A moment of pause (very loud pause)

"If you want get the feeling... and you want to get it right. Then the music has got to be loud. Cause when the music hits... I feel no pain at all." --Rancid Radio

Some read my blog for the political commentary... some cause I bribe them to. I write whatever is going through my mind... sorry for those who hate the distractions--for the rest of you....

So I've been working the past couple of days on my Nietzsche paper due on Thursday.

My argument is that an understanding of Nietzsche's slave morality--and Nietzsche's thought at large--is incoherent if you look at him as anything but a Christian Thinker. That Jesus' Christian ethic was based on action that comes from inside and is based on nothing but internal determination of justification--that to act because the outside world tells you to do so is a form of corruption and human decay.

Following this logic I see Nietzsche as a continuation of this ethic rather than a challenge to it. The Jewish decline that Nietzsche points to as the beginning of the decline into slave morality is interrupted by this Jewish guy wandering in the desert who also notes the human decline and decay amongst his community... this guys words were given weight after the fact by the propagators of this slave morality--a sort of "don't look at the man behind the curtain." I'll post the paper soon.

But the true essence of this post is in the fact that between that paper, the logic mid-term I have coming up, the Henry County Democrats we are still trying to get off the ground, an Obama campaign that needs volunteers, and the satisfaction of knowing that Tuesday morning I will be going into UPS to load trucks before school--hallauugh I have a job!--I had forgotten about the Rancid show Deana and I are going to tonight!

If Deana hadn't mentioned it to me an hour ago I would have totally forgotten about it!

And out come the wolves


The ability for music to bring back sights sounds and memories that are so far back as to be lost... and bring them right into your face, into your blood, as if to reverberate through your soul eternally; is one of the amazing emotions one feels while alive.

Everybody needs those things that connect their past with the present. One never should forget ones roots. First its a connection to the world. But also from it one can gain a sense of joy and integrity that no one can ever take from you. For me one of those things is punk rock. And Rancid is one of the pivotal bands within that sphere of reference.


My name is Jim and I'm a lesser known character

"a good place where good people get food yea... help your fellow man a good thing to do." Rancid sidekick

Almost like a map I could take you from Jim at 15--freshman year of high school--getting dropped off with his girlfriend. Wide-eyed and excited by the world he was walking into. Most would see the sex, drugs, and loud rock n'roll. In some ways that probably something of what drew me into it. And maybe its only hindsight... the under the surface amidst the many drones and mindless fools there was a core of unbelievably smart and caring individuals who rejected the culture of consumption over caring, who thought integrity meant helping others up rather tearing others down, that through creativity and celebration one could overcome the pain and sadness.


Cut Here to Kill...
To comprehend this you have to learn to see people destroying themselves and those around them as symptoms, coping mechanisms, and blind rage rather than the essence of their quality. Look at the fragments rather than the whole picture you see--because you never truly see the whole picture. And fragments are a good place to start because many if not most the people I came into contact via this ideology of culture/music were fractured into thousands of piece. Breakable, sharp at the edges, and often in need of a shower or a book by Ms. Manner's.

And its not some holier than thou view that this the be all end all of living life. Everyone, everywhere, has songs that have given them meaning, kept them going no matter how hopeless. The survival of the species have been achieve through blind focrce and effort. Music could be one of the core reasons we've crawled this far into ourselves. I'm glad for every fight that got me to this point... bacteria attacking bacteria... parasitic free riding... somehow dragging itself out of the water... out of the trees... finally out into reason and high technology's that could be used to feed, cloth, and house all if we so choose.



Many people get caught up into this consumerist questions--for those who don't know... just look for words like "sold-out" "compromised" "they suck now" "indie label" "major label." To those who say the market is the essence of integrity I can only say... making money wasn't why I got into this in the first place... and if I can find a way to make money writing random philosophical texts more power to the folks who can run around the country playing music to the next generation.

To those who want to get caught up in the ethics of those who make the music... I can only say Beethoven was an asshole... but I don't get any less value from him art just cause he wasn't on the correct side of this or that political debate.

We're all humans who have scars and flaws and short comings. Oh and its music!

This is where Aaron will think i'm getting pretentious and condescending...

But there is something unique about punk rock and those who venture into the murky waters. Some will say its elitist on my part. But when I went to Shiloh Baptist earlier this month listening to this Ugandan children's choir I was blown away by the beauty and moved by the bright glowing eyes of a new generation that my country would as soon as ignore than help thrive. They have something unique that I can only appreciate from outside.

Punk rock... or whatever you want to call it--at some point words become poor descriptive tools--is something I appreciate from within.

I can tell you that from the immediate reaction that overwhelmed me when Deana reminded me of the show tonight. A youthful and arrogant joy. Its not what I'll come upon tonight... or the couple hundred drones I'll come across who are just as lost at so many outside that old turn of the century mill. IT will mean different things to me now than it did in '95 walking out the door after the Out come the wolves tour. I can still feel the breath of fresh air coming out of the club. The "wow.. when is that going to happen again," the quiet and only said to myself voice of reason "thank god... I made it out... some of those people are crazy and probably want to kick my ass."

I still see my Dad walking down North Ave. to pick us up (thanks Dad!).

But keep moving forward the feeling inside now is different than then because its locked into so many things that have happened with this soundtrack. Do you remember when Cory shot and killed the other kid? I do.


Here's another perspective... that there is something about seeing the image of your best friend playing the opening bass riff to "Journey to the End of the East Bay." in her room. Probably the second smartest person I ever met. My salvation in so many ways... my inspiration... my creative sister. Flash forward to concerts, flash forward to her heroin addiction, flash forward to the fake smiles you gave her as you listened to pathetic story's from a drug addict wasting her gifts... flash forward to discussions with her towards the end as she went in and out of the hospital in and out of coherent thinking, flash forward to getting the call that she drowned in the ocean after getting high one last time.

People look at me odd when I talk about dropping out of high school to backpack through Europe for 4 months. Its not odd at a Rancid show.

People can't comprehend why in the world someone would slash your tires and spray paint a giant swastika on your car (yeah that was a Rancid show too!). I can't comprehend why... but I can tell you what it feels like to adapt to that situation.

I can tell you the fear and adrenaline of walking back from east Berlin to west Berlin at 4 in the morning cause I was hanging out at this Artist squat drinking beer till after the subway shut down.

I can tell you what it feels like to watch friends waste away, turn away, laugh at you skaking their head--fakes, drones, intimidated by the real world. Or do you know what its like to be 26 with thousands of bills owed and your 7.50 an hour paycheck won't pay for ever your basic needs... let alone a basic lift?

That which I held inside that got me through my own struggles--that is what I can try to point you to. In and out of the hospital... coming oh so close to insanity and then somehow pulling myself out of it. Its gratitude to have made it to now... and yet I still cherish all and regret none.

As the Duckey Boys said... "I know i'm not alone, I've got my friends."

4 tattoos, a million different hair cuts glowing in a million differn colors. That feeling that an opening chord can still hit inside you. The sound when the music is silent and all you hear is a small room being filled with lyrics that speak to all these experiences of rage, sadness, and freedom.

So many people... and in the end its all and only about people living. The punk who offered me a place to crash when I got of the train in... was that Denmark? yeah.. Copenhagen. The guys who I hitched a ride with on a weekend trip in flordia following Avail as I bailed on one more school (sorry dad!). So many shows all over the country. So many amazing people... musicians, photographers, hangers on, the CHBC in every town, sleeping on floors, having nothing but music in common and always being able to grow from their. Sitting on a beach in the Philippines talking to this kid because he knew how to play guitar and I knew how to play guitar. Metallica was all we had in common... so I played him Rancid and he played me some unbelievable song in whatever dialect he spoke in. The taste of PBR the morning after. Hangover taco bell runs. Watching the drug dealers and transvestite prostitutes outside your apartment in LA. The laughs the tears. Its locked inside my head connected via neurotransmitters that fire only from certain connections.

Keep finding pictures of times gone by...


Its something that is mine and only mine now. Nobody can ever take any of it from me now. But I feel blessed to still feed energy off the pain, rage, and joy. Now its the small things that remind me. Wrapping my arms around the neck of Ryan who walked me through so much. Random phone calls from Aaron only to find him sitting on your door step in Sacramento. Micheal who helped me find my way to these strange places. The handful of teachers who kept saying yes--to my writings, to my ideas--and kept guiding me towards the few and far between who actually have something to say. The memory of waking up to a voice mail from Tonja on my phone singing Rancid to me... "if I fall back down... your gonna help me back up again. If I fall back down... your gonan be my friend."

And oh coarse some will sigh and say its not the way it used to be. Though I'm not sure what they mean... kids have always been kids...art has been art... dysfunction has always been dysfunction... and market place has always been the market place... trends come and go... money comes and goes. But take a second I tell them. Take a second... look past the herd of blue hair loud obnoxious kids. There that one... in the corner. See the gleam in their eye. That sinister little grin. There... right there. See nothing ever changes.

I no longer have to care... nor pretend to not care.

There's a club on the coast, where the kids get lost, and no one's gonna stare,Yeah, chuck T's and bleached jeans with dayglow mohawk hair,
Yeah, misfits and homeless kids all call their home there,
Don't tell me it ain't real! Don't you fucking dare! --Rancid Spirt of '87

I can tell you what has change from that very first rancid show until now.

Yes, i'm still creative, passionate, and determined to live a life rather than wait and watch.

But somehow I've cut deeper into a core. On my good days (we all fall short on the bad) my atheistic libertarianism and anti-authoritarianism and commitment to science and reason, my christian political socialism, the commitment to interlock and balance these different themes of my core is more steadfast, resilient, and locked into my brain.



In my life I may falter but I no longer silence my voice. I may fall but I always get up. I may question the world, but never my place or my own potential to rise above. I act and usurp the actions and confidence of those who manipulate and exploit those weaker than they are. I stand my ground in the public arena--violence doesn't intimidate, shame cannot hurt me, fear pushes me onwards.

I live my life. I cherish my friends. I get up every morning in gratitude for today. I smile at those I pass. And if I have some food you can have half of it. I got no where to go but be here and I only got right now so I no longer waste it.

And I do my best to work to help others through policy and community building. I believe second chances are great and third chances even better. I truly believe no one is to be left behind, forgotten, or harmed--even and especially by themselves. And I recognize the challenge of proper interpretation, the temptation for superiority and force over discussion, dialogue, and education. Its a slow process... but think how long it too to start the ball rolling in the first place!


All the rest is just debris... tomorrow I keep plugging away at trying to join with others politically to create a better world. A little more efficient, a little more productive... a little less debris in it.

Tomorrow I'll go back to digging into my mind and the minds of other minds who struggle to say something and create something of use... I'll keep training myself--honing my skills--to hopefully say something interesting about all of this--maybe even get paid for it!

But for now... for tonight--loud music, and cherished old songs.

Swing by the Masquerade tonight. Doors open 7pm. Don't know what we'll find... but it doesn't matter... we'll just pick up the pieces tomorrow.

"see ya in the pit"