So sue me.

     So what?
I grew up in the 90's.
So sue me.
I'm in love.
     & it's not
like the movies.
There is no music
when we touch.
     There's no slow-jam
when we fuck.
     There's not a camera
to catch every cuddle
or every subtle
innuendo.
     But in the end, know
that I am
in love.


I put up walls around everything
I only write in ink
I've got a bowl full of cereal
And dishes in the sink
& you're an estranged constellation
Broken beyond weird repair
You're so sure you're in love
In the mirror/In underwear
     There's a light through the window
     There's no way you heard me
     There's no good way to let go
     There is no one listening


And I love to watch her do the most mundane things.


    But, hey. It's the moon. And it's out too soon so let's retire to the bedroom. Let's build a cocoon and talk about everything gloom & doom. Because when we go out to the bar, we just stand in the corner. Make fun of kids drinking PBR, and make our way back to the car.

                              & we go home early
                                  watch a porno movie
                                  you say that you feel dirty
                                  but only
                                  you mean you're not clean

Just to be clear:
I was born inside a diorama

Junk mail

Today I received some interesting news via E-mail.


The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington, DC 20500,


Re: Payment Notification:

We are writhing to know if it's true that you are DEAD. Because we received a notification from one MR. John Rice of USA stating that you are DEAD and that you have giving him the right to claim your US$ 10.5M funds. He stated you died on a CAR accident. He has been calling us regarding this issue, but we cannot proceed with him until we confirm this by not hearing from you after 3days. Be advised that we have made all arrangements for you to receive and confirm your funds of US$ 10.5M without anymore stress, and without any further delays.

All we need to confirm now is your been DEAD or still Alive. Because this MAN's message brought shock to our minds. And we just can't proceed with him until we confirm if this is a reality OR not but if it happened we did not hear from you after 3days, then we say: MAY YOUR SOUL REST IN PERFECT PEACE"

YOUR JOY AND SUCCESS REMAINS OUR GOAL.

May the peace of the Lord be with you wherever you may be now?

Your Faithfully,

US Secretary of State,

---------------------------------------------
Needless to say, I wrote back right away.

Mrs. Clinton:

What and HONOR to finally hear from you here. I Just CANNOT believe that I Are DEAD or have been thought to be been ALIVE now. It is more than truth it is fact of matter. I've been DEAD for quite a time now and all is going good. (Just a warning, Heaven is a BORING) Please give MR RICE my US$ 10.5M funds that I was waiting on when I was not DEAD.
Thank your so much for writing me. I've always looked up with you as a HERO and a babe.

Your truly?
Shaun

Internet.

I'm sick
of the internet.

The high-speed
wiring.

Misplacing scarcasam.
Mistaking emotion.

"Hyper-communication"
broken down
to its simplest...
its easiest.

It's easiest
to let it
become your crutch.
To let it
consume
you,
instead of
vise versa...

Or, whatever.

"It's just cleaver marketing."
"It's just kids."
"It helps me connect."
"I stay in contact."

The internet is still inutero and here we are, trying to let it lead us.
Let it feed us. Let it do the meeting for us. Glorious. Gory. Messy.

Clean up... optional I suppose.

It's just social networking working for the greater good. Helping me and Mom keep in touch.
So when we go to breakfast next Sunday, we sit in silence, because she's read my statuses all week long.
"Did I tell you about ______"
"Yeah I read that."
"Oh."
"Tell me more about it."
"Well, that's it, really."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Um, what else is new?"

Hard to say in person.
Much easier to slowly type. Re-type.
Spell check.
Fact check.
And re-type again...
Making sure it is witty, as well as insightful.
Creative.
Original.
Funny.

Epic.

Because you've had 5 minutes to plan these 140 characters, so it's perfect.

And you have the rest of your life to build up your friend list.

And be hyper-connected to everyone you've ever met, and a lot of people you've never met.

And you go out just to take pictures to post to your blog... or to check in on 4 square.
Ignore your real life.
And while you're out, you check your Facebook.
Post a status.
Read a message.
Then send a text.
Ignore real life.
Check how many calories are in your drink.
Get lost on Wikipedia trying to find the info.
Ignore your life.
Google yourself. Check your friends blog.
Digi-stalk that guy from the coffee shop you met once.
Ignore the waitress.

Oh, internet.
How did we ever survive with out you?


And, by the way, check out my band's website when you get a chance.
Or any of my electronically published poems.

Or this blog.


Or my Facebook.

Old Empire

Old Empire:

This may or may not come as a surprise but the events that have transpired over the past day or so have really left a bad taste in my mouth.
At first I didn't know how to feel. Confused, I suppose.
Bits of information via text while working.
Taking a closer look at the last few months in my head.


For those of you who don't want to read through all of this, this is my letter of resignation.


I feel like I'm throwing all of you under the bus, and I guess in a way I am.
For this I'm sorry.
My time in Old Empire was wonderful for the most part. It was everything that I wanted from being in a band and more. I got stage experience. I became eons better at the piano from when I started playing with you all. I got to record with Dave at his amazing studio.
Above all else in this band, I was able to play with some of the best musicians in the city.

So why am I leaving?

First of all I feel that now would be better than later. The band is at a transition period since Danny is being replaced.
The last time we tried this everything seemed off, but I went along because it was necessary.
When Josh was filling in the sound as a band was more sloppy. The feel in the room was awkward.
It wasn't because of Josh, or his playing, it was because it was all foreign. I knew we could stick it out but it would take a few months for us to get back to a familiar feel and a decent sound. We'd have to put things on hold as a band and start over.
I was willing to do that last time because I felt I could stand behind the decision of switching drummers.
Danny was at an all time low. His attitude toward the band was completely negative. He did not like playing with us nor would he take critiques/suggestions regarding his playing.

So when Gabe told me we would have to have another talk with Danny I didn't understand why. Since his return to the band, I felt he was not in the least acting the way he was before. Gabe said he was pulling the same shit as last time, and I informed him I couldn't stand behind him in that decision.
I felt we were all playing to our best ability.
As a band we were all giving it our all, and if everyone is giving their all, then there should be no issue.
Does that make sense to everyone else?

Last I checked we were in a band. A group of creative minds trying to work together for one sound and everyone has a part. I see reason to worry if one part is stepping on another part, but not if everyone is playing what they think is best. If everyone is giving their all, which I think we were, there should be no issue. And if there was an issue, it would be one that is easily fixable.
We've had too many excellent moments at practice for me to not think we weren't going in the right direction. When Gabe says something like, "This is coming together perfect." - or - "This is so much cooler than I thought it was going to be" how can we point the finger in one of six directions and say, this needs to change. We're all working together to make something new.

Earlier that morning, before any of the shit hit the fan, Danny was asking me if I knew what was going on. (Because I was left in the dark on all this, I had no prior knowledge of another drummer, or even that anyone was thinking of a change in the band - No one asked my opinion) Danny said the band was acting weird, and he had a feeling he was getting kicked out. I said, "I don't think so." "Send out an E-mail if you're worried." "I don't think that some other drummer making comments about our songs on facebook means you're out of the band."

A few hours later, right after Gabe was trying to convince me via text that Danny's attitude and poor playing is leading toward a band talk, Danny tells me he's out of the band.

Then all the pieces started fitting together.
The reason we have no shows booked.
The reason Gabe won't take shows Danny is trying to book.
Why this confusing string of text messages that have no validity lead to Danny's exit.

All of this was premeditated and my vote didn't count.
Not only did my vote not count, I wasn't even privileged enough to know what we were voting on.

I was fed a line of shit in hopes that I would eat it up and keep on keepin' on.

And it was only after I hear from Danny that he's out, I get another odd text talking about a drummer.
An attempt to cover up tracks.
The oops moment.

I can understand if I was left out because I'm living with Danny. He's my old friend. I could have told him before our last show, and he could have quit early. Keeping me out of the loop for the sake of the band... But our last show was two Thursdays ago, and 6 days later, all the events transpired. Seems to me to be plenty of time to put me in the loop. It's not like we have anything planned in the near future.

Back in July when I had my first talks with Gabe about joining the band he described it as a democracy. Said the band worked together to make the sound they have. He even told me I could bring some of my songs to the table, which I wasn't comfortable doing.
Gabe basically said he writes the bare bones and everyone else fills in the blood, and organs, and skin, and hair.
Sometimes the band worked like this.
But a lot of times, if the band didn't play what was initially in Gabe's head, the song needed to change. We'd play through it a few times with everyone getting a feel, and soon little changes would start coming out. "Change this fill" - "Play a hook here, but play it like this." - "Solo needs to be shorter, and maybe it should be lower on the neck"- etc.

This band was not a democracy. And though it took me a few months to fully understand, everyone knows it's Gabe's band, and his decision is final. You get a vote only if you agree with Gabe's opinion. If not, then too bad.

I'm not saying this is a bad way to run a band, but it's not what I signed up for initially and it's not what I want anymore. This is Gabe's project and always has been. Tom's not writing the songs, so it would be weird if he ran the band. I'm not paying for studio time, so it wouldn't make sense for me to try and make changes to songs, band members, etc.

At some point everyone in OE gets that we're just backing Gabe. That we have enough faith in him and his songwriting to take us where we want to be musically. If one of our musical ideas passes song inspection, it feels good because we made the grade. If not, oh well because it's not our band.

Everything that has transpired has made me loose faith.
What's to stop another keyboard player from taking my spot in the night?
Some handsome, classically trained pianist who loves 60's surf pop, instead of the self taught, fumbling, indie-folk-crap loving, piano plunking me. I could see that switch happening in a minute because it's better for the band.

How can one have any stability in a group when everyone [minus songwriter] is expendable. When there always might be a better fit around the corner, lurking in a coke sniffing cover band.



There is more, but I'm tired of writing.

I just wanted to tell everyone how I felt as opposed to just talking it through with Gabe.
I always thought we were all of equal importance and what we did was worth something.

[And I know that it seems like I'm dogging you Gabe, but someone has to be the bad guy in this situation. And in all honesty the bad guy could be me for up and leaving, but I couldn't admit to me being at fault here. I mean, what did I do?
This is not to say that I'm mad at you though. I understand your decision. You are the one who has to make the hard decisions, and none of us can make them for you. You are the leader, and I really hope that you can rebuild this project bigger and better than before.]

As for the new record, I give you permission to use any of the stuff I've recorded on it, though I don't think Danny feels the same.
Let me know if there is anything you guys need from me in the future, aside from playing in Old Empire.

It's been fun.

Cheers.

--Shaun

Love is...

Love is a gorgeous
mutual hopelessness.

On the 27th of March, this year I wrote:

Today I drove toward the sunrise
as it rose over metro airport skies
with the airplanes shrouded in clouds.
And I found an old CD by The Microphones
turned up the stereo
and listened in as Phil strummed an old guitar
loudly in my mother's car.

Earlier...

the neighbors tree waved at me and I'm sitting in the grass watching new leaves of spring move with the westward breeze while I wait for Julie. Now the clock, it's a little after 3 on a Thursday and the dog plays with a pink Frisbee. I have iced tea and the sun is shinny, and this time around it's so difficult to believe another winter is gone and deceased.
For you spent the better part of your teens
and twenties
to this point
looking for the love of your dreams.

A few times,
you were so sure
that you found her.

Simply replace all the above 'you's' with 'I's' and 'your's' with 'my's' because this is my life.


And also:

All of my closest friends are songs I've once loved
All of the great musicians
who wrote them
found comfort in
killing themselves

Goodnight, "Apple Bed"
May you sleep soundly.

So they question me, and I don't have the answers,
I say, "This thing; This love. It's an incurable cancer."
and may we all suffer the consequences.

Fake Falling in Love

I wrote a novella a little while back and I just started typing it out and editing it. This is how it starts.




Fake Falling in Love

December 20 - 2007

The sleep that I've missed since she's been back is well worth the pain that seeps into the back sides of my eye balls.
Today a pretty girl stood me up. Or maybe just disappeared for a bit. I should have known better and saw it coming. This is the reason why I stopped talking to her in the first place.
She would be extremely sweet to me for a period of time then without warning or reason she would neglect me. She'd not answer my calls and not call me and I wouldn't see or hear from her for a long time.

Anyway- This is the story of me and Marie.

The very first night that I met her she had me hooked. I was living in Warren Michigan at the time with a few of my friends. I worked the night-shift at an all night diner in the neighboring town where I grew up called Hazel Park. It was around this period of my life that I started frequenting a restaurant called National Coney Island to get away from the restaurant I worked in. Even though I worked at a restaurant and got comped on a lot of the food I'd eat there, I would literally wake up in the evening, drive 5 miles to eat dinner at National then drive 5 miles to my place of work when I finished.
National Coney Island was a chilli dog and milk shake joint that was fairly cheap and had a wait staff that was friendly in the most honest of ways. They waitress would ask how you're doing, and you'd say fine and ask her the same thing and she'd say, "Shitty. Tired. And I don't want to be here."
I was very fond of that. It was that attitude along with the women who held it that sparked my very unhealthy addiction of paying girls to be nice to me through the form of coffee drinking and tipping well. As an aside, I am currently at National right now, writing down theses old thoughts and explanations nearly four years after I met Marie.

It was nearly on accident, or coincidence how Marie and I met. Then again if you analyze and break down anything enough you can write it off a coincidence. No matter.
It was any normal late evening of that year and my friend Jason and I were hungry so we went up to the Coney Island. As we exited my truck and headed toward the double doors two young girls were heading to the same doors from another side of the parking lot. I forget which one of us held the door open for the girls, but one of the girls, namely Marie returned the favor and held the second set of doors for Jason and I. Because of this, the four of us were all approaching the "PLEASE WAIT TO BE SEATED" sign at the same time. Those few awkward steps and collective dance from the door to the sign was short lived for J and I breezed right past the sign while our female cha-cha partners we're left on the dance floor.
During the dance there were many exchanged glances between us four. Marie was wide eyed and seemed to be animalistally darting from one place to the next as opposed to walking.
I pretended not to notice or care, for culture at this point had taught me that to be cool was to be apathetic and reckless in the same breath. I had just turned twenty and thought that being a calm, pseudo-thoughtful, liberal, atheist was ground breaking shit; not to mention I was growing a huge beard in protest of societies standards as well as being newly broken hearted off my high school and beyond sweetie of 5 years.
Secretly though, I was hooked.

Jason and I sat down and talked in depth of what just happened using mostly facial expressions and little dialog. The girls were still standing by the sign: waiting to be seated.
"Pretty girls, eh?" Jason said after a few seconds of discussing what had just occurred with out the aid of spoken language.
"Oh yeah," I said sounding sarcastic but being very serious. "Real pretty," I continued.
"Pretty girls man," he said again, this time with a slight sigh of relief.

It should be said that for whatever reason Jason and I worked fairly hard at not being in situations that involved pretty girls that we didn't know personally. The half minute cha-cha and hard looks we experienced at the door was enough for us to run home after dinner and tell everyone we talked to about the situation. Gloating over the smallest contact.
Perhaps being raised in a podunk suburb town that all the surrounding towns spit upon verbally, metaphorically, and otherwise had forced us into a walled off disassociation from anyone who wasn't from Hazel Park. Yet this feeling of segregation gave us strange pride. The urge to belong, to be liked and recognized was lost because somehow the feeling of being below everyone else made us see ourselves as above the rest of the world.

Hazel Park

Forced your eyes closed
but mine work still.
There's still clothes
in the bedroom closet.

You left the the door open
oh, what for?
That old belt that you never wore
now you
use it.

[Please don't let me be]
[Please don't let me be another]

The old kitchen
the wallpaper torn.
New baby
in utero.

The cat's asleep
on the couch.
New smell settles
all over
the house.

[Please don't let me be another]
[Please don't let me be another small town]

No note
nothing is left in this place.
Except snapshots
we've yet to take.

And the T-shirt
that you had on.
In a black
trash bag
on the front lawn.

[Please don't let me be another small town]
[Please don't let me be another small town suicide]