First and foremost sorry for the downtime. Thanks for the comments, keep hitting the site, and I'll keep doing my thing I guess. But for the time being:

She comes back for me in small doses,
I suppose its,
just a reminder of why this ended,
but it leaves my life so upended,
I wonder if that's what she intended?
I never knew what I had till it was gone,
But now that I know I'm glad this is done,
Because to see what I've become,
is to see a shell of what I used to be,
a shell of the man I formerly knew as me.
Not sure if this new me is strong,
but I'm sure he'll not be in control for long.
My former self was powerful in its ways,
and so far it won't allow anything to end its days.
It resurfaces at night in my dreams,
and I relish the power and destruction in brings.
I know it seems dark and disturbing,
but its truly this new self that's a bit unnerving.
I'm used to who I was, and not what I am,
so now I want to go back and be that man,
that I was before she struck,
but everytime she comes back, I get stuck
between transitions,
and not even the strongest nuclear fission,
could rupture me away regressing,
or maybe its progression,
hard to say.
Either way.
I know what awaits me if I don't change,
and I accept that as a child does its name.
I guess the reality of it should make me ashamed,
but how can you shame yourself,
if you're you and not someone else?

mp3? I don't have this song, but I suggest you hear it, Anthony Hamilton - I Used To Love You. So fire up what you have and do what you must to hear this song.

We know something you don't know. . .that makes us better

Well, this is another week, I suppose, with lots of things to talk about. Funny thing is I don't really care to speak about any of those things. So, here's my attempt at a short story instead.

"The usual?" she asked.
"Um. . .sure, I'll have that I guess."
She smiled and walked away, and he sighed as he looked out the window. So many people, all of them with such purpose. As the cars passed by, he tried to make believe that he was them. He always wished he could be someone else, anyone else, just so he could find out what the secret was. What could possibly drive so many people to action? Everyday, the same rut, and all for what? The emptiness that he'd felt inside so many times? He sighed again and continued watching. He noticed a sporty little red car, with a thirtysomething executive, cool shades in place, music modestly playing. Was he going home to his wife, or maybe meeting his secretary for drinks at a dive away from his neighborhood. Or maybe not. Maybe he was the type who didn't cheat simply because it was inconvenient. Too much too lose. The waitress placed his glass of lemonade on the table and two straws. He smiled at her, mumbled thank you, and begin fumbling around in his pockets looking for his medicine. Mind numbing stuff really. He wasn't sure why he took it, just that his doctor said it would help calm him. The pills slid down his throat, and he looked back out the window. Now there was a little bright pink coupe outside. The music from this car was definitely not discreet or modest, but loudly played, as if for the enjoyment for everyone else. The woman, well really the girl, inside was dancing, swaying, jerking rhythmically to what she considered apparently moving music. She was probably headed out to the mall, to cruise around with Daddy's credit card, no doubt doing her part to make sure that this economy of ours doesn't falter due to consumer disinterest. A platter of eggs was slid in front of him, with another plate of bacon and biscuits, then finally a bowl of grits. He begin unwrapping his fork, and then looked up once more at the waitress and smiled. She smiled back, and as she walked away, he wondered what motivated her? Did she have three kids and deadbeat alcholic husband who beat her? Well, maybe not three, one would a stretch of the imagination. She was so slim. And he'd never seen her bruised. He cut a deliberately precise square of butter and placed it on top of the grits. Maybe she was just working this job on the side, as she tried to become an actress, or pay off loans. Either way, it was really none of his concern. Maybe he should try minding his own business for a change. As he began eating his food, he could feel a conscious desire to ask her about herself, but it was almost as if. . .he looked at the bottle of medicine on the table. Maybe that was why suddenly he didn't care. He looked down at his plate of eggs and noticed that it was almost pulsating, throbbing, and he pushed it away. She came back by to fill his lemonade glass, and looking at him, realized something was wrong right away. She slid into the booth and looked at him.

"Are you okay, you don't look so well. Should I call a doctor?"
He looked at her as if she were foreign. She wanted to know if he was okay. Of course, he was okay. Wasn't he? He looked back at the bottle of medicine, and reading the label, was unsurprised to find that it was the correct prescription. "I'm fine, I just realized that, you know, I come in here every morning just about, and I sit here, and I eat the same thing, and I leave the same amount in tips, and everything is so familiar, but. . .I don't even know your name."

"My name?"
"Yes, your name. . .I never. . .I never was concerned. . .or maybe I was, or maybe I wasn't and I didn't realize I was, I don't know. I know this sounds like I have a problem, like I'm mental or something, or maybe like I'm drunk or over medicated. . ."
"No, no. . .no one who comes in here ever really just asks my name. I mean, guys do, a lot, but not like this. Most of them want my number before they want my name, but you. . . you really want my name?"
"Um. . . yes. . .yes I do."
She blushed a bit self-consciously, and rose suddenly.
"I really need to get back to work, you know. These tables aren't going to bus themselves."
"Wait, I'm not coming on to you, or anything I just. . .I just want to know your name."
"Well. . ." she paused. He looked nice enough, actually rather attractive, but he was always in here. What if he were a stalker who was waiting to pounce on her when her back was turned? She looked out the window at the plane passing overhead, and then back down at him. He was staring at the plane too, with a far away look in his eye, as if he were dreaming some pleasant dream. She wondered if she were in it somehow.
". . .my name is Alice, actually."
"Alice?"
"Um. . .yeah. . .look I gotta go."
"Okay, nice to meet you Alice."
Her name was Alice. He got up to leave, and reached in his pocket for three dollars. Well, maybe four this time, he thought, as he left a five on the table. She'll. . .Alice. . .will definitely put this too good use.

Why Bother - Juice Mouse Cypher (formerly Juice Mouse Zero)

My mood?

Kinda tired really. . .

I can't sleep right now so I figured I'd post something. I know it's been a while and I apologize accordingly, but it was out of my hands. Like two weeks ago I came down with the flu, then it relapsed into a cold and then the cold very nearly relapsed back into the freakin flu so I was pretty good and out of it for over a week. Since then I've been doing things like recovering, going to a nice concert last weekend and staying out late, chillin with some homies, playing some music here and there, catching up on school and trying not to get sick anymore. I also pre-ordered Halo 2 today. So really, things are back to normal and to celebrate thusly I thought I'd have trouble sleeping and post on here.

So like, would you agree that music is universally accepted as something aesthetically pleasing? It sort of dawned on me the other day that music - compared to other art forms - is much more accepted everywhere, by everyone. And I suppose this was obvious, but I had never thought of it this way before: I can think of quite a few people who don't like to read or write any kind of literature and don't like to paint any kind of pictures or even take the time to look at any kind, and I can think of plenty of people who don't enjoy taking any type or style of photograph and don't really care about looking at photographs yet I can think of no one at all who doesn't like some type of music. That's one thing I've come to appreciate about music, especially when it comes to making it. I mean, on many occasions (I find it funny how many times this has happened, actually) I've made a song, right. And I just think this song is amazing and the best thing I've ever done. And then here I have this song I consider mediocre, sort of a filler track. And man, everyone just loves the mediocre and say my amazing one is sorta so-so. And then you'll have another demographic who prefer another song, and then one load moron who likes a song that just totally sucks. You can apply this to any kind of music of course, but I just noticed it when it was happening to my own music. That's a more sensitive area I guess.

So yeah I'm excited about Halo 2 and I know I'm not the only one, so as jejune as it may sound to be this excited about a video game, I'm only one in a freakin ubiquitous and homogeneous crew that will soon be beating each other in the faces with energy swords. And rockets. This time next week. This time next week. This time next week. This time next week.

I can't afford to be wrong/my life nas become a bad song/waiting to explode in my face/and if I could, I'd erase/this bad flavor, this unholy taste/from my palate, no from my mind/and then maybe somehow I'd find/the absolution I've been seeking/the way to absolve all that which has left me weakened/from my previous strengths

So much anger, so much rage, so much. . .emotion. And I've yet to find a way to truly release all that I feel. Maybe its just that true release always means the loss of all control, and control is the last vestige of human goodness that remains. Or maybe its just that I'm not sure what it is I feel. Confused, lost, tired, frustrated, really just pick an adjective. I'm there. Either way I still feel the same word echoing through my mind: failure. Am I a failure? Or maybe just a disappointment to all who know me and care? I don't believe in predestination, but I do believe in destiny. What does that mean? No one's written a book for you, but you can surely write it with your actions. If you sow foolishly, you will reap foolishly. I don't know, maybe this is all just pointless rambling, I've never been sure of much before, and why should I feel like suddenly I need to be assured in all things. Maybe living life without that comfortable little safety net will be the savior of me. Or the death of me. That remains to be seen. Anyway, for those who read this and then become worried about my mental stability, if you didn't know by now, you should be told that I'm not mentally stable. No I'm just kidding, I'm pretty stable mentally, it's just extremely hard to keep your balance when there's nothing there to support yourself with. Things in this world seem determined to keep me topsy turvy, upside down, and off balance. This is just another session of Javann trying to right himself.

Enjoy the mp3 of the day:
What Your Soul Sings - Massive Attack

My mood?

I just need some time to think. . .

I've never been too proud/of everything I've had before

What happens when the thoughts,
stop coming for the last time?
When you can no longer rhyme?
When you're perfect world just stops?

What happens when nobody listens anymore?
When every word you have to say,
is basically so eventually it'll pay,
to be different from those cold on the floor?

Where do you go when your time is over?
When no one wants see you succeed?
When everyone just wants to see you bleed?
When intoxication is always better than being sober?

What happens when you see the world,
and realize that its worse that cold,
its a place where only the dead get old,
and even the best plans are unfurled?

When its time to leave you can't be saved.
Reach out for anything that doesn't hurt,
anyone who isn't concerned enough to be curt,
Consistent words that won't remain engraved.

Awesome song. To me at least.
Better Living Through Chemistry - Queens of the Stone Age

My mood?

Typical Monday.