Jordan Daniel

Whether Jordan is writing acoustically under moniker Borderline Angelic, scratching out club beats with experimental project Electric Dreams Fantasy Boy, exploring 8-bit sounds and field recording with the electronic Pareidolia, or even playing homage to David Byrne and early ska in Captain Sizzle At The CBGB - the founder of Sudden Epidemic and the "voice" of Jane Lane plays music wherever he goes.

When not dancing the tango with lady Music herself, Jordan enjoys croquet, Regina Spektor, cooking, The Dark Knight, Magic: The Gathering, composition notebooks, horror movies, Terry Gilliam, concerts, quidditch, Blue Indigo, Mel Brooks, Richard Linklater, Photoshop, the internet, Godspeed You! Black Emperor, milk, Stanley Kubrick, new wave, Moog, the color pink, and the number 136.

One Day I'll Fail To Breathe, And All You'll Have Is Memories

So tomorrow I brave the treacherous battlefield of PDX, and hopefully return safe-and-sound at Denver International in the early afternoon with just enough time to bring in the New Year. 2007 seems like an exciting year already - dreams and aspirations fueling my perseverance and determination. The endless roads of where my life could head in the next few months is almost too much - "it's enough to make a man explode". I just have to take a deep breath, keep my eyes open, and remember to go with the Hoppus. Oh yes, 2006. You were quite the comedian.

Since I will probably either be too tired or far too deep into the celebrations tomorrow night, I will be dedicating this double feature of a blog to old man Time and anyone who survived this last chaotic year. Imagine it now: The marquee reads "ONE NIGHT ONLY" and spotlights etch across the starry sky. Thousands upon thousands flock to the velvet red carpet to reserve their seat for the greatest show of the next year: 2007! The two-thousandth and seventh year since somebody claimed a beatific infant was brought into the world aside three wise men and an assortment of barnyard animals! This calls for some sort of celebration! We've created a holiday and stolen a calendar system from the Romans! The world is blessed!

As joking aside, the lights lower and the curtain goes up on the events of your past year. A movie clip montage from the Academy Awards of the good, bad, and terribly anarchistic moments of the past year! Mine would display as follows - using a simple list and some generic keywords:

Champagne from a paper cup, white lights over bare branches, letters from a long lost love, a mix tape and hot tea on my bedroom floor, writing beginnings but never endings, a black hat and a trip to Wendy's, linguine and passion, Topper Revue and 'Kings Of The Land Of Crunk', a state wide trip fueled by Christopher Walken and The Alan Sparhawk Project, the final days of Olions, so freed the chains of Los Alamos High School, my imminent defeat, traveling across the country, Kings at Ian's, Panic! At The Phix, playing on a run down guitar at the "Hot Monkey Love Cafe", drunk concert goers and cries of 'Maaaarrrrrbbbbbllllleeeee....', tapioca balls and strange looks, Happy Hollow and too much Katamari, Friday The 13th for the Nintendo Entertainment System, Godspeed records and doorbells on back doors, and an exhausting trip...

The Diner and the sounds of 'socials' from Miss Casey, letting go, falling victim to some sick cosmic game, a gigantic step forward into Colorado, elusive Comcast buildings and Byron, Cursive live, drunken Uno and resulting delirium, Patrick Swayze, multiple coats, Boulder and Marb at 5 AM, stuck in the snow, a fateful day, may Kasher be with you, the degradation of my sanity, Jean's tattoo, the Plus 44 show, long days and some Spicy Pickle, meeting the one-and-only Lexi, a 'sexy party', Regina Spektor and my family in Oregon, and then...

With an epic crash of cymbals, the music cuts short. And then? And then what? What will I find in this next day? What will I experience when I wake up and go on with my life as I have been doing for the last three-hundred-and-sixty-five days? Everything. Nothing has been left out. I will watch the New Year come and go with the same sweet nostalgia - the same blinding sparklers - and the same pop of champagne. This 'new beginning' will undoubtedly...begin. Just like planned. Time will continue it's endless march. I will not be different, nor the same come midnight tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will know that much more about the world. Myself. My life. I will know that much more about the people around me - the frivolities and drunken inconsistencies aside. I will know that much more about how I feel about...everything. How I feel about these new I feel about I feel about being able to always start a Chapter One but never, ever finish.

This must be it. Welcome to the New Year.

Bailamos A Oscuras

Well, I'm here in my family's apartment for another day - the continuing joke that is the Denver International Airport and the smiting of God's snowy hand upon it has left me deadlocked without point or purpose. I will probably be returning to Denver the day after next; hopefully the apartment is not/was not on fire. At least it's comforting to know that no one has released the creature. Yet.

I've had a lot of fun here in Salem, don't get me wrong. It was so unbelievably great to be with my family - spend time with everyone and get back to how I grew up. I love seeing my sisters - reciting fun movie lines, making stupid jokes, just being weird all-around - and I hope I fill my position of 'little brother' good enough for the time being. I love seeing my parents - I get to spend more time with my dad now because of his new job, and I think that now - after my senior year, graduation, band stress, and much more - my mom can relax a little bit (I'm such a fuss, I know). Also, being able to just sit alone and think to myself has been great. Just relaxing - watching movies, playing games, playing guitar and writing songs - all things I thought I could do back in Denver, but are so much different here. It's been a great time.

I do hope to return in time for a joyous celebration of the New Year, which I have decided in an off-hand sort of way is my favorite holiday. There's some aura that sparkles so slightly in that one night. The atmosphere is warm even when it's freezing. Whether it has been the somewhat crazy events of Fabry's annual get together - something about 'death sauce' and David Byrne - or champagne from a paper cup on a couch in Zac's shed - listening to Ryan produce loud, drunken sounds from his guitar and spending the last seconds of the year 2005 in the air. Whatever it is, the memory of New Years itself always compares to the mass accumulation of memories from the year before. It always sticks with me until the next year rolls around. It allows me to do what I'm doing right now - reminisce and swell with nostalgia.

Who knows where I will find myself at the end of this year? In the basement of my drummer's house discussing Freud and how humans open bananas wrong? Snowed in at my apartment with Tyler and Dustin listening to our perfectly selected soundtracks? Will I be spending the last draining seconds on the phone with someone...anyone...spilling my soul? In the immortal words of The Chemical Brothers...

"Where do I start? Where do I begin?"

Somewhere beneath a vanilla sky. Somewhere sitting on the couch between a girl I've never met and my grandfather discussing literature. I'll be back to playing croquet at lunch breaks and believing what I write. I'll find myself somewhere solving mysteries with Nancy Drew, or turning Japanese. I'll finally board those fateful clouds I spoke of in years past - the last liner to cross the starry expanse. I'll jump so high I never come down. I'll drag out the 'olde' record player and dance the twist and mamba to the sounds of The Beatles and Tim Kasher. I'll list inconsistencies and impossibilities with great ease - laugh at my own humor - and make a toast to that brand new day. I am so excited; I can't even express it.

We'll be dancing in the dark.

We'll be flying like trapeze artists.

We will not be afraid.

The History Books

I spent my day in solitary confinement; all for my own good. My throat has calmed down a bit, and now all that remains is my innate case of insomnia and a piercing headache that only knocks at the edge of my skull when I stand up. The day was filled with the consumption of water, Patricia Arquette, and bell tones of a 'G' note ringing through my head (no matter how I play that back, I won't be able to find that perfect note I'm looking for). I need casette tape and a cup of coffee. Now.

I tried to put my thoughts on hiatus for today - tried to hold back from letting anything disturb this serene sense of 'nothingness' that has glazed over the pain in my head - but to no avail. I found my tired mind drawn back to here (even though my words are sparse and I feel empty of things to say). My glasses sit precariously on the end of my nose, and my fingers bleed softly from the endless fiddlings of my musical obsessions. I discovered once again that twelve-string guitars are both physically and mentally exhausting.

So, what do I babble now? A senseless list of my invisible scheduling for the next few, uneventful days? I will attempt to regain my head. I will be flying back - Flight 792 - to Denver on December 30th (weather permitting; nature seems to playing a cruel game with the citizens of Colorado). I will either spend an uneventful New Years here in Salem, or I will be spending an uneventful (but probably intoxicated) New Years back home with Locke and Jean. I will attempt to finally finish writing down what's been floating around in my head. I will attempt to find a new four-track. I will wish it into existence! That is my dream!

My thoughts have wandered like jazz - playing hopscotch over the ebony and ivory keys of this seemingly silent piano. I have thought of her. I have not thought of her. I have searched my maps endlessly for the right way out, but I have failed. I have flipped the switch of every light in every room of my house - looking for some warmth or enlightenment in every corner. I have watched my phone ring away - not even bothering to pick it up let alone see who has called. I have planned my attack - placed my troops. I have perfected all the language I need. I have stumbled through the meaning I've once held, but now lost. I'm reading something about a beet.

"Somedays aren't yours at all;
They come and go as if they're someone elses days.

They come and leave you behind someone elses face."

I kept flipping on the computer today for no apparent reason. Every time - wandering with a sense of aimlessness, yet fierce with a sense of programmed action. It's like I was expecting something to happen. I was expecting something horrible - or something fantastical - to find it's way to me via this endless expanse we call the internet. My "friends" are a click away. My memories are recorded in an efficient, time-saving self-recording calendar archive. Our entire world teeters on the edges of our search engines and our news sites; every breath turned into nothing more than: "01110011 01101001 01100111 01101000".

I wanted something drastic to happen. My connections to sever - for those enticing red and blue banners (screaming 'NEW MESSAGES!' and 'NEW FRIEND REQUESTS!') to flash in seizures. I wanted some lost soul - someone living behind a name and a painted face - to sacrifice their pride for their honesty. I wanted something inside these electric light parades - these interconnected expanses of information bubbling over in an ever-boiling melting pot - to become human. To feel the way we feel. To dream the way we dream. I always wonder how I can never get across my thoughts the way I truly mean them - I wonder why the electric impulses in my brain cannot be duplicated and translated into a computer's electric impulses. I wonder how much our mechanics can differ from that which stands before me (recording my fingers and their movements, but never really getting my real message across). When will we discover the possibilities, and watch ourselves be destroyed?

That's one for the history books.
Please God, save us from our digital apocalypse.


Alexis made a good point this evening. I'm scaring everyone away.

I've fallen into the perfect trap; a trap that allows me to be hurt in one direction, or hurt in another. It's hard enough to stay standing in this endless battle for someone who cares - someone who can share that unique connection. I'm pitted against my comrads for that feeling of completion - that missing link that holds our brittle beings to that abstract concept called 'love'. It's hard enough to raise our flags in triumph, let alone survive the violence of process.

Now, I have been all but chained - bound and gagged - an open target and a useless opponent. The dark ring that once laid around my finger hangs like a noose around my neck; that ring that once kept my heart in contract to Alexandra. I might as well give up right now - the results are in. I have no place in trying to 'feel' again - I am expected to realize my mistakes and suffer for eternity in return. Thanks for the fucking benefit. I couldn't be more thankful.

Who is plotting these chess moves against me? Who is trying harder than ever to kick the sand in my face and tell me to 'stay down'? I'm sick of not being able to actually fucking live my life because of the ghosts of my past. Whether or not they still haunt me and keep me awake at night, I am expected to tell the same spooky stories over and over again for the tourists to hear (wide-eyed and unaware). I wish these ghosts could lash out in a proper fashion I could only dream of - ghastly screams, the sound of plates and wine glasses shattering against the floor, blood running endlessly down the walls like that famous Stanley Kubrick movie - is this too much to ask? A little stage show for my suffering?

I have just realized my fate. I should've realized all of this awhile ago - wondering why I was never good enough now; getting down on myself for not being able to catch the eye of anyone in interest. It could've made a lot of this easier. It could've made me lose the useless drive I have with dignity. Now I stand cold and alone in the middle of the stage - the audience silent - waiting for the line that was never written let alone memorized. Improv. Do something.

"...I give up."

Exit stage right. Curtain drawn. Silence. My tombstone was written the day she let me go. My epitaph reads loud and clear - 'stay away'. I am not deserving of a hopeful heart; I am simply the ball and chain to faces long gone. That fateful love letter or aging photograph that the few who tried show to their grandkids - "now, he was different".

I feel like crying. And not because I'm alive.

Is It Possible That All This Magic Went Unnoticed?

Happy Holidays; as said before. I hope everyone's day went better than planned - smooth sailing and the makings of great memories. That's not where I want to take this rambling of thoughts at all though - I'm not trying to disregard the present Christmastime feeling or anything, I just want to get out what's firing off in my head. That is just not where I want to take this at all.

I'm sitting here looking at frozen caricatures of so many people I grew up with - or grew into the person I am now - and am writing the next chapters in their life in my head. Some novel of their future - planned out like a diagram of acts and scenes in my mind. I see the people I used to know extremely well within their new, cinematic lives - real estate agents, housewives, lawyers, famous Broadway actresses, teachers - some of them unhappy, some of them content. I can see them living by their religions - by their ideas of 'fate' - by the sideways breath of the wind. It's a jumbling puzzle of a portrait unfinished; each piece the missing color to completing a vision of wonderment.

I examine the timeline of my twising friendships - seeing how people have moved away or grown to hate me or a million and one other things that could possibly denote 'change'. I know that most of the portrait of me left for everyone to fill in with their own brushes is strange and unfamiliar. The person I am described as - this person I supposed 'am' or 'were' - is foreign and sometimes a little too much to bear. This person treats people in ways I didn't even know could be considered. This person thinks in ways that would make any lunatic or deranged mind look like a peaceful meadow of serenity. This is not who I ever was; how could people even see that? Even through shadows and out of the corners of their eye?

What do I see through the letterboxing of my waking life? What exists for interpretation behind those black bars? Is it some hidden subtitle - explaining to everyone exactly what to see and what to think? I miss everyone thinking based off the face value of things - learning to get to know someone by asking questions and giving greetings, not by listening to endless storytelling or gossip. I cannot even begin to say I know who these people are - these very familiar faces - anymore now than I could any stranger on the streets of Denver. I wish them all the best.

"I wish I could transform my days into paint-by-number portraits
A display of simple cut and paste; Creativity without real taste
So life, like art, is just a waste; But yet we still wake up each day...

The bedroom's fresh with summer paint; a palette left to gather dust
The smell makes dreams like cheap Monet
A copy made without a frame; But it was worth is when we sang...
'A vision true will make us saved!'

And we breathe in deep vermillion, and we stain our days with gold
And the blacks and whites are chipping
We'll spend our forest green to forget what we've really lost

Fingerprints of red and blue; We taste the oils when we kiss
A cocktail made of me and you; Where everything we touch we lose
But at least I have your body still...
You recognize this poison, don't you?

Our love's unfinished canvas, and the rent's far overdue
And breathing isn't living
The songs don't sell, so I'll give them truth in a different hue."

- Borderline Angelic "Starving Artist"

Some faces I do not want to have to end the story in the middle of a sentence. Some certain people's smiles make it worth it to keep wondering. A simple keyhole into certain people's lives makes it worth it to keep writing my mental novels. I still have some hope that the story won't ever reach the last page. It keeps me close to them even though I'm now so far away. There are so many people that I want to see again - if just, for any reason, to sketch their new lines and color their hidden backgrounds.

The Christmas Cliché

It's that special night - that night before Christmas that all the special songs and poems are written about. This is the night where, as a kid, I could never get much sleep at all. I'd be tired and sleepy, but my heart would keep pounding like a knocking at the door - "wake up, you idiot! wake up!". This was when I used to go to bed at nine o'clock. Now it is plainly later, and I still find myself awake - this time to the beat of the keyboard keys instead of my heart.

It's weird how many traditions have been abandoned in my family as I grow up. I don't feel disappointed or upset about it - it's just how things have progressed as I've gotten older. This year especially stands out from the rest - being in a new place completely. In years past, I would count down the days impatiently until Christmas. In newer history, I would exchange my loving remarks and gifts with Madeline. Now, Christmas just jumped upon me. Only forty minutes until that "big day". I used to yearn for Christmas break - pray for snow - wonder endlessly about those glistening boxes under the tree. Now, I pass the few days before the 25th walking around in overcast Salem, listening to music, and spilling my thoughts about love, life, and my mind onto this journal.

So many things on top of so many things. I talked to Madeline for the first time in a long time - expressing how much I missed talking to her, and remarking on how years past have definitely made a difference. I talked to Melissa for a short period of time - just called to ask her how she's been - I didn't even have the chance to wish her a happy holiday. I talked to Dustin today - just as he was waking up - but didn't get the chance to ask him how things were going and what he was thinking about. I've kind of isolated the majority of myself from the world - this about the biggest outlet I have at the moment.

I can not reveal my true nature until the time is right.

I guess all I'm trying to really get at tonight is...these holidays (whatever they are for anyone out there - Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, Atheist Gift Giving Day, etc.) really have a way of changing us. In a beam of light - far from the gray cold of December days - we have opened ourselves to our friends, family, and loved ones. We allow ourselves to be molded even more in these few weeks than in most parts of our lives. I think Kyle said it best earlier tonight: "Don't just let tomorrow be your one day of celebration and giving...make every day that way!"

We don't really give ourselves the credit of celebrating our lives - we get these great (don't mistake me; they really are great) excuses to show how much everyone means to us, how much the world means to us, and how much we mean to ourselves - but we forget to even dance on the idea the other three-hundred-and sixty-some days of the year we're not celebrating one thing or another. Well I say, dance like it's already 2008! Give gifts in April! Drink to yourself for your birthday four times a year! Remember what it's like to be with a loved one - not just on February 14th - but every day you are with them! Do not take this time for granted.

We might not have a second chance.

Happy Holidays, Happy Christmas, and Love Always.

Ready For The End Of The World Special?

We interrupt the regular blogging to bring along this special post from Murder Murderer Love Inc. The end of 2006 is growing near - the double digits of days are slowly growing to an end - and 2007 will be here in the wink of an eye. This can only mean one thing...

Yes, it is that time again to countdown the top fifty music releases from this past year. 2006 was an excellent year for new music - from both old favorites and completely new artists. It took me forever to compile my list right, but here is what my final fifty comes down to:

50. The Dresden Dolls - Yes, Virginia
49. The Thermals - The Body, The Blood, The Machine
48. Mastodon - Blood Mountain
47. The Dirty Dozen Brass Band - What's Going On
46. The Blood Brothers - Young Machetes
45. The Who - Endless Wire
44. Sufjan Stevens - The Avalanche
43. Xiu Xiu - The Air Force
42. Roseanne Cash - Black Cadillac
41. Wolfmother - Wolfmother

40. The Gotan Project - Lunatico
39. Now It's Overhead - Dark Light Daybreak
38. Christina Aguilera - Back To Basics
37. Copeland - Eat, Sleep, Repeat
36. The Album Leaf - Into The Blue Again
35. Placebo - Meds
34. The Black Keys - Magic Potion
33. Beck - The Information
32. TV On The Radio - Return To Cookie Mountain
31. Gnarls Barkley - St. Elsewhere
30. Mates Of State - Bring It Back

29. Cat Power - The Greatest
28. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Show Your Bones
27. Jenny Lewis & The Watson Twins - Rabbit Fur Coat
26. Built To Spill - You In Reverse
25. Deftones - Saturday Night Wrist
24. Band Of Horses - Everything All The Time
23. The Raconteurs - Broken Boy Soldiers
22. Sparklehorse - Dream For Light Years In The Belly Of A Mountain
21. Plus 44 - When Your Heart Stops Beating

20. Neil Young - Living With War
19. Muse - Black Holes And Revelations
18. My Chemical Romance - The Black Parade
17. The Knife - Silent Shout
16. Set Your Goals - Mutiny! (tied with) The Hush Sound - Like Vines
15. Incubus - Light Grenades
14. Thom Yorke - The Eraser
13. Brand New - The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me
12. The Flaming Lips - At War With The Mystics
11. Belle & Sebastian - The Life Pursuit

10. The Decemberists - The Crane Wife
9. The Mars Volta - Amputechture
8. Mogwai - Mr. Beast
7. Fear Before The March Of Flames - The Always Open Mouth
6. Red Hot Chili Peppers - Stadium Arcadium
5. Tool - 10,000 Days
4. Sparrows, Swarm And Sing! - Oh Shenandoah, Mighty Death...
3. Swan Lake - Beast Moans
2. Regina Spektor - Begin To Hope
1. Cursive - Happy Hollow

2006 was pretty wild; a whole variety of great music. Of course, I have my own personal bias (just as Bright Eyes will probably in the top five for 2007), but that's why this is MY top 50 list. A lot of other top 100 lists didn't even include some of the albums I liked, but that's just how it is. I hope you find some stuff you agree with, and some stuff you didn't catch in the last year. If so, go out and do some shopping!

Edit: I added The Hush Sound's "Like Vines" to the list because I obviously don't keep very good records about album's tied for 16th with Set Your Goals' "Mutiny!" (because I couldn't find anything I could've booted down or off the list). It's also been added because...because...WWJD?

A Statue Of Us

I have decided that I am going to marry Regina Spektor. I have no problem with believing this. Can anyone see a problem with this? Other than we've never met and a million other guys probably want to propose to her?

"We have seen how each and every second,
We must chain our hearts down.
Or else we will become ghosts,
Or beasts or traitors to ourselves."

I had both an illuminating and destructive conversation with Alexandra tonight. The conversation trailed in circles - leaving nothing untouched but also nothing fixed. I watched the final strains of my hope slip over the cliff's edge, and let go of the chain in my heart to let it sink down into the dark sea. I used to think that maybe we both held hope for the future - that this was simply temporary. That the pain of losing eachother's care - eachother's romantic relationship is a better way to put it - would be a short hiatus from a fantasy. Well, I was wrong on so many fronts.

She hasn't let go of me - she hasn't stopped caring - if I can't be anything more than her friend, than I can't be anything at all. She doesn't want to hope for a further relationship. She doesn't want to even think about us being together. She doesn't want anything but to stay focused on her direct goals and pursuing her dreams one-hundred percent. Now that I write that down, it doesn't seem that bad. At the time, hearing it over the phone - it sounded like a million and one knives scattering across the floor and finding their perfect place in their rehearsed spots all over my body. A death by perfect symphonic stabbing.

All I know is I have to stop wondering about this. I have to stop thinking about this. All I'm doing is dragging myself down, when really I should be lifting myself up. This is my life, and she has hers. They might meet again - on a completely off hand chance, call it fate or coincidence - or they might not. I can't stop being alive until then. I won't.

I need to start finding out what I can do next - I'm so sick of making these plans without completion. I have so much that I really want to do - finish writing the songs I've been writing for far too long, start singing with my words instead of just my voice, realize it's okay to write the raw and the real instead of the typical poetry, dance often, take my world - my music - that one step farther...this list could go on and on. There is so much waiting for me when I return.

...And on December 28th, my planes filled the sky. The return of J.R. Daniel...Citizen Dildo.

I will make my life what I've been dreaming of. I will reach that desired goal - our songs on the radio, the late-night interviews, the shows where everyone knows every lyric to every one of your god damn songs. I will be able to sit back a year from now - recording in the studio with the band - saying, "well, this is interesting". VH1 will have a fucking fit. I will also write my anti-folk and marry Miss Spektor. I couldn't have it any other way.

Christmas Day approaches quickly - the days pile quickly on top of eachother - buried in my written words. I am really quite excited to see Christmas come and go - reassurance that I'm still alive and time has still not stopped for anyone. I am ecstatic to watch the hands turn and the pages fly. I'm another word to describe "anxious". I barely use the Thesaurus anymore; it never seems to have the real word I'm looking for.

And how.

The Sexyback Receipt

Tonight's blog is that of wonder! Mystery! Suspense! Another typical tag word for a 1950's drive-in horror flick! That one movie with the praying mantis was good, or maybe "The Creature From The Black Lagoon". Maybe I'll just include Boris Karloff with a flat head and bolts within my ramblings to spruce things up a bit. I think the only real mystery here is how I can bring myself to open up this so-called 'journal' so frequently (three nights in a row now...tsk, tsk) and record my psuedo-philisophical stories. It might be because...I believe I'm somewhat proud of it.

Today I learned that a movie whose entire point is to animate dancing penguins for an hour and a half can't be that bad. I also learned that elephant seals are gruff and ill tempered. Who knew.

Now, I'm back sitting here. I kind of feel peculiar now. My entire body down to my bones has been ancy without purpose. I feel uneasy. Wandering from room to room in my parent's apartment - finding nothing and then turning around to circle again. Mindless even. I've been throwing around ideas and insecurties in my head all evening - not getting anywhere. I wish I could pinpoint why I feel this way exactly.

I tossed and turned last night in bed, as well as in my skin this morning - tumbling over the uses of the letter 'X', bad analogies, planned conversations, clever timing, and why Omaha seems to be the home to so many neurotic geniuses. I picked up my phone all day to try and push myself to calling. I even got close a couple of times. On the other hand, for a brief moment, I did talk to Alexandra. It's so hard to say 'I love you' and hear a straight 'goodbye' back. This could be the cracking underneath my feet - it's hard to say. Can you hear it too?

No, not cracking. The ice has completely separated - leaving us floating like those silly CG penguins on our own personal islands. I don't even pretend to have any hope anymore; at least not for right now. It's hard to ask anything of her right now - she has her goals and life dreams - her decided path. She also has a knack for never including me on her list of important things. I feel so stupid now; I'm in the middle of what I promised not to do to myself anymore: hold on, drowning. I mean, I'm following around the threads of this relationship like a lost puppy - unable to let go due to a lack of closure. Argh. Yes, with a 'G'! For utter disgust and frustration!

Well, at least I hold divine faith in what the future could bring.

In my brief conversation with her, I tried to explain how I really like the New Year holiday. It's not because of any silly physical event - this night ends, a whole new year begins - that's just simple logic; no real reason to celebrate. What New Years means to me is a sickly sweet nostalgia - the kind I could only eat that one night before I would get sick of it. I like seeing New Years as my time for a slideshow of memories. Plus, it reminds me directly of silver plastic stars, glitter, and champagne. Which, in my opinion, is always means a good time. I'm definitely looking forward to that blog entry - oh, how I love those movie-montage-esque streams of consciousness!

Tomorrow: set my goals (insert unnecessary music joke), make some plans, wrap some presents, and generally sit around waiting for internet communication between me and snowed in friends. Sounds like a jolly time. Until then!

Head For The Hills

Well, not much to update in the sense of my personal exploration or experiences today in the real world - I walked around downtown Salem today with my mom and sisters and explored the deepest niches of it's streets - eateries, booksellers, an apothecary, and an excellent record shop. Otherwise, I played 3D-blacklit golf among family and pirates (taking fourth place) and am currently enthralled (but obviously, not really) in taking in the three-hour long epic, "Titanic" (which, curiously, I haven't seen in almost a decade). There's not much more to say about today except a boat is sinking and Leo DiCaprio is hanging on for dear life while floating on a friggin' door. Ah, Hollywood. You jest.

"Give him the necklace, you crazy broad!"

After that "disaster" (hell yes, that's hilarious!), I sit here typing in the dark. Oh, I had the strangest dream last night. Funny I should remember it as "the strangest dream"; funny I should remember it at all. I might have to give this one it's own title (wait for it, I'm concocting it as I type). This dream involved the ghosts of past lived - good memories and short-lived times that I thought (or wished) could last forever. It was like nothing had changed - puzzle pieces and slight reflections of time already lived fell together in a stained glass mosaic of what...I guess, now would be like.

I could feel the breath of the players around me; I could taste the atmosphere that I once knew. The place: a house held together by the foundations of my freshman/sophomore years and pieced together by Picasso-like floorplans. A hallway unrecognized. A window dancing from room to room. The typical fashion of our usual dream states. The people: a love undoubted and a young boy narrating to the tune of jazz standards. This music reverberating through this homely yet empty space, I saw my world spiral out of control and crash land in a gleeful shattering of beauty. I haven't enjoyed dreaming this much in a long time.

On the other hand, I woke up questioning it myself. I wondered, "Why now? Why all of a sudden, I can't seem to keep these thoughts out of my dreams, let alone my waking life?" I also brought up a usual favorite: "...what if?" This ended only in tragedy. I saw no dismissal, yet no conclusion. I saw nothing but a neverending horizon of unanswerable questions that I - daresay it - am forever doomed to ask.

But...even within my topsy-turvy thought process, I still felt lightness over the whole situation. I felt the "maybe" of everything...just...sitting there in the air. It felt warm, and right. Everything did for those few seconds. I've been thinking about those few moments for the rest of the day. It's been with me everywhere I've been - sitting there brewing in the back of my mind.

I'd love to say "why not". I see no problem in fate progressing how I always believed - back then - it would. I see no problem in events tumbling over in a waterfall of chaos, and ending up with the perfect picture. I see no problem in missing one bus, stepping in an unusually optimistic puddle, and then making dinner late to find a completely different person sitting across from me - ready to discuss the wine choice and the latest in musical theatre. My love does wait for me - twirling her fork and tapping her foot to the latest Tony Bennett cover artist at the bar. I hope she's patient.

I hope I'm not alone here - I hope that soul still exists within another. I hope that another knows exactly what I'm talking about - rambling about James Cameron and public transportation. I hope they know exactly where I'm going before I get there. I'm going to make that call, and hopefully I'll be right on time.

Head for the hills, I think I've lost it.

It's Taking Me Home

So many things have changed. All at once, in a sudden whirlwind of passing months, moving, calendar pages, and lost letters, my life has fell back into position like a cosmic game of Connect Four. I have no idea what direction to face or run to. My compass has run north and south in circles. Since I last rejuvenated the dying horse that was this journal, things were going pretty smoothly for me. I mean, apart from trying to survive the last two months of high school and looking forward to a shaky yet extremely exciting future.

So, yes - things have changed. Right in time for this new year too. I still have many wants and dreams; many goals and aspirations. I haven't changed as a person - other than my hair growing too long and maybe my sleep schedule. I don't know - I just don't feel that different. I'm still this person I've grown to know from conversations in the mirror or over this journal - this kid named Jordan. At least we get along most of time.

I recently (and by recently, I mean in October) moved with the band and some friends up to Denver, Colorado. I've never moved before; I've lived in the same house since as long as I can remember. My childhood house in the hell we call Los Alamos is now occupied by someone I've never even met. I might not miss that place, but I miss that space I called 'home' - my room most of all. So much of my life went on within the walls of that room. Everything from playing with Lego to packing all my memories in boxes at the beginning of my 'new start'.

Denver...has been an interesting experience so far. Still young in our stay, we have run into so much shit that I didn't even know was possible. Yes, the good things are always evident - infinite freedom, a great band, parties all night - but so are the bad things - never having money, shows getting cancelled, scraping for rent. I think Tyler is the one that said, "I have learned more in these two months of living alone that I learned in four years at our stupid high school". We live our lives to a steady soundtrack - discussing the ways of the universe and the properties of love long into the night with Marble and Dustin, planning an explosion of sound and color like I've never seen before with both Tyler and Elise, and journeying along the path (and cliffline) of my life with everyone right by my side.

The summer seems so long ago; losing my Alexandra to the inevitable rising tide. The future as her husband has grown to be nothing more than my own hope and aspiration; a love put on hold indefinitely. This has also put me in a very fragile state - a state where I constantly feel sorry for myself, question the future, and wonder 'why'.

"And strange lonesome monsters loafed through the hills wondering why...and it is best to never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever wonder why."

Right now, I'm within these new walls of my family's house in Oregon; I write from the same hands on the very same keyboard that I etched all my silly high school angst and endless teenage turmoil to the page with for years and years. I present something new. Within all this change - within the spiraling path of music, mayhem, and that thing called "love" - I write something different. Contradiction. Confrontation. Opposition. A threat to my heart that this is a war and I am not about to give up.

So, I'll stop feeling sorry for myself. What do I really have to feel sorry for anyway? Yes, I lost the race against love - as always - alright, try again, second place, you almost had it this time. I find that putting a few years of training into myself might do the trick to win her back one day. Yes, I "live like shit and suffer for my art", but I really do like it that way. Yes, I've definitely had some moments; some coughing, screaming, sobbing fits of utter disgust and unbridled anger...but, how I see it...once you've let yourself go, there's nothing more to do than to find yourself again.

That's my goal. That's my dream. In simple terms, still the music, mayhem, and a thing called "love". That's my aspiration. My inspiration as a person - a friend, a lover, a fighter, and most of all, a damn good human being. Welcome again to my life; sit and talk awhile if you like.

- Jordan