Thumbing Through Ink

For no reason whatsoever, I picked up an old comp book from two or three years ago. The very first page was a transcript I wrote down from the opening of a Tool song that sampled a Timothy Leary speech. I spoke about falling away from the crowd and becoming your own. Throughout the pages were Lyrics to the Mars Volta songs (I wrote down the entire Frances the Mute album for some reason) and some failed music and story ideas. I say failed only because I never fully perused them. It was interesting knowing that my ideas for what was good and what wasn’t has drastically changed, though has simultaneously shown little change.
I read page after page of my own words and I would remember the exact place and time I had written them. I was in my art class for this page and in my service class for that page. I switched out names for pseudonyms in order to avoid any “controversies” in the event that my book had been compromised. I remember reading events and picturing them in my head. Frame for frame, every event I wrote down came rushing back to me as if it were a memory from mere moments prior.
I read about moments during my senior year that warned me of floods to come. I read about moments that foreshadowed a promising future as well as making splits a bit more painful. It reminded me that I was going for treasure that, in my old words, had been nothing but fools gold.
But, at the time, I wanted it so bad.
I was reminded of animosities I no longer hold and things I no longer place on pedestals.
As for creations, there were some ideas I feel must stay in the past, but others that must be full filled in order to properly move on.
I read the passages, although knowing it was me and owning the memories to this very day, feeling as though I was reading the biography of an entirely different person.
There were definitely some memories that still remain precious to me despite a rift being developed.
That’s where they need to stay. In memories.
There’s no way I can enjoy life trying to recreate each and every pleasant moment in my life. Some things are better left in the past.
I closed the book and put it back where I found it. When I’ll read it again? I don’t know.

Maybe, when the road ahead gets a little less bumpy, I’ll make a pit stop once more.

Dear Billy (Rant #6)

You fat, Arizona fuck! How dare you try and call me out on my salesmen skills! Throughout our entire transaction, you've been nothing but an arrogant, nitpicking asshole that's done nothing but berate me and offered nothing but finger pointing and feigning the role of the victim. You bought a $140 amplifier with a shipping cost of $30, which is approximately $40 less than how much it was shipped for. My own mother had to dip into her own funds to help me ship the amplifier to you and all you can say is "I'm not a happy camper". And who the fuck says "I'm not a happy camper" anymore. I get it: you don't like the item. Then stop acting like I sold you a lemon, because before I sent it, it worked perfectly. It was fine when I was using, so I don't know what kind of fucked up shit you did to it to make it not work. Not to mention, you have three fucking amps dude, not including the one you just bought from me. What the fuck are you doing getting another one. Don't you have bills to pay? You have 30 grand worth of gear, what the hell do you need a shitty little solid state fender amp for? Not to mention it was sold to you for $170 (after you bargained me down from $180) when they normally go for $250 USED on eBay. Did you expect a brand new fucking Mesa Boogie with your purchase? Because if you have 30 grand worth of equipment and have YET to brighten up and get a tube amplifier by now then, my friend, you must have down syndrome. I've been trying, and trying, and trying, and mother FUCKING trying to please you DESPITE the fact that I have no refund policy nor do I really care about the items once they're sold. It's YOUR fucking problem. Why are you dumping all of this on me? It's eBay. This shit happens and you can never expect a USED item to work perfectly. I've tried to be nice for the longest time. If you knew me, you'd know that I NEVER get angry at anything. The only times I've ever been upset to the point of shaking was 1) when I was 10 and got into a fight with my dad, 2) When I found out my grandma got run over by a car, 3) When I found out I was rejected from several Universities despite my best efforts as a student throughout my high school career. But you know what, I'm adding this whole nightmare to the list, because I'm so PISSED off at your treatment of the situation and your reactions and supposed "solutions" to the thing you call a "problem". How do you not get that I'm trying to be the best salesman I can be? Everything I've said I'd do to help, you've either rejected or took complete advantage of (I'm not going to pay you $200 worth of repair for a fucking $170 amplifier). Why can you never trust me when I say "Let em help you so we both win"? Quit crying about nothing you old, past your prime fuck! I tried to help, but you refused. You're not getting a single penny from me. I have college debt to take care of as well as a credit card I need to pay off among family related funds I need to take care of. Unlike you, I manage to keep in mind that I have a life that I need to take care of rather than some rock star fantasy that I'll never be able to accomplish because I'm over 50 and live in Nowhere, Arizona. I have shit to take care of. I wish I had kept that amp, but you know what, I have things I need to pay for and the amp was expendible. I know when to grow up which is something that your ancient fucking ass never learned how to do. And I read that someone you purchased something from wanted to "drive down to Arizona and drink lemonade with you, you're so sweet" Well I hope you two enjoy two great big pints of piss, because that's all you deserve, fucker!

Sincerely yours,
Marcus (that name you love to use so often as a catalyst for your problems)