BAK2SKOOL

Gearin' up for back to school! This is my fourth (unfortunately not final) year of undergrad study! I'm excited because I'm taking 3 English classes! 3! I'm going to be so overwhelmed and riddled with bookish knowledge I might throw up! Every sentence in this paragraph ended in an exclamation point! Hooray!

BUT there's a bit of a drawback; all 3 are online. Ew. Let this stock photo of a business woman express my distaste. Trust me, I'm disappointed in my school, too. But! I learned a lot from the first online english class I took last summer, if only from a ton of studying I did on my own. Granted, it was summer and I had a lot more free time, but I hope I'll be able to do something of a similar caliber this time around.

The hardest thing about online classes is sliding into a routine that is practical and effective. My first online class, that one I learned ~so much~ from? I wasn't exactly diligent. I think we had a couple responses due a week from the reading, alongside 2 papers. While the papers were turned in on time, I think 80% of the responses were late. I had an awesome professor who let it slide because I was obviously doing the work, but. You know. That's not exactly how I want to get into it for three separate ones.

So!

1. Figure out when things are due. Since most normal classes meet twice a week, I've noticed professors have 2 weekly due dates. Figure out when those are! 
2. Get all work done before the weekend! One of the things that's hardest is realizing I can do the work whenever I want to so long as it's in by the due date. I hate not having ONE day off from the grind, even if that doesn't line up with a day I have off from work. 
3. KEEP MY DESK CLEAN. The fact I managed to cram a desk into my puny ass bedroom is a miracle in itself. Keep it functional. Right now I've got a bowl of green beans, some birthday cards, an old USA Today, and a copy of Mrs. Dalloway I haven't even started on here. Whoops. 
4. Have a schedule! Work a certain amount of hours, between a certain set of hours, and stop by a certain time. But again, I won't know what exactly is efficient before pounding it into a routine and working at it for a while. Guess we'll see! 
5. Get a lamp. 
6. Get out! If I have a gap in my schedule (specifically: my two normal classes are afternoon/evenings on Tues/Thurs, and I usually work before that, BUT if I don't work. . . ) go to a coffee shop or the library to study! Don't make it a habit to do homework out in and about, but do it now and again.
7. DON'T PROCRASTINATE. This is a hard one, because it's hard for me to produce quality work unless the assignment is due in 5 hours. I can easily skim over things and say "eh I'll edit this on my next round". 

Okay so! I've talked up some interesting points if only to clear the air from my depressing "I'm going to die alone" posts. Well wishes to anyone who has the unfortunate amount of free time to read this! 

Hands.

It's a terrible and ridiculously liberating to know that you belong no where, with no one.

You are free to go where you want, when you want. You can do whatever you want. There are no hands on you to stop you from going where you want, but there are no hands to hold when you get there. It is as pleasant as it is saddening.

When there is no one else to delve into, no one else to consider and devise, you do it to yourself. Your flaws are lined up on like bottles on a kitchen counter; you have them itemized but aren't sure what to do with them. You have no one to bounce ideas off of.

There is no one to tell you you're right but no one to tell you you're wrong.

I guess it's this that makes me miss being in love with someone. I miss knowing I would lay everything on the line for the person in an instant, I would do anything. I don't feel that way about anyone, anything anymore. My indifference is staggering.

It's liberating but frightening. I feel like I'm driving without my hands on the wheel.

But they're my hands and I can do whatever the hell I want with them. I can hold other people long enough to lift them up, I can wave, or I can cradle my own safe hatred. I can do all these things. One can't work without the other, and I've got two of them, and I'll figure them out sooner or later.

Felms.

• Ted
• Chernobyl Diaries
• Hump Day
• Safety Not Guaranteed
• Moonrise Kingdom
• Jeff, Who Lives At Home
• Thor
• Dark Shadows
• Prometheus 
• 21 Jump Street
• Spiderman
• Avengers
• Captain America
• The Puffy Chair
• Our Idiot Brother

I don't feel like this warrants an explanation at the moment but uh. I've been watching a lot of movies because I feel like I don't watch enough movies. This might turn into a challenge or something. Who knows. I'll keep y'all posted or something who cares. 

IT'S THAT TIME AGAIN!

Summer reading list!

To be updated, obviously. Rather than try and arrange it by category I'm just lumping it all into "I READ THIS".

Here's last years list.


Read: 
(italics are in progress)

"Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?" (non-fiction/essay)
By Mindy Kaling

"Ghosting" (fiction)
By Kirby Gann

"June Fourth Elegies" (poetry)
by Liu Xiaobo

"Orlando" (fiction)
by Virginia Woolf

"Someday This Will Be Funny" (short fiction collection)
Lynne Tillman

"As Is" (play)
William M Hoffman

"Inspecting Carol" (play)
Daniel J. Sullivan

"Slaughterhouse Five" (fiction)
Kurt Vonnegut

"Dandruff" (fiction)
Alex Branson

"Kasher In the Rye" (memoir)
Moshe Kasher

"Swamplandia!" (fiction)
Karen Russell

"Unbearable Lightness" (memoir)
Portia De Rossi


In the scope/planning on reading:

i'm not as sad as i used to be.

I was talking to Woods; not about anything in particular besides an individual and a situation surrounding them, and she replied, "It's hard, because you're naturally so friendly," I shrugged, agreed. We hung up. Life went on. Whoopie.

For whatever reason, that line stuck with me. You're naturally so friendly.

Me? Yeah. I guess so. I'm pretty outgoing, thanks to my job and having to approach/strike up conversation with strangers. I'm friendly because I hate mean people. Simple enough?

It's nice to say that and hear it from someone else though, because it wasn't always like that. The majority of my adolescence was spent brooding and hating everyone. Between Miranda and my job I eventually changed, but before those things I was pretty shitty to myself any everyone else.

A friend (who I went to high school with, but we worked together more recently) recalled a time she tried to talk to me in high school and I told her to 'fuck off'. I don't know what's worse; that I did this or I don't remember this. I haven't talked to her recently, but she's all sunshine and lollipops; the fact I told someone so lovely and full to the bursting with light to "fuck off" breaks my heart. It says something about how defensive I was, how terrified I was of everyone else.

I've come a long way, I guess. It's weird to think back on SUPER SAD™Sinclair.

Do I feel nice? Not really. Am I happy? Who is. Does everyone like me? Of course not. But people like being around me and I like being around people. As much self analysis I get lost in, I can come back to that. It's small but I think, sometimes, it's worth coming back to.

I'll leave on another note; a girl I go to school with made the definitive decision she was going to be my best friend because I seem like I'd make a good best friend. Things that make me giddy for 300, Alec.

The Lucky Peak Dam.

Ironically, roughly two weeks after I make a post about "ridiculous things I'm afraid of" something wonderful on the topic happens.

It's Sunday, I'm off work, and Woods and I decide to go up to Idaho city. It's about 1 1/2 hour drive and we're like "Alright! Sunday! Let's do this!". And by "we" I mean "me", and Woods sighed loudly and knew she wasn't getting out of it. What the hell else are you doing, kid, get in my car.

As we passed most of the "Boise" exits, the landscape got more and more sparse, the buildings fell away and we were left with caked brown hills only dotted with sagebrush and dry grasses. Woods looks back and forth at the scenery that's more or less the exact same on both sides of us and says, "It's weird this is where we live, you know? If you took the houses and buildings away, this is what we're left with,"

"This is Nampa and Boise sans the life, yeah?" I muse. It's mid-afternoon, and there isn't a whole lot of traffic. It's too hot to appreciate the landscape, and I absently wonder if that's going to be the motto of my summer, with all the hikes I already have plotted out for the coming months.

"We get to drive past Lucky Peak," I say, nervously laughing. "That's where I saw the Rooster Tail, the whole reason I'm terrified of dams and shower heads and stuff," I add on, off handedly, "Let's hope it's not open today," Why would it be? It only goes maybe once or twice a year. How could it?

The Rooster Tail is as follows; "This water is more than what can be used for power generation, so it comes through the dam's outlet slide gates, or 'flip buckets.' The Bureau of Reclamation and the Army Corps of Engineers is releasing water from the reservoir to make room for expected rain and quickly melting snow. The release creates a huge plume of water, which looks like the tail of the barnyard animal." (source) (also pictures if you've never seen it)

The river comes into view below us and I tense up a little bit knowing there's a dam ahead. I'm mid sentence and begin stuttering. Woods holds up her hand to block my line of vision without hurting my view of the road. I keep talking, we keep moving. I am calmed knowing this is the worst of it; looking at the Boise River dam isn't that big of deal. Looking at Lucky Peak itself is kind of scary, but. The dam is passed. We're done. In an hour we're going to be in Idaho City looking at a rad forest and a rad ass cemetery.

Predictably this isn't the end of the story.

Fate would have it that yes, the gates are open and the Rooster Tail is out and about. I don't know at what point I saw the water, what point I saw that wall, a literal wall obscuring all vision, complete white, but I remember screaming and immediately crying. Maybe "crying" isn't the right word; I remember my eyes being wet and I remember whimpering and shaking. I think I was saying something. I pulled over at a parking area and told the bored looking teenagers managing it that I was just turning around. I see it in the rear view mirror as we drive off and I'm sobbing again.

Suddenly I'm a kid again. Suddenly that wall of water is coming at me from all angles in a shower stall, suddenly every shower head is threatening to fall off and become that wall and encompass me. Suddenly all dams have the potential to do it. Suddenly I am ashamed and terrified and the strangest, overwhelming fear I have is dominating me again.

I mutter I'm sorry over and over as we drive away. Woods says it's fine and I forget she didn't want to come in the first place. We go to the foothills, we find a trail and wander it for a while. Even the creek running through it makes me flinch but I ignore it and it's nice out. Woods talks about band camp. We laugh. We eventually leave and get Taco Bell. I take her home, I go home. Everything feels normal.

My Mom asks what I've been up to and I'm crying again, sobbing about failed plans and the Rooster Tail. I end up in her room, watching tv, can hear her on the phone with my Grandma telling her quietly "Nah, she's okay. . . you know how she's been with it since she was a kid,"

I eventually convince myself to take a shower after taking three over-the-counter sleeping pills and feeling like my body isn't quite in my skin anymore. I feel like jell-o, I feel the way I feel when I've taken an excess of downers, my being floating and moving ahead of my real, chubby, functional body. My spirit has escaped and I'm trying to keep up with it. I flinch and I yelp when I shower, constantly moving and trying to keep my eyes on all the walls. Don't betray me now, bathroom.

I sleep but my dreams didn't involve dams. I faced a fear and I ran away from it, screaming and crying.

Fear is a weird thing, guys. I've said it before and I'll say it again; it dictates practically everything I do. It's rare I get to see the actual source of the fear, the beginning of it. Too many parts of my brain fire off and I wonder why it ended up this way. How the genetics lined up and why I'm like this. It's weird. It's so weird.

here are some things i've read also you should too.

Again, as I am as the French say, "Lazy As Le Shit", here's another post from my class blog entitled "Shit I want to Read/Have Read and Think You Should Read". ENJOI.

So here's some shit I read/want to read. 

I feel like I should mention, first and foremost, my reading tastes! I like character centric material; where the "plot" is non-existant outside the main character and we, as readers, largely analyze them. 

Disclaimer that obviously this is my personal tastes and rambling and when I say "THIS IS OBVIOUSLY THE BEST BOOK EVER" it's subjective. I figured you already knew that but I hate how entitled I come off talking about my favorite books. Hurrr. 

Also I want to marry Virginia Woolf, no biggie smalls. 

RECOMMENDED: 

• VIRGINIA WOOLF. The only reason my "serious" stuff comes across the way it does is because of her. She isn't an "easy" read by any means; you definitely need time to get into her but if you want to devote the time into studying her style. . . uhhh you should. A good starting point is "Flush" (an autobiography about Elisabeth Barett Browning's cocker spaniel) and right now I'm working on "Orlando" which. . . I don't know how to explain. Wikipedia it. "Jacobs Room" is kind of an old school "Catcher In The Rye" (guy is in school, he goes and thinks about stuff) and pretty 'easy' if you're not deep reading. Her collection of short stories isn't bad either. 
• BRET EASTON ELLIS. A 'contemporary classic', I guess, he wrote "American Psycho" which GOOD LORD IS GRAPHIC AS ALL HOLY HELL BE CAREFUL but SO GOOD. Like, I had to take a walk and re-evaluate myself after reading it. He also wrote a "Catcher In The Rye" sort called "Less Than Zero", again, about a guy in school who thinks about stuff. Some of his other stuff is honestly a little meh, but those are the two I know and appreciate. 
• KURT VONNEGUT. He is hilarious and sad and confusing and so fucking realistic while encompassing these things. . . even occasional sci-fiish twists! HE'S SO AWESOME. He of course wrote "Slaughterhouse Five" but I really enjoyed "God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater". 
• JD Salinger. We have a weird relationship, Salinger and I. I love him but I hate some of his characters. His prose is excellent and his tone is very reflective of the time he lived in. "Catcher In The Rye" is a must. 
• Sylvia Plath. Excellent poet and writer. Don't read her when you're sad; you'll get sadder and probably stick your head in an oven. Read any of her poetry or "The Bell Jar". 
• William Faulkner. Because the word "haunting" has never singularly described a writing style so well. "As I Lay Dying" will confuse you and make you feel things you didn't know you could feel. Or at least I did. 
• John Steinbeck. He's a staple, and like Salinger, he's worth it if only as what I assume to be a perfect example of what tone and style during his era was. Fair warning that any of his stuff is kind of slow and then sort of. . . punches you in the last 30 pages/the last paragraph on the last page. "Grapes of Wrath" and The Winter of Our Discontent".
• Sarah Kane is a playwright, not a novelist or an essayist, but her stuff is really good/terrifying/depressing. I've read "Crave" and. . .some of her other short plays I can't remember the titles of. Good if you like fragmentation; which is neat in creating a  different reading experience for each person. 

Also Harry Potter. Obviously. 

I'll add more to this as I think of it. I'm kind of drawing a blank now that I'm sitting down and trying to figure out what I'd recommend to people. Blah blah blah I'm in love with Virginia Woolf. 

I know it's probably not the best thing to say, but I feel like I should mention it even if it isn't reading because it's had a huge impact on my writing. Stand up comedy is the only reason I'm the obnoxious twat I am today, or people seem to be under the misguided illusion I'm "funny". Especially if the writing is clever and intelligent! It's good for you! I love me some Patton Oswalt. He's excellent and was also an English major! Fun facts! 

MEANWHILE. 

So here's the stuff I want to read! 

I'm going to copy-paste some summaries from wikipedia/google because I FORGET. 

Hunger. 
"The novel has been hailed as the literary opening of the 20th century and an outstanding example of modern, psychology-driven literature. It hails the irrationality of the human mind in an intriguing and sometimes humorous novel." 

The Flame Alphabet. 
"A terrible epidemic has struck the country and the sound of children’s speech has become lethal. Radio transmissions from strange sources indicate that people are going into hiding. All Sam and Claire need to do is look around the neighborhood: In the park, parents wither beneath the powerful screams of their children. At night, suburban side streets become routes of shameful escape for fathers trying to get outside the radius of affliction. The Flame Alphabet invites the question: What is left of civilization when we lose the ability to communicate with those we love?"

 The Miseducation of Cameron Post
"When Cameron Post’s parents die suddenly in a car crash, her shocking first thought is relief. Relief they’ll never know that, hours earlier, she had been kissing a girl.
But that relief doesn’t last, and Cam is soon forced to move in with her conservative aunt Ruth and her well-intentioned but hopelessly old-fashioned grandmother. She knows that from this point on, her life will forever be different. Survival in Miles City, Montana, means blending in and leaving well enough alone (as her grandmother might say), and Cam becomes an expert at both." 

House of Leaves.
WHO DOESN'T INTEND TO READ THIS OH MY GOD. I can't even figure out what to copy and paste about this, but here's the wikipedia. Reading the summary trips my balls off. Lord god.  

Look how cool this is. LOOK AT IT. 

I'll probably update these as I think of them. EH. 

eek.

Let's talk about being scared of stuff.

I'm scared of a lot of things! Here's my list: 

1. Dams
2. Ghosts
3. Mean ghosts
4. forests at night (they're haunted)
5. floating. . . things (like ghosts) 
6. nice ghosts
7. spiders.
8. the demon (ghost) from paranormal activity. 
9. math
10. my ex wife. (HAH! Just kidding. I'm scared of her GHOST.) 
11. Those red things from "The Village".

Okay so it's mostly ghosts. Shut up. 

Indifference is the only form of bravery I embody. I'm a coward, I'm a wimp. It's only when I don't care about something is when I manage to face it; not out of strength or willpower, it's an astonishing level of dispassion for the situation.

And you know what? It takes a lot to get to that point. It takes a lot of examination and a lot of evaluation to hate something, be terrified of it, make myself sick of it by thinking of it so much, and then literally, completely, not caring. 

I am untouchable because I am impartial. I am okaacy with these facts as they stand. 

I also stand firm in the fact that I'm okay with "ignorance is bliss". When I was like. 8 or something, I watched this thing on TV about aliens with my Mom. I DIDN'T SLEEP FOR A WEEK. I was convinced aliens were going to come snatch me out of nowhere because I watched a thing about rednecks in Texas seeing UFO's. Same thing happened with a documentary on Hell (and various religions "take" on the concept) and- this one is my favorite- the BERMUDA TRIANGLE. I thought it was going to come get me. 

Let me repeat that: I THOUGHT THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE WAS GOING TO KILL ME. I HAVE LIVED IN IDAHO MY WHOLE LIFE. 

So fear is weird. How do you get over your fears? I feel like mine is a daily struggle; I'm scared of people and talking to them and getting out of bed, going to school/work is really hard because of it sometimes. Whats your magic formula? Has anything stopped you from doing anything before? 

Uhhh I'm still not good at ending these. GOOD NIGHT I LOVE YOU. 

Be not afraid to write: better book titles.

Be not afraid to write: better book titles.: this is funny. because it's true.

PICTURE TIME.

Since I have little to nothing of anything of actual interest to post ("SCHOOL WORK SICK SCHOOL WORK WHOOPS I'M SICK AGAIN" -the last month) we're going to play a game called 'sinclair posts shit from photobooth and talks about it'.

I end up doing a lot of my ex-comp homework the morning before class. Which sometimes bleeds into math class, which equates to having my laptop out in math. Since we're in HXCORE REMEDIAL MATH this is usually Chella and I's faces throughout the course of the course. 

Last Thursday we went to Messenger and I drank more than I usually drink which didn't end so well. I think. I don't remember, honestly. But here's me drinking what looks like tinkle, but is actually apple cider which is delightful. That's all.

Over the weekend I took McKienze and her friend Kelsey to Boise. I was sitting at Java, trying to write a short story and not focus on some really upsetting stuff I'd heard a couple hours earlier. Taking dramatic pictures of yourself and anti-anxiety medication in a coffee shop is surely the best direction to take here. I had a good time with them, though. They're funny lil dudes. Didn't get much of the terrible short story I'm working on done, though. 

Got a copy of 'A Visit From The Goon Squad' in the mail since I figured it would be worth owning a copy of. Surprise surprise, it's signed by the author! Thanks, Goodwill San Fran! 

As I mentioned, sicky sick. This has been my battle station for the last 48 hours. Lots of Netflix and cat cuddles.

Also puppy cuddles. But she's knocked out right now. This entire post was an excuse to show you guys awesome pictures of my awesome dog. Look at that adorable piece of shit. She's almost cute when she's not chewing on my arms/terrorizing my cats.

AGAIN THIS ISN'T MY BLOG FOR CLASS. DON'T BE SHAMBOOZLED. THAT'S OVER @ heytheresinclair.tumblr.com. Not that I've posted anything of substance over there, either.

President Carter, P-p-president, Carter.

Hey guys I'm lazy and this is actually for my class blog but I'm putting it over here because I'm lazy as hell.

Hey guys! Looks like we have a holiday on our hands! 

Well we did, anyway. Exciting, no? I feel like people don't give enough credit to Presidents Day because not enough people care about American History because not enough people are Huge Fucking Nerds like me. Which is clearly a problem. 

So I made a list! 

I bring you: 

SINCLAIR'S TOP THREE PRESIDENTS. 

3. Jimmy Carter. 

What isn't to love about this dude. He's a huge humanitarian and a generally Good Guy (and, I frequently get told this is why he was a 'meh' president) and look! He's riding a bike! He's the only president to date that's won the Nobel Peace Prize after his presidency, he used to be a fucking peanut farmer, and Lil Wayne wrote a song about him*. So in his words "Ain't no mother fucker harder than Carter". 

*I don't think 'President Carter' was actually about Jimmy Carter but I really like that song so uh. 

2. Lincoln. 

I know I know, what a boring fucking number 2. I could go off but what it comes down to is this guy saved our fucking country from itself. Not a whole lot of folk survive civil war and we did, thanks to this guy. Also, a few reliable sources think that he might have had aspergers syndrome! HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT. 

1. TEDDY. FUCKING. ROOSEVELT. 

You are the only republican I will ever love, Teddy. You are crazy and passionate and kind of a resilient douchebag. You got shot in the middle of a speech, finished it, and then went to the hospital. Ugh. Also you made meat safe and not as gross. 

RUNNER(S) UP: 

Taft. 

You fat fuck. 

Clinton. 

I would hang out with him. I don't even care. 

Ex-Commies.

Hey Ex-Compples class folk; this isn't my class blog. But I'm following some of you with this, my "personal" free time blog.

My class blog is here: heytheresinclair.tumblr.com.

That's allllll.

One Year Ago.

You know what I did today?

I woke up. I slept in until 8. I watched Jon Stewart re-runs online. I got up, went to school, did a bunch of homework, struggled with elementary math, drew and passed notes in English, swore at three hours of french homework before two hours of French class. I hung out with McKienze, and we were both laughing until we were literally in tears about Pikachu drowning in mayonaise and Lenord Nimoy yelling "THE INTERNET".  I came home and played with my dog.

It wasn't a bad day. It wasn't great. It was fairly normal.

Why am I talking about this generally unremarkable day?

Because a year ago, I was in shock. I don't think I'd even cried yet. My cat peed in the middle of my bed so I couldn't even grieve the loss properly; I laid on the couch in the fetal position and watched horror movies most the day, my head throbbing. I called in sick to work. I did laundry and crawled into bed. I tried to go to bed early. I woke up at 3am and heard myself laugh for the first time in 3 days and it was a hollow, barking noise I didn't register. It literally didn't make sense.

The following months took varying twists and turns because of one year ago today. My anxiety attacks had never been worse. I had complete strangers hug me. I'm pretty sure my managers at work gave me a Starbucks giftcard under the guise of doing a good job with spring cleaning when really it was a "sorry you got cheated on" card. I lost 30 pounds because I didn't really eat solid food for a month. I lost another 20 soon after.


You lover is an actress, did you really think she'd stay? 

I can safely say that being cheated on was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. In the realest and saddest terms I can admit this can be traced; I have a father that disowned me and a mother that attempted suicide twice, leaving me emotionally. I have a vivid fear of people leaving me, and this was pretty much the piece de la resistance as far as demonstrating how blatant and apparent that fear actually was.

We still talk, frequently. Daily. It's kind of strained sometimes; the subtext is always there, somewhere. We'll mention it now and then, and it admirably usually ends in yelling and one of us (me) crying. I get the strangest looks when I say this, but we're still friends. We're still best friends. It's hard, but it's worth it.

I don't say this to anyone who's reading this (maybe I am) but I admit this somewhere into the air, into the earth and the electromagnetic waves that are floating in between us, to the blood in our bodies and the pulses that drive them; don't give up. You can sure as hell not try for a while, you can sink back down to that animalistic, basic 'survival' mode for however long you can allow yourself, but don't give up. It doesn't matter why. I would hope it isn't out of spite (though it might be at first, I know mine was), but find a reason, any reason and fucking stay with it until you can theoretically get back on your feet and feel like a real human being again. Until you can do things and feel things and all the songs on the radio aren't talkng directly to you. Wherever you are, whatever you're hurting for, don't give up.

I remember I actually bought a copy of 'Kid A' and 'OK Computer' by Radiohead so, as I put it blatantly 'So I can be sad on the go [in the car]'. I listened to them a lot. I was waiting for someone in the car one day, flipping through the liner notes, and underneath all the legal jargon, in tiny, itty bitty letters were: "We hope you are doing okay". I mean, if Radiohead was wishing me the best, I couldn't give up.

I don't say this enough to anyone, I feel, but I love you. If you read this or I've read something of yours, whether you know I exist or don't, if I see you at school or at work, I love you. You keep me going. You are my comrades in arms, fellow human beings.

Thank you, friends. Thank you for months of pats on the back and sympathetic looks and letting me literally cry on your shoulders. Thank you for suffering with me. Thank you for at least nodding in understanding if you had nothing else to say. Thank you for listening. Thank you for keeping me alive the past year. 


Things can literally only get better.

Lots of love, forever and always, no matter who you are,
-Sinclair.

But our lips, but our lips.

You held each other by well-groomed hands, mumbling prayers to a neglected Jesus. The Maître-Des quiver as they watch you shiver as the mask and the mouth knit into each other. Our laughter was deafening but our lips, but our lips, but our lips were trembling.


Putting flowers on The Blood Brothers' grave, so to speak. What an awesome fucking group. I wish I had gotten into them a bit more than 5 months before their breaking up, but here we are. As I rotate through their discography again, I find "Six Nightmares Of The Pinball Masquerade" is my favorite song this time around. 


If I ever find a band that composes lyrics like morbid post modern poetry, if ever find a band that balances two vocalists perfectly, if I ever find a band that balances quivering guitars and tantrum fit drums and a sobbing keyboard, if I ever find a band half as great as The Blood Brothers, you bet your ass I'll love them with everything I have left. 

In Which Sinclair remembers her favorite band of several years;

Recently, I dug out a lot of old Nine Inch Nails. 200ish tracks of Nine Inch Nails, to be particular. Lets talk about this.

Does anyone not know this? (Does anyone read this blog?) Okay, I'll elaborate a tad. I was really, really into Nine Inch Nails. There isn't much more to it. When I was a. . . sophomore, I think, in high school, I bought 'And All That Could Have Been' off eBay because I knew a total of two of their songs; 'Hurt' (I'd never heard the original NIN version, I only knew Johnny Cash's rendition) and 'Closer'. When I got it in the mail, I was actually pretty sad to find out it was a live album. I can't stand live albums*. Regardless, I went through the painful 'getting to know an album' time and came out head over heels in love with this band. The next four years can attest to that. Even though my obsession has run out, I still hold a special, sad little corner of my heart for all that is Nine Inched and Nailed.

(*mostly. Why? Because I'm a terrible person. Though, on Modest Mouses 'Baron Von Bullshit' Isaac Brock goes off about how they'll never play 'Freebird' and it's hilarious. ANYWAY NINE INCH NAILS~)

I might have even flipped out a bit when I found out Trent was getting married and again when I found out Mariqueen was preggo.

Nine Inch Nails isn't about being sad or despondent, it's about a level of aching sadness and unease that, when awash in your own depression, you see being the core of the world. It's about being aware that past a certain point, you're not 'depressed', you're cynical and it's simply your world view; your philosophy. You are immersed in this idea that the skeletal system of everything around you is a varied array of flaws and exploitation of them.

Upon poking around, this is what Trent had to say about The Downward Spiral;

"Thematically I wanted to explore the idea of somebody who systematically throws or uncovers every layer of what he's surrounded with, comfort-wise, from personal relationships to religion to questioning the whole situation. Someone dissecting his own ability to relate to other people or to have anything to believe in."

Sounds about right. People have drug various ideas into trying to figure out the 'concept' of the album, and there's a lengthy writing on how, if memory serves, TDS is about a man becoming god and seeking to destroy himself as a result. S'pretty brilliant.

The great thing about a band being around for 20 years is watching the changes; what stays the same and what doesn't. I was a rabid fan for about 4 of those 20, but it gave me plenty of time to become aquatinted with the material. It's a range of emotion with the same core of loneliness and desperation; whether it be in relation to yourself or the social issues surrounding you.

Sometimes I think about the times I drug my ex to NIN shows and weep for her. Sorry, Miranda.

I spent a lot of rainy days listening to 'Ghosts', I spent a lot of days sitting in my car before work listening to 'The Fragile', a lot of afternoons after school just laying in bed, staring at my ceiling listening to 'The Downward Spiral' and feelings like I understood something I didn't before. Thanks for everything NIN, you'll n'er be forgotten.

Bee tee dub, I got the link and the quote off of the NIN wiki. Check it out at your local library!