The Chariot-Long Live

Every review I've read online about this album starts with some comment of how the album starts with feedback, so I'm starting mine with a comment about how all the reviews start with feedback.

Positive feedback I might add, from both the album and the reviewers. The reviewers give it because they have good taste, and The Chariot gives it because they're The bloody Chariot, and as such they can do as they bloody well please.

Rather than give a break down of each song (see what I did there?), I shall summarize each song with a single syllable: "guh."

This album is just "guh." Now, that really isn't the best way to describe the album, but it is the easiest. It's just so multi-faceted, with so many 'candy' bits (awesome/catchy/high replay value) and bone crunching delivery of shark solid lyrics.

Excerpt:

I saved my money, but it can't save me

Oh how I love it.

The vocalist has expanded his vocal range, and the screaming seems like it has more of a southern drawl in it, a bit like Twelve Gauge Valentine or MATSOD. Only far superior to either.

The two biggest highlights of the album are the songs David De La Hoz and The Heavens, the latter's opening is just brilliant, and the former of which features an awesome guest vocalist with shiver inducing lyrics:

And we can be on fire again, you and I, you want this

Well say what you want, say what you mean

But even picking a 'highlight' feels a tad bizarre, because this entire album is just glowing with ingenuity and raw rawness.

Of course, all that being said, The Chariot is completely insane and probably won't attract everyone. They walk that line of amazingness where their pure power can either be a deterrent or an attraction.

Clearly, I'm attracted, but it won't be everyone's cup of tea.

Disappointed? I KNOW YOU ARE

Dear Andrew

Ignore the underlining; that gives it a weird connotation.

Epic Post Breakup Letter That I Never Sent But Is Worded Nicely So It's A Blogpost Now

"Dear Person.

This may turn out to be the hardest thing I have ever had to write, but written it must be. I have been thinking about what you said and how it relates to my life, and I think it all makes sense. Now that I haven’t been in constant contact with you, I’m starting to realize how much of my life was devoted to you. Things happen, and I have no one to share it with. A person will make an interesting comment, and I immediately try to figure out how to recant it to you so you will best understand and appreciate it. I have conversations with friends and can’t wait to tell you.

But, then I realize I must wait.

And then I realize I mustn’t.

I don’t think you were the center of my life, I’m not sure what was. I just know it wasn’t God, and that had to change. And, I’ve come to realize, I can’t change it while being in contact with you. I keep having dreams where one of us initiates conversation, and we get sucked back in and have to stop again, and it hurts so much. If I’m talking to you about it daily, then my journey to find God will become centered around you. In trying to find God, it will just bring us closer together in a way that shouldn’t be.

In order to find God, I need to give you up. Completely. I can’t hold out for the hope that one day our paths will cross divinely and we will have our ‘ever after’; if I do that, then I will be finding God to get to you.

On top of that, I need you to give me up. I need to know you aren’t waiting, when I can’t. Go out and find your Darcy, your Rochester. Let him whisk you off in a way I never could. To be honest, the thought of you with another guy doesn’t tear me up as much as I would think. However, the thought of you being discontent with another guy tears me up so much. I just want you to be happy. And even though what we had was the best thing I’ve ever experienced, I need you to know there is better. Much, much better. We are young, and what we felt was intensified by distance and adolescent dreams of what life could be.

You have been the biggest thing that has ever happened to me. You made so many songs make sense, you made people interesting. Your passion for life and understanding was infectious, and I was so stricken.

I read once that you should date people in a way so that if you break up, they’ll be better people because of it. Even though we did not officially date, the mere adventure of being your acquaintance has made me so much more than I could have imagined. Thank you for that. Thank you, for being you. You are breathtaking. Sometimes words fail me, and now is one of those times. I cannot fathom what you’ve been and meant to me, and how much talking to you has helped me in every conceivable way. You are a glowing individual, and one day you’re going to make someone a hundred times happier than you’ve made me, as unimaginable as that is to me.

Even though I think me saying those things might hurt you even more, I feel they need to be said. I can’t let this end without trying to express how you’ve impacted who I am. I don’t think I ever truly could, so I apologize for my feeble attempt.

I am not coming to visit this summer. A friend kept asking me to work at camp over the summer, and I kept turning him down because I thought I had control of my life. God showed me otherwise. So, I have submitted my application to be on kitchen or maintenance staff, and I hope to spend my summer trying to connect to God and other people.

I keep wanting to go into asides about everything. Whats happened this last week, what new realizations I’ve had. I want to hear about your day, what you’re doing in school, how you’re reacting to your friends insanity and inanity. I want to talk to you about how you gathered enough courage to send me that letter, and how my responses made you feel. I want to learn, examine, explore life with you. I just miss you so much more than I thought I could.

I’m not sure where this letter is going. I’m trying to find words to express something nameless, trying to answer a question that has yet to be posed. There are still a thousand things I want to say to you, but I can’t find the words. I want to apologize for another friend’s response to your message on Facebook. I read your reply and I know that she hurt you, and I’m so, so sorry that she did that.

I don’t know what I want you to become. I don’t want to forget you, and I know I never will. You’ve set the standard of what I want, and I don’t even know if anyone else could hope to come close. I’m glad we stayed pure."

I feel like I've had a passionate life.

Long Live The Chariot

I went and saw The Chariot last night. Again. I wish it could be a weekly experience, but sadly, today is there last leg of the tour, and I'm working.

drat.

I tried capturing some video on my nano, but I missed the best parts because I was too busy being blown away to remember that I should record it. This is a more whimsical moment from the night:

"Oh, my mic cord is stuck? I'll just pirouette while our merch guy untangles it."

(Sorry it's sideways.)

Another reason to love them: They're incredibly friendly and modest. They introduce themselves, hug, ask questions, show interest. Very Georgian.

I picked up 2 of their CD's, so a review of one or both should be coming... Once I review Underoath... and A Day To Remember.

hmmm...

On the plus side, excellent friends are home this weekend!

3 in 1!!!

So, three reviews in one blog post, what a privilege for you, dear reader!

First up: Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows Part 1. In a word: terrible. In two words: terribly boring. In several more words: terribly boring without any actual depth, character development, interesting dialog, creative lighting or unexpected anything. It is, at best, a shoddy collection of poorly filmed and barely connected scenes that amount to a waste of two and a half hours.

Don't waste your time or money.

Secondly: Skyline. Infinitely better than Harry Potter, and also better than expected. It has an almost identical plot to Cloverfield; people are at a party in an apartment in a big city, when something falls from the sky and strange things start to happen. While Cloverfield was game-changing and inventive, what with it's gritty, low-budget-yet-quality effects and hand held camera style, Skyline is just a bit more than a fun romp. There's layering to the movie, believable dialog, awesome special effects and shots, a mostly unknown cast and a fresh take on aliens.

While there were certainly facets of the film that weren't explored that a geek like me would love to know (mostly backstory stuff), it gave enough context clues to allow one to invent their own answers.

I would recommended hurrying to see it ASAP. Maybe wait for it to be in blockbuster, or download it illegally. If you enjoy sci-fi, this is a goody.

(And) Thirdly: A Day To Remember's new album What Seperates Me From You.

Actually, I'll review that later and (hopefully) post it along with my review of Disambiguation.

Dear Rachael:

Tertiary

I feel like my postings have gone downhill in their interest level.

But that's because I feel trapped in an in-between stage. I feel neither here nor there. Like I've lost something, but I'm holding a map to finding a better something, I just need to find North.

I always assumed getting my license would herald some sort of epic change. But. Nothing. I have no new insights. Only thing that really happens is that I misplace my phone more.

I helped out at a youth retreat this weekend, which was uncharacteristic of me (I thought), but I did it because I had no reason to say no, and I thought it would be fun. It was fun, but I thought it would be the sort of fun that makes me re-evaluate the world I live in and would leave a lasting impression. I haven't had something like that in a while. A catalyst for a mind-shift. I normally get a new perspective on life every few months, a new focus, a new issue to wrestle with.

But nothing seems to be shaping in the murk of the back of my head. I feel like I'm running in circles. My sister had to do a paper on Myers-Briggs Typology for her psych class, so I helped her since I was heavily into it at the beginning of the year. I went back and reread mine (ENTP) and it made a bit more sense, but I realized how much I haven't changed. I've become entrenched in a mindset, a lifestyle. I can't think of how to change it, or what would come of a change, or why I even should.

I'm not even sure if this is a legitimate issue or just something that I'm giving myself to gnaw on between real issues.

I'm not blue, I'm not purple, I'm in that realm beyond easy labeling, the blue-purple, the red-oranges.

I'm tertiary.

TPC and BAT. Hipster Points!

Still need to write my review of Underoath's new album, but I'm giving it it a grace period in case I stop disliking it... I'm starting to be afraid that won't happen though.

Currently listening to Tokyo Police Club (Champ), and it makes me think that life is going to change. Or that I'm going to find myself in the midst of an adorable relationship with an unpredictable girl. It's grainy music, as if it was a photo the ISO would be unbearably high.

I don't know.

I just apologized to a friend, and the band goes into the studio tomorrow, and I had a heady weekend, tried to write a list of goals, and this list doesn't have a point or connecting element.

I think I'm just trying to make sense of life. Even though it's not being confusing or throwing me curveballs.

I'm discontent in a not-unhappy way. Malcontent? I don't know.

Audrey Hepburn gave a charming description of a similar feeling in Breakfast At Tiffany's:

"No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling? "

Except this feeling is a lot more ambiguous. I'm extremely something of something, but I'm not sure which of what.

If you figure it out, please let me know.

This Week In Review

Last Thursday I had an existential freakout and deactivated my facebook, then decided to take it a step further and just turn off my computer for the week.

I got so much done.

I started reading the Bible again, which was the main reason behind the whole fast, but I also cleaned my room, finished House Of Leaves ('Wow' is all I have to say), got my G2, saw the most amazing live performance ever (also "Wow"), got stood up for the first time, took a potentially epic friendship into stages of actual adventure and a host of other joyous activities. Obviously, not all of these things were dependent on me not having electronic interference in my life, but I found it odd to have so much 'free' time. As though the things I do on the computer were actually important.

I realized the issue is I would sit down to accomplish a worthy task, like blogging or writing a letter, but I would continually be distracted by mostly pointless things.

So, my facebook is staying deactivated for now. All I really miss is scrabble. And the thousands of pictures of my nephews.

As shown by that list above, quite a bit has happened over the last week. Each could really be a blog post in and of itself, but the thing I will focus on is the performance I saw on Tuesday: the almighty The Chariot:

There was supposed to be a picture here of the band playing, a picture that captured their indescribable intensity and passion, but, as I suspected, no such can exist. It would be like a tornado, a hurricane and a forest fire all encapsulated in Coke bottle.

I've tried to describe to people over the last few days how mind blo

wingly amazing this band was, but no one seems to get it. Not that it's a fault on their end. Putting into words the glory that transpired is tough.

Oh, and Lights was there. She tweeted this photo:

This would be Josh Scogin, the frontman for The Chariot, being his wonderful entertaining self.

Another sign of how excellent this band is: I bought one of their band T's. I have a personal philosophy of not wearing graphic T's in general, esp. ones that advertise things I don't get paid to advertise.

There are only 4 bands on this planet that I would wear their merchandise, and The Chariot is one.

Also, had epic talk with one of my closest friends the ride there, and the ride back.

Oh, and earlier that day I had my first mentorship meeting. Then I got my G2.

I would say that was the best Tuesday of the week, by far.

Well, she is waking up

And she is finding out she has no pulse

Just like her "God" that she is trying to sell

But she ain't bought

Her lion is scared

Because he is finding out

She's waking up and he can't stop breaking down

And fading out as she gets up

Well, she looks around, Ariel

You have no pulse

Much like your religion, but it's fine

Just fake it

The wrath of God's grace is but an ocean to a child

Circuit Bending

I recently got into Circuit Bending, and managed to convince my art teacher to let me bend a turtle for our sculpture unit, but I have to formulate a solid opinion on circuit bending.

(For those curious as to an explanation, see here: http://www.anti-theory.com/soundart/circuitbend/ )

On one hand, it's incredibly refreshing. It requires all of one's attention, which can be incredibly calming; the downside however is that interruptions are around 5,000 times more annoying then stubbing your toe.

The real, real point of this is is that I just attached two LED's, that I salvaged from another toy, onto my turtle for art, and I was very pleased with myself and felt like sharing.

The End.

(review of Underoath's new album up once I've listened to it a few more times).

Quoth

"i like my conversation like my sleep

just as long as it's deep"

Also, this video impressed me mightily:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dgWavGttom4&feature=youtu.be

A Loss of Vision

I feel as though this blog needs something fresh.

Reading what I've written is nice, but it's all so thoroughly non-cohesive. It bounces too much. Not that I'm advocating structure, more trying to figure out what to write now. See, if I had a theme for this blog, or a fixed topic, new posts would be so much easier. As it is though, I usually just write whatever I want to whenever inspiration strikes, but what with the onslaught of lowered temperatures, inspiration has decided to stop striking.

Winter is always like this: it makes me want to hibernate. Or at the very least, curl up with a special someone under a blanket with a hot coco and a classic. But, sadly, I'm filled with longings for the unattainable, and there's only one mug beside the remote.

Another problem I have with this season is how it requires attention. In the summer, or spring, or fall, whenever a task becomes too cumbersome or uninteresting, a quick walk remedies that feeling. Or at the very least focuses my creative energies into some other effort.

Not so with winter. It's too cold, and as beautiful as snow can be, blankets of white do little for my imagination.

So, I spend my time online, accomplishing nothing and waiting for something worthwhile to transpire.

I need a hobby.

Chunk 1, Unedited or Proof-Read.

I never talk to my co-workers, I simply imagine their lives as they pass by and smile. I conjure up stories of what they do on the weekends, I misconstrue their friendly glances at each other as confirmation of secrets kept. I wrote.

And then I awoke.

I can't tell you how long I've been dreaming in narrative, but it's been this way on and off since around the time I first noticed that clouds could be mountains. My body relaxes into disconnect, and my mind fires up a thousand type-writers, sending indelible streams of ink into the prefrontal cortex of my brain, covering everything in words. Skies of grammar and ground of punctuation. If I haven't experienced it in a book, the sensation is not in the dream. The air smells of library and bergamot, and the wind whispers poetry in my ears, subtle readings of Elliot and Poe rising and falling with the temperature. The only way that colour is experienced is in that odd dream-esque way of knowing but not knowing.

And then, as sure as surfacing, she arrives.

She is comprised of the tiniest font possible, thousands of verbs and adverbs and adjectives and cliched phrases race over her flesh, are her flesh. In spite of the constant motion of her skin, she does not move, although she is never in the same position.

She is motionless in motion.

I've been seeing her for months now. She's a customer at my work, she's leaving the coffee shop right as I place my order, she's just behind the shelves in the library, on the street, in the sky and now, in my dreams.

I'm not obsessed, I'm not stalking, I wouldn't even say I'm interested. She wasn't my type, but she also wasn't so thoroughly not my type that she was my type in a roundabout way. She wasn't exceptionally plain, but didn't quite drip with that gorgeousness that some people seem to exude in place of carbon dioxide.

She simply was and simply wasn't.

Yet there she was in helvitica and times new roman, haunting me in the friendliest way possible.

I think her name was Fire.

But I'm probably wrong.

This Annoys Me and This Interests Me

"How are you?"

What does this question even mean? While it's infinitely well intentioned, it is ultimately meaningless. Can one really delve into the entirety of human existence, or sum it up with one line?

Also:

How closely can the image of God resemble before it is God? What does that say about us? What does it say about God?

Limitless Language

My mind is quite working the way it used to. That dramatic shift I spoke of in the last blog? It's apparently just a subtle change of the wallpapering in my head.

Now at the end of every day I lie awake at night and wait to feel

The wires of my brain get cut and quietly rearranged.

A thought occurred to me today: what if language was perfect in it's ability to express?

Can life ever be fully expressed through one medium? Can one mode of expression handle the immensity of everything? Obviously not, but what if it could?

What if everything we said was perceived exactly how we meant it. Whenever we whispered 'I love yous' or soberly said 'thank you,' it was taken with every ounce and pound of meaning that it was imbibed with.

Or even screams of "I hate you" could be heard with the understanding that it isn't forever, the person saying it feels like they mean it, but they don't really.

I think people would say a lot less for a long time. Then some would speak their heart and find that others out there mirrored it. Some would still sit in silence and ponder what to say until a brown eyed girl would walk over to them and ask them if they would like to dance.

And they would say "Yes."

And they would mean it.

Of course, such a world doesn't exist, but if it did, I have a feeling it would be at a disadvantage.

If life could be explained, if it could be fully understood with something as limited as language, then it would lose very much of its livelihood.

One could take the pro's and con's and wage a mighty war in prose and possibly convince some members in the audience, but in the end it's all speculation.

This isn't even an idea of a perfect world.

It's a question of limited perfection should be.

There Something Somewhere Doing Something

I feel as though I am on the precipice.

There is a great fall before me, and what is at the bottom, well, time knows.

And God knows time.

And I, well I, I simply do not know:

What is keeping me here, on this edge, here waiting for a push.

Or a slip of the foot.

I'm not sure if I'm worried or excited, and I'm not if this unknown feeling is for the fall or the inevitable moment when I land and must take stock of my new surroundings.

Sometimes everything feels so surreal that the idea that it is really real feels simply sacrilegious.

I'm not sure why I'm writing this blog like this,

this almost poem-but-still-not style of writing.

I always feel that poetry loses quite a bit in the transfer between mind and paper. Like within those few seconds, a wind gently shifts through the room and steals some of the magic.

Of course, I wouldn't be presumptuous enough to call this poetry, why, it doesn't even rhyme.

Of course, life doesn't either, and it still has that literary beauty to it that is just beyond the realms of the narrative.

Now I'm talking in prose and the meaning is all but lost, and I'm sure thats symbolic of something, maybe my desire to stagnate, a desire to not jump off this cliff.

But I think

I think

I would if I could.

But

there seems to be a wall in the way.