"Excessive vacancy, well maybe
In the shadow of an eye
All the strangers pass through
Where the rules just don't apply"
~ CKY
Camp Kill Yourself!
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Cleaning House
GHOST WITH A BONER!
Hooray! My house now resembles just-moved in condition after a hard year of scrapping useless old things. I'm not starting fresh, instead simply freeing up space for new creative thought. Dad always said a cluttered office means a cluttered mind.
Practice doesn't mean perfect. Alternatively thought as an ironic means to an end of infinite learning and development. Conceptually this can be applied to everyday life, work, and self-aspirations; musically it remains the single core aspect of maintaining talent. Every young musician euphorically smiles when they first experience creating melodic sound in desire to replicate the music they admire. Yet inevitably those who practice to develop their own unique craft transcend ideas beyond knowledgable understanding.
Sounds far out but consider the obvious: there is only one Jimi who sounds like Jimi, only one Eric who sounds like Eric, only one Duane who sounds like Duane, only one B.B. King who sounds like B.B. King, and many other legends (hopefully you catch my drift already). Collectively they share the same unique creativity - the passion and ability to play their instruments differently than anyone before them. Thus creating ideas of which none in the musical world knew or comprehended, and it is these same ideas that music lacks today.
Long story short, Chill Bill has influenced the essence of practice back into my routine. Soul refines sound.
Monday, November 28, 2011
I Love Diarrhea Planet
I broke my nose tonight at the most legendary show ever. Long live Diarrhea Planet!!!
Hey look I see some Jeffers Morning Wood (Mustache Ride)
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Now is my time to return
And I ride upon the white horse that fears no death.
"Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down."
"Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.
In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down."
Monday, November 7, 2011
Insider Info
If you read this then you now know about the upcoming power Jeffers Morning Wood
Fucking Righteous
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Green Day
Once upon a time nice and genuine people thrived in a twisted world. The ideals of Buddhism and all religions in general rely on the karma of good/bad people. Yet I am unable to achieve or see such circumstances.
When I was young, I detested the Green Day song "nice guys finish last". Nowadays I see the paradox that they broke; I realize no matter how hard a human being tries to be conventional only to be denied their unselfish ambitions. When blood is shed, you better just back up and make the other bleed worse.
Good karma always brought shit luck!
Inconsistently consistent.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Whamola!
Just like that the surprise knockout punch from the unknown knocks the wind out of me.
And then there were two....
I Don't Quit.
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