It is hard to settle down when you are never around

I have returned to the supportive and bouncy box spring mattress, placed clumsily on the floor of my carpeted bedroom—a warm haven that had been sitting as lifeless as a sardine can for the 2 weeks I was away. I must say it is good to be back home. Winter feels like winter in Colorado. The trees hang twiggy and lifeless above the crisp frosted blades of grass; the sun pushes futilely through the hazy grey mask of the clouded grey sky; wearing long sleeves and thick jackets to fight the ever-present cold makes you feel like you are constantly receiving a hug; soup and crackers never tasted better…it is my favorite to place to be for my favorite season. Not to say that Texas was not a pleasant time though. It was exactly what I needed. It had been years since I had been away somewhere that I did not have to worry about a schedule, and had time to sprawl out and put my anchor down, enjoying the sensation of being away with a place to feel at home at. My reason for going away so abruptly after returning home from tour was to spend the much-needed time together with my older brother, and we did just that. I also was able to do a lot of thinking and that is primarily why I wanted to write this journal entry and why I titled it “it’s hard to settle down when you are never around”. On the 26th of this month I will reach the ripened age of 25. Most of the people I went to high school with are getting engaged or having kids. They have graduated college and found career paths. They have a mailbox to receive a paycheck in. They have garages to park their cars in. My life is so much different. I live with 5 of my best friends. We drink beer every night and watch movies until 5am. I sleep on a box spring mattress. My day to day agenda is finding places to go and people to see to make the time I have at home memorable. We play loud instruments and smoke pot on the back porch. My parents are proud and so am I. I have gotten to travel to 48 of the United States, see all of Canada, Mexico, Britain and a big chunk of Europe. I have stood in a crowd of 40,000 Belgians and watched Nine Inch Nails because we played a festival with them. I have had to opportunity to befriend people all over the country and get the amazing experience of seeing them when we return. It is a good life. So, when I turn 25 I am not going to think about the people I went to high school with; at our 10-year reunion I will probably have more stories to tell than them anyway. When I turn 25 on the 26th--to whoever is reading this—I hope you raise a cold beer in my honor so you can party with me. Cheers

Salvation In San Marcos

I am sitting in front of a hip little coffee joint near the main drag of the unfamiliar college town known as San Marcos, Texas, anxiously awaiting the development of what my weekend has in store for me. I took a pilgrimage south for the new year, wanting to spend time with my older brother and see some friendly faces. My outlook and motivation for the whole time I am down here is that of spontaneity. The last several years of my life I have been living in a very ubiquitous nature, and I have become conditioned to being in several places with no real apparent plan other than to see what life throws at me. Right now I am an hour south of where I have been staying the last couple days, with a backpack full of clothes and this trusty computer. My friend gets off of work in a little bit--at least to my understanding--and we are to meet up and well...that's all I have let the plan progress to. It is a very delicate and introspective sensation I feel when I let myself end up in undetermined situations. I basically let my social and survival skills take hold, reassuring me that I will end up just fine--wherever I end up tonight. And tomorrow. And the whole rest of this trip. Texas--you certainly have been great to me so far.

New World Record

10 millenniums in Los Angeles

I hope everyone is now unzipping their layered and thermal outerwear, finally welcoming the opulent rays of the sun; the warm round beast that has been hiding behind leagues of frosty universe, leaving our entire country to freeze in an unpredictable frigid climate. During the wrath of Earth's icy dominion, we Fear Before had the opportunity to shoot a new music video---a video that took place outside. At night. Each of us covered in cold wet mud. For 7 hours. I am typing with a sniffly stuffed nose, still yet the aftermath of a bare fleshy warm-blooded body at mercy to nature's unyielding force. But it was one of the best times of my life. I am glad we survived...
The day of the shoot we had all afternoon to sleep in and prepare ourselves for the ultimate exposure to the most unprecedented dreary weather Los Angeles had thrown at its greasy pavement since long before anyone could remember. Scene call was at 430 PM and we threaded through the tight Los Angeles suburbs in our van and trailer, beads of thunderous rain splattering at our windshield. We pulled up to a colossal veranda tucked deeply away, past winding pavemented pathways and extensive open yards, the terrace costumed in a blatant castle design--resembling some ancient ride at Disneyland that would have been torn down mid 80's during the influx of theme rides that choked the expensive real estate of booming Southern California. Quickly the amiable director took charge, requesting that we change into the clothes we were willing to destroy in repeated rock n' roll maneuvers and gallons of clumpy bubbly thick mud. We were seamlessly swinging our hair doused in baby oil and faces caked in Milano foundation cream, clenching our frozen digits around the muddy necks of our guitars..trying to look infused with rock core amidst the terrible elements of nature breaking our backs with each cold pounding rain drop upon our shoulders. With the staggered alleviation from a heated living room dressed in garbage bags to ward off the mud stains, we zipped in and out of the frosty field with only enough time to recirculate the blood through our veins, heating our hands and feet next to the television that was constantly playing reality television. But hardship yields results. So stay tuned for the upcoming video for "Fear Before doesn't listen to people who don't like them", because we almost died of hypothermia to deliver it to you. That's my column for today.

Great Season's Greatings

Good Season to all... I hope your lavish days of tranquil leisure and bountiful consumption of Santa's favorite treats left you feeling complete and satisfied to take on another new year. Oh 2009! What mystery you hold. I have a feeling 2008 will only cower in the shadow of the monumental powerful profile such a becoming and tenacious year as yourself wields. I am flipping through pages of new year's resolutions and trying to slug out a better me come this new year; hoping to welcome in the fortitude of 2009 with open arms and relief like a feeble peon humbling before rain clouds. 2008 had it's highlights, but over half of it I feel I wasted--sitting around like life would shower me with gifts and opportunities; rather it befitted me with the humble realization that you make life what it is. So...using this spirited outlook and tasteful approach, one of my new year's resolutions is to comment on my life occurrences and choices as if my life were a column. I will tell enthralling tales of life on the road, romances, disparities, humor...everything. I hope to gain new readers and sift out the stale old ones. This is Mike in black and white. So hold on tight, because when the going gets weird...the weird turn pro.

Maybe For Only This Moment

Maybe for only this moment
Concerns will be brushed aside
Relationships will be at bay
Money will be only numbers
And Time will finally stay
And I will float here
As the waves of now
Carry me up and down
But my mood will not wary
Because my anchor is found
Just stopped right here
In the time of now

Sorry.

Many apologies to everyone and myself for my prominent diffidence with my writing---the second half of tour was far too much fun and swept my studious behavior away like rats in a rainstorm. I am gratefully home now, after the taxing drive across 1/3 of America with a most fearsome winter storm nipping at our accelerating hindquarters. We barely missed getting buried in the dolloping blanket of foot upon foot of heavy snow, covering the western United States in frost like an Oreo cookie. On this arduous drive home I pounded out some thoughts and will virtuously elaborate on them in the next coming of days.

Thesis on how I am invincible and there is no challenge I cannot overcome

Evidence #1
It was a brisk night, infused with the kind of cold that steals your body heat away like a passing apparition grabbing at your soul. The desert of New Mexico offered no warmth from its sandy hills and cloudless sky; it sat there lifeless and frozen like a bad painting---vacant and void. We played at a venue called the Launchpad and it was embarrassingly empty. This was due to one reason and one reason alone…the mega-hype hip-hop gangsta-frat-boy sensation known as “3OH!3” was playing a free show down the street and drew all the local kids like toddlers to an ice cream truck. After we packed away our equipment and tucked away our disappointed furrowed brows, we quickly joined the masses in congregation---but with a different motive---two of our very best friends were on tour with 3OH!3 and we desperately wanted to see them. I drove our van to the event in drooling anticipation and parked it illegally; the tour bus idling in distant view. We ran up and shook them out of the bus like coconuts from a tree; exchanging high-fives and fine whiskey shots in the frosty parking lot as if it were a wedding reception. We all had such a jubilant time and the party moved onto the bus until the wee hours of the morning. I was Mr. Responsible and played the role of the designated driver, calmly sipping on a stale Budweiser can and catching up with my friends. Eventually the celebration ceased and we loaded back into our van, sadly bidding our friends farewell. I maneuvered our van through the city streets in destination to a distant motel en route to Phoenix with the erupting laughter from the back of the vehicle piping up and ricocheting around like a wild beast in a cage. We were about 40 miles away from the desolate Motel 6 when amidst the laughter and bedlam in the van comes a crashing thunderous pound on the passenger door and I realize there is a massive 18-wheeler semi-truck knocking us into the median and almost into oncoming traffic. Survival tactics are always dependable and I watched my limbs jolt and thrust in a mechanical reaction as our van slowed down, headlights flash, horn honk; swerving to the side of the interstate---my arm jolting out the window with a towering middle finger erected in the frosty desert air; intended for the negligent truck driver ahead of us. In complete fury and powered by the atavistic energy of adrenaline, I jolted to the driver’s side of the truck and pounded on the door like Luther, beckoning the evil soul to emerge. There is no feeling like almost dying with 5 of your best friends. “Did you see what you just did to us?!...you almost killed us you bastard!!!” “Well…I was trying to plug something in. I must have swerved”. I was so infuriated and irate. I wanted to grab him from the neck and toss him into oncoming traffic. Instead I ran to the nearest road sign to find our location and alerted the authorities, who sleepily arrived at the scene; taking pictures and reports as if people almost lose their lives all the time. The truck driver was issued a ticket (is there a fine for almost killing someone?) and our insurance information was exchanged---police report filed. Now I am sitting here on my bed talking to my insurance company trying to figure out how to milk this guy for all the money he is worth. I want to get paid for almost dying.