Duo

Time flys by,
I stand Idly,
The wind urges me on,
I wait endlessly,
I can see you behind my veil of shame,
But never will you see me,
for time flys by,
and you follow it

My previous post was rather abstract, and incohesive but it will set the tone for my major beliefs. If I am completly honest, I would say that that last post was out of character, and poorly orchestrated. I simply needed to lay down what I believe, more to myself than anyone else. Much of my blog will likly be me trying to pick up the pieces of my life, in the aftermath of my first breath. As you can easily see, i am no poet, my words are stumbling and brash, but words I write are words i need to speak.
I am, as all who know me realize, consumed by music. I always have been,  but now i find myself faltering. I am taking in training in several fields living to the expectations of perfection in each by my parents. I am rather fryed trying to do this, and keep up all my grades. My parents are passive agressive, guiltripping fools who do nuthing but raise rebelion in my heart. Fortunatly i have found a release in music, a sort of santuary. I can feel complete when im playing any instrument, be it bass, guitar, or purcussion. unfortunatly im not playing an instrument when im speaking to themwhich makes me stressed and angry, and there is never enough time to play away my pain. I never know what my parents will think of my gradesomtines they get extremly pissed off at a "b-" but just yesterday i got a "c-" and they took my excuses!! this sort of unpredictability has me about to snap everytime I see them. All this is compounded with the stress from a social life at school, my grades, and trying to decide which instrument to devote the rest of my life to.
    BUUuuuuuUUUUuuuuuUT enough with my emonessess. I Just got a brand new amp and it cost me nuthing thousand dollars and nuthing cents. Its a Genz-Benz el diablo one hundred wat head with an old genz-benz cab i dont kno the name of the cab but is  a four ten inch speaker cabnet. Its wonderful, my bass teacher gave it to me, the head is on loan but the cab is officialy mine. heres a pic.

The new amp is the tall fourten on the left. My strat is next to it. the bass and bass cab to the left of it are mine and the fender hotrod delux and hamer daytona are my fathers. the rest is historicaly mine. Fortunatly my parents dont give a shit about how lowd i am in the bassment studio. Thats my music zone, the only thing that would make it better would be if i could be out in nature while playing.
    I feel tired tonite and will have a long day of practicing to do tomorrow so i leave you with a thought.
The spirit of death does not fight with the spirit of life, she provides for life, sustains life, and returns that life to the next.

unum

In A moment of inspiration, words are penned
Imperfect blank and meaningless,
Useless letters, abortive markings,
Fall upon the ears of the wind, unperceived until
The ears of the vigilant receive,
And in a moment of inspiration, words are penned.

Often times throughout our lives we can see that we are small. We can find that we as mortal beings are not as important as we once thought. We see life through the eyes of an outsider to humanity.
The significance of our lives fades into the background. From such a height we see that our lives are governed by the very thing we do our best to "conquer." The clouds roll in and we change our lives. The sun shines and we change our lives. The wrath of a storm kills, and the furry of the oceans drown. There is nothing for man to do to stop it. It is beautiful and terrible at once. To this divine power we are nothing, we have no reason to try to change anything, and at once in a flash of inspiration, we come to a realization. We do not inhabit or possess the earth; the earth owns and keeps us. A flash of inspiration and the rock candy melts, and we have naught but diamonds. We cannot look upon our lives and consider anything we do as a service to nature, we should see the very ground below us as a blessing from nature, a gift which could be taken in an instant from us. An entity this powerful intrigues man, who in turn will seek the source of the power and the face of the plight.
As we search we overlook the true identification of the power. We can see it the flashes of lightning. We can hear its voice in the wind upon the leaves. We can read its history in the branches of the willow. And we can feel its touch in the rain upon our faces.
Today I saw the powers divine beauty in a way I have never herd before. The great trees of my land are becoming cold,
They are loosing their tenacious grip on summer and the life of the sun. The many hands of the trees become weary and fall, blanketing the ground with a carpet of amber and yellow, awaiting the arrival of the march of the autumn spirit. So too will I wait for the march. When it comes I will follow it winding path through the creations.
Upon these thought a topic has been brought to my attention. It is with much apprehension that I bring this to the stage of written word. A young man by the name of Asa Coon has just open fired upon his schoolmates, then turning the gun to his own head, pulled the trigger. 'tis the season of death and now we are all mindful that death is around the corner, regardless of what shape or what body the spirit of death takes, she is always near, haunting everything that breaths and bringing sweet release to the soul of nature to those who have waited patiently.

With a final thought of our fragility I leave this post. Purely impersonal, and external, my thoughts expand from the ties that bind me to the earth.
Heed these words, and feel the wind upon your brow. Only then can we feel oneness with the power