a good moment for reflection on what just happened. Jesus man, why is this so big. You know it, your heart knows it, you're fingertips feel it, your toes feel it. Its time, here it is, take the one last breath you're granting yourself. Oddly enough, the breath of hers on the back of your neck is presenting this odd sense of comfort. Alright, the final moments are here, no turning back. (Silence)............... I love you.

Send out the morning birds, to sing of the damage...

The steady murmer in my head.

[Goodbye Blues] The Hush Sound

The intro to this album has this erie, opera-istic piano beginning with the female singer expressing a melody that seems as though its purpose is to lure people into the album much like a sirens song to men. One thing i have to note in continuity to the the Hush Sounds previous albums is the jazz-rock sound that they seem to divulge so effortlessly. "Honey" seems like the type of song that would completely rope you in if you were to see these guys play live, its got that give and take type sound that speeds up and slows down in combination with a few jazzy guitar riffs. "Medicine Man" has a perfect ball room jazz sound that would make dancing to it almost natural. "Hurricane" is an absolutely beautiful song. Whenever i hear this song i picture a house buried away in a forest with one of those green canopies that play hide and seek with beams of light. I picture this house to have a few acres of field that welcome the sunrise every morning. I also picture this house to have a tin roof which, in times of rain, amplify the sound of the drops gracing the sheets of metal with its presence. Books, fireplaces, blankets, tea and a piano which reverberates through each wall, giving the house a welcoming gentle presence. Yeah i know, when i listen to music, i go off in my own head and come up with make-believe places such as this. This cd roughly presents the first half being strictly the female singer, the song that introduces the male singer ("As you cry") of the band has its typical simple, but eloquent lyrical progression but at the same time has one of its quirky little "take that" type of sounds. Overall, i guess id give this album about a 6.5. It's not so much that this cd is sub-par, its more so that i guess i stacked it up pretty high against their old albums and i didn't quite get what i wanted from it.

Does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me?

She’s like a Ghost She’ll Keep You Up All Night And...

[ A Lesson In Romantics]

So here’s the way I see it. Mayday parade is the equivalent to that girlfriend or boyfriend you wanted that one last cheap-shot on before you broke up. Songs like “When I get home you’re so dead” and “If you wanted a song written about you all you had to do was ask” instil that shameful bit of hatred you hold dear that you’ve wanted to unleash in the most demeaning way possible before you left someone. I guess the flagship that separates this band from every other “heartbreak and anger album” is their ability to rope in a fair bit of maturity in this subtle sense of post-relationship humiliation. Their clever way of lyrical progressions; “im taking all your memories off the shelf...do you like your pictures facing down...take me home because this happens everytime, i knew it would...we all don’t need a home but just a place to sleep” make me think maybe they’re just lyrics that pull one of my heartstrings that i can relate with quite dearly, or maybe it’s one of those lines that flush out that emotion we can all recall having once upon a time ago. Instrumentally I guess this band doesn’t have much to offer than any other band does, but what I can compliment is their ability to time heavier chord progressions and quazi-talented breakdowns to heart-torn lines and lyrical pieces of art. I give this album a solid 7 out of 10, its catchy as shit.