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| kevin nicholas
martin
1.18.1978 charlottesville, virginia occupation
(monetary): retail clerk
bend: fiendish
observational comedian (cynic)
other: terminal ready |
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8.12.01 its a sad song and long I put it on repeat made me feel alive breaking down hurting myself alcohol and barbituates caffiene and thc mda its all junk in the head and its all been tagged before heres is my hotline you are the wanted ad & it's crazy what I could've hadit's crazy what I could've hadit's crazy what I could've had I need this I tought I needed you but its al fog inside the sphere of my eyes cos you never make sense and I want it all to stop I really do so stop kiding yourself asnwer me why does everything end up the same no matter what you do to try to make something go differently its all on a maddening loop loop loop loop loop loop till the film breaks and theres always some prole there to fix no better than you haven't figured it out yet you are no better than anyone else so don't try to front your insecurities like its someone elses fault its crazy what you could've had [about three people un-interrelated -- from Country Feedback] pnce upon
a time you lookes so fine threw the bum a dime in your prime didn't you?
6.24.01
+++ 5.23.01
5.20.01
I
know the pieces fit because I watched them fall away
4.22.01
TOOL Scan every cd in the store, print out reports, then count every tenth cd to see if they match... 8 hours, on a sunday, had to cancel my end of band practice, had to wallow in inanity for the almighty dollar, and I'm not gonna be hittin' any over time this week. What are you, did I meet you, where? Outside. I have your
comfort here
Are you in
the arms of someone new,
Where is my
succor, my hope in an alleyway
Which can
I say is real, not made out of plastic
+++ 4.03.01
Point? A few weeks back (damn, I think it was a month or two, actually), someone I knew pulled me away from my gin and tonic to tell me that the writings I have done over the past 4 or so years helped him become who he is. First off, this person hasn't really gone about doing much of anything important except doing a lot of drugs, so I find that insulting, second, so now I have a fear of putting out more of my writings because the entertainment value, the art of it, is taken away and all that is left is the reaction to it from other people. So what do I do? Buck up, fall in. I will make it something I can be proud of, wheather or not dozens of fucks ups say that a character I created when I was 17 helped them be the person they wanted to be. I don't write for them, or maybe even you, hell... I might not even be good at what I'm doing. I'll just jot down my little stories and make them flutter around like moths afire. But, to continue a metaphor from above... when someone says that your writings means a lot to them, and helped shaped them into who they are, it makes you feel like someone just fucked your wife... rather, I feel cuckolded, my precious little story's been sleeping aorund behind my back... maybe thats the price you gaotta pay when you create little people with problems and ideals out of thin air. I am a golden God. Good Advices
II 'the halflife of dreams'
on its way like Sherman through Georgia, motherfucker. out.
3.24.01
I fell in love a dozen times tonight over things that don't matter with someone I don't know, someone I'm afraid I've never seen before this week. So fuck it, and fuck you, nothing really matters, it can all truly slide... because you don't matter and I don't matter and all the love letters I could write don't matter a damn because the tide is gonna rush in and wash it all away... the meaning... what is it? Christ on a cross, Buddha on a mountain top... moses with the tablets? WE can assign the meaning and qualify and quantify a million times from Sunday, but the suffering, the starvation still stays... christ still gets the vinegar sponge with the bitter herbs and Buddha always dies the laughing idiot and Moses always ends up despised for not owning up to his own myth... but either I'm fooling myself into thinking something or the thought finally hits my brain at time when the loneliness feels unbearable... that you might be the one but I don't know, so I'm gonna stay my silent watch and sit obedient in he corner and watch my life flash by like on TV, cause only there does it seem real, like when its happening to someone else... and I feel nothing but empathy for the TEEVEE me that is nothing but electricity bumping off glass through my eyes and reassembled in my head like some kind of Dadaist wet dream of filth and sureality filtered through Byron, Poe, and Whitman. I can't recite poetry to you, or even describe what I feel in a way that seems comprehensible (and I fancy myself a writer) or even do more than nod. do more than nod and I'll show you the world as I know it... blank slate. out.
3.6.01
So I was thinking today about how just about every girl I know is a vegetarian, and trying to figure out why just about every girl I know is a vegetarian. Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe in the ethos of being a vegetarian there is some sort of life affirming thing I don't yet know. On the other hand, I now find girls who eat meat to be very erotic. I was sitting in Wendy's tonight on my lunch break and watching this redheaded girl eat a double cheeseburger and I swear I got a semi. Imagine what would happen if a saw some cute chick chowing down on a medium rare filet mignon wrapped with bacon and with a side order of au gratin spuds. I think one of the tenants that any girl that I'd date would have to be the appreciation of a good steak, 'cuz a good steak is a work of art, and needs to be treated as such. I'm tired of greenie veg head vegan cuddle the bunnies type girls, I know too many. I want a girl that'll chow down on some fried chicken and biscuits with me and then guzzle some Red Hook ESBs. Is that too much to ask, God? Another thing? How come every girl I know is also a flake who can't deal with their emotions? (this comment excludes Kate, My Mom, and two co-workers) How come just about ever girl I know socially is a damn flake? Why can't I ever have a conversation with a girl (outside work, Kate and my Mom) where the girl doesn't come across as either a raving feminist who doesn't think before she speaks or some kind of hippie freak? Is every girl in the goddamn town on fuckin' crack? How the hell do you turn a conversation about the virtues of ergonomic backpacks into some fucked up femme nazi diatribe about how guys who want girls to have big boob should be forced bear the burden of back problems in turn for the fun bags? I DON'T EVEN LIKE BIG BOOBS! WE WERE NOT TALKING ABOUT BOOBS!! BACK PACKS!!! ERGO-NOMIC BACK-PACKS!!!! Oh yeah, I LIKE HITTING SMALL WOODLAND CREATURES WITH MY CAR!!! I don't wanna hear about how damn sad you were that you ran over a squirrel. I AIM FOR THE MOTHER FUCKERS!!!!!!!! YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT YOU LITTLE KAMIKAZE NUT EATER, YOU ARE ROAD KILL, JUST TRY TO CROSS THE ROAD IN FRONT OF THE FORD ESCORT OF DEATH!!!!!!!! Little gray chirping bastards. A meat eating, cold hearted woman... A can't think of one that exists. Or maybe that's everyone of them? Who knows, man, all I know, is that in a town of 50,000 people with roughly half that being my age, I cannot meet a normal girl for the life of me. When I do meet a girl, its usually an example of the fairer sex that shouldn't be used as an example for the fairer sex. WHy are they all damaged to the point where having a simple conversation is a chore? How come when a girl talks to me about having BOY problems I'm all "suck it up!", and when a guy is testifying to girl problems I SCREAM AMEN TO THE HEAVENS PRAISE THE SAVIOR TESTIFY MY BROTHER!!! I guess I'm a misogynist. Or maybe a misanthrope with misogynist leanings, mostly cus all the girls I know are dumb (excluding kate, co-workers and my mom). but then a gain, boys are dumb too. OUT.
3.3.01
I worked so much this week, and over the past few that I got a promotion, complete with responsibilities and benefits and all kinds of wierd shit. I finaly linked the IWARP terminal ready page and this one together, or rather, this one to that. I still am always tired and feeling down, but thats life, you know. I've been awake for almost 24 hours and my brain is starting to itch, been running photoshop alot to get fliers done and playing bass so much my fingertips burn at all times. I've taken to writing on the paper bags from Plan9 on the spur of the moment and using them to gleen parts of Good Advices from. I promis parts 2 and 3 will be out quickly and will pobably be the same issue.
OUT.
2.14.01
Been working, so I haven't had the chance to update, and, to top things off, I really don't have anything to talk about or to say that has any importance whatsoever. But here is a photo I took of a friend in High School, trip down memory lane, as it were:  Wow, a new year. Didn't really notice, too busy dealing with shit I shouldn't have to and coming to several realizations. 1. Never expect
someone to keep a promise.
But for some reason, I am in one of the best moods I've had in months. I could ramble on about something random or philosophical... but I think I will pose a question, and feel free to answer by emailing me. The question is: What IS post-rock, and was there a pre-rock, or is this another excuse for artfags to make noise and gentrificate it by labeling it to garner legitimacy? OUT. Merry Christmas... it was fun. I saw Cast Away today and it was a great movie. It has made me think of something a little off the point from most things and an idea that isn't even spoken of in the movie. Photographs play a huge part in the movie, it gives the main character something to strive for, it paints the back stories and the things left unsaid by the characters into a massive, detail ridden collage. My life is sparsely DOCUMENTED at best. I must start to change this. OUT. 1.30 AM Sketch (metaphor): Like a clock, its gears turning under the force of the never ending circle, a snake eating it's own tail, everything bleeds into everything else. It is to the point when everything has been wind blown, blurred. A painting of water colors left in the rain. Eventually the rain stops. The paper dries, and the colors, bled though they are, regain a little dignity by becoming defined, though bled together. Eventually, every thing becomes clear and worries are washed away, sadness relieved, and the numbness taken away like a child in the night. You never notice it, but it happens... burdens lifted, darkness yields to the light as the fog lifts and everything takes a brighter breath and allows the sun within to heat the insensate. An end to paralysis, an end to the ever present NUMB. The wheels lock, and the gears grind into each other... the clock stops keeping time and the snake realizes it'd rather not eat itself. It takes a step back from itself and looks around; what does it see? Maybe a smile? Maybe the sun rising over the rolling hills of the Piedmont. Or maybe it sees it's own reflection in the sky and doesn't like what it sees. As quickly and abruptly as it ground to a halt, the clock's gears skip a beat and it begins to keep time again while the snake goes back to it's cannibalistic (immolation?) snack. 2.09 AM
OUT.
12.19.00
It's snowing, I've got a bad chest cold, I've work from 5 to 11pm tonight. This is what I'm talking about... I need to come to grips that I am the detritus that Nietzsche called the bungled and the botched. Its not that I don’t realize that I am a little piece of nothing (save for the few people I call friends and family), I know this and I am fine with it; I just need to remember that I am in no way better than other people. You see, I am a cynical, bitter, misanthropic man. I understand this, and I cannot see myself being anything but. However, the people who give me shit are not worse than me or better than me. Yes, they may yell, and bitch and be assholes and hard to work with, but they are human, just like me. Sure, they yell at me for Plan 9's electronic checking system and the fact that they find whatever song on whatever album is being played at the moment offensive, or how the line isn’t fast enough, or how they’re too stupid to realize everything is in alphabetical order (I had to explain alphabetical [definition of word and as a concept... ‘You know... like a dictionary....’] to someone today...), and I have to smile and take it and apologize cuz if I say what’s on my mind at that moment (which usually equals something along the lines of ‘I hope you never get a chance to breed...’); I get fired. Its not fair that I have to be a shit sponge for the greater community of C’ville, but hey... everyone gets their lot tossed and you’re stuck with it. What good does do to bitch about it, if I bitch loud enough will all the overpaid idiots change their ways? No, of course not... doesn't mean I won't bitch, though. They have their high paying jobs and gold card SO they CAN treat me like shit to make themselves feel better about themselves. I am a whipping boy... I take shit from you so you don’t go home and beat your wife and kids... am I doing them a favor? No... I am the Amazing Smiling Stress Relieving Plan 9 Clerk... tell me to fuck off cuz we don’t have “A Travis Tritt Christmas” so you don’t go to jail for killing your lovely broodmare of a yuppie wife in a drunken rage... I get paid for it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't effect me. It’s serfdom all over again, indentured servitude, wageslavery. My dice got tossed that way, whether it be fate or my own misguided ideas of who I am (and how that shapes how I live), and I have to live with. They have to live with a mortgage and gold cars, SUVs and stock markets... I have to live with shitty pay and high stress. I don’t blame anyone, that’s counterproductive. The only person that can improve my life is myself... yeah, well, big fucking deal. The world would go a lot smoother if people would just be nice to each other... common public decency. What good does it do me to have you give me shit cuz of Plan 9's checking system? It doesn’t change the situation... it doesn’t change anything except making my life difficult, you’re check is still gonna get scanned andgiven back to you along the line anyway... I don’t get it? But you all will go on buying SHIT for your UNGRATEFUL children, conceived with the help of fertility drugs, that they don’t NEED, in the name of a holiday that you don’t UNDERSTAND or really care about. You will help the fake economy say I can only earn 6 dollars an hour. You will keep America in a state of political quagmire and stagnation (Bush’s election is a step backwards, and proof that the citizens of this country are Morons). You will keep yelling and cursing and belittling me for no reason whatsoever. You wonder why I am so bitter, mean, cynical, misanthropic. You wonder why I HATE YOU WITH A WHITE HOT PASSION. I am what happens when you forget compassion. I am what happens when you forget how to be polite. I have to tolerate you, even though I don't want to. Its so sad. I tolerate you cuz I need a paycheck... One of these days, and I hope it happens soon, something very bad will happen to you. I seem to have been born with a talent for writing. Whether or not I'm actually good at it I have yet to figure out. I hope I am, cuz if I'm not, I have to put up with all of you for a hell of a lot longer than I'd have hoped for.
I wish I could feel something different, but I can't. Everyday I wake up and wait with baited breath for the moment when i go back to sleep... cuz when I'm sleeping, I don't have to put up with you and all your stupid, petty bullshit. The sad thing is how little and silly the shit is... check scanning, having to order a CD, traffic, bills, rudeness. A little meaning....? Please? Everything stopped making sense and now I'm left cold, alone, waiting for a tomorrow that will hold only a fading xerox of today. OUT.
12.3.00
Busy. Working a lot, haven't been writing much 'cuz of band stuff, getting those ducks into the rows they should be in. Ian moved out of my house yesterday to go on his mission, so the house feel weird. Considering that the house I live in right now was the house I grew up in (my parents moved out 5 years ago), it feels like an old shirt, comfy and soft and homey... but now Ian's gone, and the shirt doesn't feel right anymore. He hasn't been gone a full day yet. Gonna go see him at the airport on tuesday morning to see him off. Gonna miss that Buttery Scotsman. He is a great guy and I wish him the best of luck out in the Sunshine State preaching the word of God to those heathen Californians. On the other hand, he was pretty mush my social life during the week, and a good portion of the weekend as well, and now he's gone, so... I have no social life, good god I'm pathetic. But that doesn't change the fact that for two years I'm not going to see one of my Best Friends.
Ian has left the building. OUT.
11.22.00
I'm having my first full day off in 38 days tomorrow for Thanksgiving, the vaguest holiday that we celebrate here in America. Considering that the majority of the people I know are non-religous, I must say that a religious holiday like this is a little on the absurd side. I think the biggest problem with something like this is the massive rift between leisure class and working class. It seems to me that the only people who can afford to take a day off and eat turkey and watch TV and give thanks of the nebulous to the nebulous are a minority, these are the same people who drive SUVs and go to UVA football games. They are the same people that are rude to their waitresses at restaurants and get into car accidents in which the cops automatically take their side for the sheer fact that they are white, suburban and moneyed. The people I know, the people I live with, the people hang out with are the people who SERVE these types of people, thanklessly. We put up with their shit when they don't what they want, we put up with their oversized cars in parking spaces that are too small, their sarcastic comments when they need YOUR help. We carry their loads, we fix their cars, we sell them shit they don't need, just too keep the economy (which is fake, anyway) in a state that keeps them where they are and us trapped in retail, kitchen and other shit jobs for the rest of our lives. We get no thanks, we get no courtesy. We get harassed and belittled.
On another note, I was in Fashion Square Mall last week and a school field trip descended onto this fine monument of consumerism like flies to the ass of a horse on a hot summers day. I was puzzled, so I go up to a group of kids and ask them why their school found it necessary to bring them to the mall on a school day when they could be in a classroom learning about Proust or thermal dynamics, maybe even some objective history lessons. They said the school brought them there to help them be better consumers. Another case of the government fueling and brainwashing youth with co-op pop culture and the religion of the dollar. Our culture is sold to us over the TV and all our heroes are test marketed and catch phrased our myth is a movie of the week. This is not good, but I still thinks its nice to have a day off of work tomorrow. OUT.
11.19.00
Had a rather cathartic night Friday, rented some movies with Will, a Chinese film called Sex and Zen, which was this amazing conglomeration of soft-core porno and a knock down Zucker Brothers comedy (higly reccomend) and Cannibal the Musical. Then I sort of got carried away with some stuff and had a black out period in which I think I unloaded on some people who didn't really deserve it. I hope I didn't piss any one off, even though I think I might've made an ass out of myself. But then again, you have to do that every once and a while. Besides, I felt great the next day, I was even chipper at work, which is a rarity on Saturdays at Copernicus. Matter of fact, the near whimsical-ness of my constitution did not wear off until somewhere around 8pm, so I got some pizza and went home, listened to music. Worked on Good Advices a lot over the past two days. Sometimes you talk to someone whom you've had thousands of conversations with over the years and you start to see them in a different light, and everything makes a little more sense.
OUT.
11.16.00
I woke up this morning, well, it wasn't really morning; it was more like 11.30am. I slid my glasses on my face and stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes, noticing the milky and dead quality of the light coming into the room through the window. I finally drug my ass out of dead, standing, looking for my pants, I looked out the window. My room is on the second floor of my house, except the back of the house is on slight slope, so even though I'm on the second floor of the house, on the back, including the basement, I'm on the third. Anyway, I looked out the window. A beautifully melancholic gray sky, with the skinny skeleton fingers of leaf-less maple trees dancing in the breeze in front of it. I caught the descent of a golden leaf as it spiraled down to the ground, floating and dancing on the twin pulls of gravity and wind. It fell like it wanted to, like it needed to, and that it wouldn't be complete if it didn't. It tumbled and twisted and finally landed on the ground. Silent.
OUT.
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