shows

4/1/2005
Breather Resist, Hot Cross, Achilles, Coliseum, Lords, Transistor Transistor and The Holy Shroud
Hazelwood Lodge in Elison Park
Fri
5:00 P.M.
Rochester, NY

4/1/2005
The New York Rock Opera Presents Alice Cooper's Welcome To My Nightmare
Penny Arcade
Fri

Rochester, NY

4/3/2005
Acceptance, As Tall As Lions, Copeland and Lovedrug
The Furnace
Sun

Syracuse, NY

4/13/2005
As I Lay Dying.. Throwdown, All That Remains and Winter Solstice
Penny Arcade
Wed

Rochester, NY

4/14/2005
Madball
Penny Arcade
Thu

Rochester, NY

4/21/2005
Agony Scene, 3IOB, Trivium, Still Remains
Penny Arcade
Thu

Rochester, NY

7/21/2005
Ozzfest Tour featuring A Dozen Furies, Arch Enemy, As I Lay Dying, Black Sabbath, Bury Your Dead, In Flames, Iron Maiden, It Dies Today, Killswitch Engage, Mastodon, Ozzy Osbourn, Rob Zombie, Shadows Fall, Soilwork, The Black Dahlia Murder, The Haunted, Trivium and Zakk Wylde Black Label Society
Darien Lake
Thu.

Darien, NY

come on!
look into the face of suicide
the sexiest face alive
I'm right here in this wall of potographs
a thousand artists
strove there hardest
to frame my classic smile

the world worshiped me
as my dress began to slip
the world longed for me
from lips to hips
the world begged for me
as my smile began to slip

but they never saw it
there was no black lipstick
no dark eyeshadow
none of those classics
to let you know
I was asking
what was left for me to long for?
when the world was mine?

the sexiest smile ever
the face of suicide
that the world loved so well
but I didint love it any more...
I was long gone.
only the sexy smile remained
it was a long time ago
that I said,
"goodbye Norma Jean"

I feel like alot of stuffs been happening, and I've let alot of stuff pass me that sould have happend.
but I don't think much of it's worth writing about, so anyway here's another poem.
it's a bunch of splimterd thought revloving around one thing. I hope you don't understand it.


when the traveler returns
I remember when she left
as yesterday
this empy year
reeks of
second hand music
second hand frindship
second hand conviction
second hand love

sitting five peiws behind me
whith a turn of my head
you have broken my silence
not the silence between us
that remains even now unchanged
you have broken my sece-fire
my agrement not to think
of my silent half loves
so menny
and so far from being hole
of my unwriten poems
of my unscreamed somgs
of my unpainted masterpaice
of the batles I have not fought

we are seperate
and I am seperat form the seperated
but I wach you,
you beatiful thing
running, breathing
smiling, singing
sitting, swinging
praying, healing
I've seen you cry
pure real tears
they showed me what you are
they made me love you
you remind me
of everything I wish I was.

experiments in string theory? I don't know?

i love to play piano
at night
when I'm half asleep
slowing my mind, and letting my fingers move
down scales they know so well
and across notes that shouldn't fit
aranging shapes and colors as i please
and with the crash of disharmony i shatter then
and let the splinters spread.

to slowly watch as the sky becomes an A
the trees become a D
the moon shines as a G
a summer night becomes a C

stringing together memorys
momens long gone
desires, moment that have never been
faces and wrists
wraped in vines and moonlight
fade back and forth
between the glisten of snow
and the glisten of blood
shining with a self-hatred only the bleeding understand
Dear God
i hide under the covers
where i was once a sleeping dragon resting in my lair
on this piano seat my back is exposed
for the stabbers who stand in the darkness around me
who crept in, invited by my demonic notes
their knives as sharp as the black keys
play a C and they cant touch me
i play a C and they cant touch me

i don't understand this song
i don't know where it is going...
but this is the only song I know.

the makeing of the oath

Draw the edges closer, frame it in
the image pushes back fighting it's borders
it thrashes for release as I holed this frame
around it's restles desperate boarders
it yearns with every turn of my hed
"sece your motion fool" it will not be stilled
it will not hold still
every lip- every eye
every lash- every line
every patch- every hair
every stich- every tare

my heart was carved from fundementals of stone
convictions formed of the purest ideals
nourished by a chileds faith
streghtend my a youthes passion
splintered by the mind of an adult
and it's broken faithless logic

I have wached the rare raidiant vistion
wached it grow, and believed in it
then wached it crack, wached it crumble
and we all choke on it's dust
but I shall shake this dust from my shoulders
spit this mud from my lungs with an oath
that when my time comes...

I shall be stronger
I shall be truer
than you all.

run is circles beneath my wings, as if you where going somewhere

I'm thinking about alot of things I can't talk about.

I am angry and sad about alot of things.
if you know what I'm talking about... (than you know)
if don't know what I'm talking about, than don't worry about it

.

sunday~ comes early. I rise with the dawn
I walk among the religius,

monday~ caotic, I lean into the wind

tuesday~ setaparet, sacred from it's peirs,
full of a beauty all it's own

wednesday~ strong, laced with invention,
and I pour out the music wich grows in me

thuresday~ is silent, undefined and restfull

friday~ agian they shall rise against me, and again they shall . fall and the night shall bring fellowship, healing my wounds

saterday~ a day of rest, restless rest, and the desire for more

I wish I had a heart of war

Friday, Friday, Friday

Psyopus
Day Without Rian
the Network
Renouf

at the penny Arcade
8:00
I'm not shure how much it costs
but it shouldn't be much

so if you live in rochester and enjoy hevy chaotic music
you know what you have to do.

car

well, I now have a car.
a 1990 buick century, given to me by my grandmother.
I greatly apreciat this gift, I have been kneeding a car badly and if I had bought one it wouldn't have been this nice, it's been kept in a garadge most of it's life and not drive much, it's really very nice considering it's age.
This gift is bittersweet because it means my gramdmother will no longer be driving.
she is moving into a apartmint and her house will soon be sold.
she will no longer be coming over every morning to help out around the house and do the ironing.
she will no longer stop by with extra groserys or random things to give us, she'll no longer tell me how much she loves hearing me play piano.
any way, it makes me sad and I'll miss seeing her every day.

a prayer to sleep

(remembering that I once felt)

these thoughts that form from shadow and mist
these thaoughts that form fingers to fist
they dance as shadows on the wall
they speak of the forgoten call

tonight grant me this prayer

lay me down as the dead
let there be no dreams found in this bed
let me rest with the decayed
let all mortal thought hear fade
lay me down in linnen white
my thoughts as still as a stone tonight
let all for one night be gone
pray...
reserect me with the dawn

I wish I had a heart of war

No matter how ruined man and his world may seem to be, and no matter how terrible man's despair may decome, as long as he continues to be a man his very humanity continues to tell him that life has meaning. That, indeed, is one reasone why man tends to rebel against huimself. if he could without effort see what the meaning of life is, and if he could fulfill his ultimate purpose without trouble, he would he would never question the fact that his life is worth living. Or if he saw at once that life had no perpose and no meaning, the question would never arise. In eathor case man would not find himself so much of a problem.
Our life, as individual persons and as membors of a perplexed and struggling race, provokes us with the evidence that it must have meaning. part of this meaning still escapes us. Yet our purpose in life is to discover this meaning, and to live according to it. We have, therfore, something to live for. The process of living, growing up, and becoming a peson, is precisely the gradually increasing awarness of what that somthing is.


Prologe to, No Man Is An Island by Tomas Merton.