Disappearances

Harry Belafonte...Girl in a Coma...I Disappear...

SHIT...It's been a while since I even looked at this thing. I guess I've undergone some weird hibernation where the digital world just didn't satisfy my yearnings. I'm not going to try and pretend like while I was absent from this static blog that I was off enduring some sort of spiritual awakening in some third-world nation. No, I wasn't doing ANYTHING. Just being lazy. But, I figured why not share a little of that laziness with the rest of the world...or at least to the three people that read this. Firstly, let's talk about Harry Belafonte. I'm not ashamed to admit that the first time I heard "Jump In The Line" was watching Beetlejuice when I was 7 or 8, but last night I found myself dancing wildly to it in my room, surely causing a ruckus. But that's neither here nor there. You can hear the wonderful track below:



Also, I recently wrote an article for my local paper about an indie-rock band from San Antonio, called Girl In A Coma. You can read it here. If you haven't heard of them, you should give them a listen. They're not insanely groundbreaking, but the passion in their songwriting is extremely evident, and it makes listening to them enjoyable. I've only heard a few songs from each album, but they do a nice cover of The Velvet Underground's "Here She comes," and I also liked the first track of their newest album, Exits and All The Rest. You can hear "Adjust" below:



Also, I've been writing more and more, and while this poem isn't especially recent, it was a hearkening back to my angsty high school days, when The Faint was the band of the hour, and you couldn't get enough to drink before the night was over. You can read "I Disappear..." below:

I disappear…
Such a fancy line from a lingering high school infatuation,
The Faint is what they were called.
Such a delicate assertion that where
You once held more than a backwards glance,
You can pick up and leave
Before the suitcase is even packed.

Your picture can fade
In the memories of those who claimed to know you,
Claimed to trust you,
And before they were through sending you snickers and smiles,
You flew away…
…lost amidst a sea of wandering faces.
I disappear.

Two words
That calculate one single movement…
The turning of a back.
Easy to leave,
Hard to stay,
But would we have it play out differently?
Would we like to stay to consume more,
Purge less,
And realize that our mind is utterly blank,
Drained from the prospect of sharing one more cigarette.

I’d rather flee…
But I’m shackled by guilt,
Chained by reprehension,
And yet, I stay.
I want to drown in it,
Feed on it,
And taste the foul aftertaste of
bitter wine,
But what the fuck am I supposed to do with an empty glass?

That's all.