Saturday, March 08, 2003

Over Now by Jerry Cantrell

Yeah,it's over now
But i can breathe somehow
When it's worn out
I'd rather go without
You know it's been on my mind
Could you stand right here
Look me straight in the eye
And say that it's over now

We pay our debt sometime

Well it's over now
Yet i can see somehow
When it's all gone wrong
It's hard to be so strong
You know it's been on my mind
Could you stand right here
Look me straight in the eye
And say that it's over now

We pay our debt sometime

Guess it's over now
I seem alive somehow
When it's out of sight
Just wait until your time
You know it's been on my mind
Could you stand right here
Look me straight in the eye
And say that it's over now

We pay our debt sometime.

i feel i should say a few words on this day which at one point in my life i feared would approach.i say that because i am no longer afraid of what might happen without this in my life.i had some great times and great expeirences,and some pretty miserable expeirences,especially recently.if this were to happen a year ago i would've probably killed myself,but it got to a point where it became a job at best and a seering pain in the ass at worst,so now i want the plug to be pulled.i want the line to go flat.i want the lights to go dim.

i want out.

i want to grow.

i want to move on.

i'm tired of the self important drama this has turned into.i'm sick of finger pointing.i just wanna make some noise and create some art.

tonight the bell tolls for thee......

FORCEBLED:1999-2003.

Thursday, March 06, 2003

We all think we're so deep.we think that every witty retort we steal from television,fairly odvious observation,and every obcenity that comes tumbling out of our mouths at any moment,whether it's a funeral or a six year old's birthday party,is a moment of sheer brilliance.that every sappy teen movie moment we dream up and every pornographic image we create involving people we've never met is a thing of beauty.that because we can rhyme "pain" and "brain" in some Aaron Lewis inspired peice of bad high school poetry written by a 25 year old millionaire with a super model wife who taps into that revoir of pain that is having girls laugh at you in a mall or letting some idiot jock get to you with remarks about you being a "fag",remarks that many people like him throw out every minute,that we are sensitive and deep.that no one else in the world can understand what we're feeling.we put ourselves on these imaginary pedestals and expect everyone to bow down to us,gaze upon our flesh in awe,and never ever question our art,because their "primitive intellects" could'nt even begin to disect and process our brillaint minds.how and why should anyone worship you if they have no idea what you are saying,especially if you won't tell them?

the reality is that we don't control our art,it controls us.we can't explain to and we should'nt even try to,just let it all be.offer yourself and others a release,not a solution.don't take yourselves so seriously.yeah we all have weird and fucked up shit going on in our lives,and getting out your feelings creatively should be a cleansing and a draining,so you don't have to walk around like a disgruntled postal worker or a depraved sex addict all the time.don't become what you create,create it so you don't turn into it.

Let the paper take the punishment.
Let the ink be your blood.
Let all the shit out,leave no stone unturned,no rose unpicked,than sit back,take a deep breath,go have a drink,and have fun.and when life gives you more shit,give them more art.

don't be a deer in the headlights.