My Daughter, Judith

I wish the clocks kept moving. The motor up and left. I wake up at 6:00 am and all I remember is eating dinner with my daughter the night before.
I woke up next to an unfamiliar old woman. She told me I can trust her. I don't know her. She says that she is my wife, and my daughter is upstairs asleep.
The clock doesn't stop. It's time that's no longer linear. I'm a superhero. No. That's not right. I'm Wyatt Wesley Crowell. I'm at the edge of my life with memories that no longer look back at me.

Mitch Young and Matt Grundy

A Suicide File

a hound's tooth coat pockets are bulging
with nebutal bought from some doctor
who also was bought to keep those pockets full
the face was lost but partly recovered
so half asleep and half in a frenzy
one side tries to smile enough for two
pictures remain split at the image
cupboards well-stocked with things to diminish
the pain that comes with clarity and mirrors in well-lit rooms...
------
Suicide is not unnecessary. If people did not commit suicide, the idea of capital punishment would not be a question. It would be an order. From Columbine to Cobain, people have their reasons for suicide. Who are we to argue?
One of my favorite musicians killed himself. Over a girl.
Elliott Smith was living with his girlfriend Jennifer Chiba. They got into an argument, as many relationships ultimately lead to. I doubt it was an argument over whether or not they need to jump the portal to heaven. It was probably about new linen, or a look she gave to a handsome man, or a hand that Elliott had held.
He stabbed himself in the heart. Twice. She locked herself in the bathroom to take a shower, and he stabbed himself in the heart. Twice. How. Fucking. Ugly.
------
I have been nonexistent before. I did not complain. I mean I guess I don't really remember complaining, or remember much of anything for that matter. Nonexistence can do that to a person I guess. I complain a lot. At least now anyway. You were nonexistent too. The universal timeline stretches quite a ways before we showed up. Maybe even as far back as infinity. I wasn't there at creation so I don't even really know, you know? So for as far as we know, we've already experienced an infinite stint of unconsciousness. Even if you don't subscribe to the infinity idea, scientists estimate the Earth to be over four and a half billion years old. That's a long time to not exist. Like I said, I don't remember complaining.
------
Some studies suggest a correlation between a sport team’s performance and fans’ suicide rates (Forgrave, 11). I wish I could be that big of a fan of anything.
------
No one I know personally has ever killed themselves. The closest I've ever been to one happened while I was at an overnight field trip for drama class. A girl from another school auditioned for colleges or a college and I guess she didn't get in. She slit her wrists and hung herself in the bathroom. She died alone. I didn't know her, but it made me feel sad anyway. Suicide affects a lot of people. They even say Kevin Bacon is only six degrees away.
If you think about it, people are slowly killing themselves all around us. Cigarettes and alcohol and pills and hard drugs and fatty foods and high cholesterol and all that nonsense can kill you, probably will. I work in a convenience store. I sell a lot of the instruments you can use to perform a slow, socially acceptable suicide. I guess I should be honest, I buy a lot of them myself.
------
I don't recall wanting to kill myself. Ever. Unfortunately, I don't blame some people for wanting to, though. Life is quite the whore sometimes.
I remember when my grandfather died on christmas morning in 1996. My fingers were busy opening my first present. My dad was so upset he had to puke. It was the first time I reflected on the idea of a life after death. I had gone to church before, but I tuned into daydreams. So, what good was that?
My grandfather did not commit suicide. He was 65 and he had a stroke while driving and he went right into a pole. Regardless, it wasn't fair to hear that someone with that much life had passed away so early. It's not fair. It's not fair! It's not fair, it's not fair...
“It's not fair!” I said to my mother who was wiping my watery eyes.
To make sense of what is fair and what isn't won't get you anywhere, said my mother. I looked up at her warm face and it stopped me from sobbing.
“You're going to get dressed, go to school, and put on your handsome smile. Because if there is anything that your grandfather gave you, it was the gift of everlasting love. Everlasting love doesn't fade because you don't see each other, does it?”
I have always listened to my mother.
------
A high profile case comes up for a prestigious lawyer. He can choose to prosecute or act as the defense. He kills himself. I guess he decided to sue a side. That's not really funny. I know the joke isn't funny to begin with, but suicide isn't the thing you're really supposed to laugh at. I once wrote a poem called "Last Laugh".
his suicide note read
"this is probably
not a real suicide
this is probably
just a cry for help"
he blew his head off
with a
twelve gauge
double barrel
shot
gun
i dont think anybody got the
joke
It's pretty morbid, I'll give you that. Suicide is something I've always treated with respect. Is that even the right word? Respect? I'm not sure, but I think it takes a crazy kind of courage to kill yourself. I know you aren't supposed to say that. You're supposed to tell people that suicide is a cowardly way out, a "permanent solution to temporary problems", a mistake, an awful burden on those that were close to you and everything else that goes along with that. I'm not so sure. Then again, I'm not so sure about very many things.
------
she checks in at dwindling daylight
a week up front asks not to be bothered
the registry will show her mother's name
locks the door sits on the bed just a minute before
she picks her purse up off the floor
pulling out what she needs...
------
If the world is wretched, what makes us whole? Can you really bind your existence to the success you see around you? Hopelessness is a crash diet. It doesn't work for you. Ever. How do you base your decision on the way that someone else makes you feel?
The world is not a wretched place.
------
I never want to feel bound to life. Not by other people, or by the government, or by machines or by anything. I want to live life for me. I know that sounds pretty selfish, and in a way it is. If I ever decide that life is something I can't be bothered to live anymore it's comforting to have the knowledge that there's a way out. You can always hold onto your "get out of jail free" card without using it. But then again, I don't know. I don't know you. You don't me. We don't know each other. Go see a therapist, you probably shouldn't be thinking about suicide anyway.
------
The concept of death is something that we can all relate to. Even so, it's not like any other experience that you can talk about afterwards. I'm not so sure any one thinks about how they can't tell any one in this plane of existence what suicide is like, in stark contrast to telling people about making your first sand castle; getting your first paycheck; getting into an accident; smoking your first cigarette; believing in the world.
Making memories builds a better character. I'll never feel capable enough to decide for myself when life's not worth living anymore.
------
warming her wrists in promising water
somebody's love another one's daughter
readies herself apologizing to the motel maids
double-edged and super blue
vertically letting the life from you
casting a new darkness through the room
angels lay their odds on you
know not quite what they should do
only that they can't quite tear themselves from the view

Lahaina (Unmerciful Sun)

“Hey, haole, at least you'll die in paradise,” are the reassuring words of one of my sister's local friends. They are laughing off this terrifying situation that I am facing since they had made this very leap about 20 times already.

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” I say slightly disconnected, since my focus is distracted by the drop in front of me. “As a matter of fact, why don't you go first?” I challenge Brandon.
“Shoots, brah,” he replies with a smirk, meaning “of course I'll jump.” He is entirely too ready for this. I watch Brandon Benson slip back a couple steps to prepare. Before I have a chance to look over the cliff again, I hear him charging his way to the edge of the lava rock. This way, when I do look over the edge again, two entities, one being the 75 foot fall and the other being the jump off of it, connect themselves in a completely different perspective for me.

With a hop that suspends Brandon above the drop for a split second, he starts to descend with a “Whoooo!...”

I watch laying on my belly with my fingers gripping the edge, my eyes wide as if to compensate for my poor asian aperture. I begin to count.

“1 Mississippi, 2...” His slender figure is getting ever smaller. Those boney arms are doing a great job of keeping him vertical over the crystal clear water. It's poetic in a way, his dark, Hawaiian tan over the turquoise is indescribable.

“3 Mississippi, 4...” I crack a smile. I must be damaged.

“5 Mississippi, 6...” The hooting subsides with a beautiful crest of white that seemed to swallow Brandon whole until he reemerges with a smile that could cure cancer.

I count to 6 Mississippi.

I can't help but feel a slight tickle in my cognitive process despite the butterflies, because Brandon is right. At least I'll die in paradise. It is a gorgeous day in Lahaina. The sun is beaming on the beach, and from up here, you can see right through the water that stretches for miles, I swear it. However sadistic they seem to me at the moment, the people here are so friendly. How gorgeous the women are! Hawaii's features from this spot, simply called Black Rock, are accented nicely from the beach all the way up to the volcano crater at Haleakala that is surrounded by puffy, snowy white, harmless clouds.

“Mitch!” my sister bellows out, snapping me out of my path to enlightenment.

“Huh, what?”

“Are you going to be a baby all day? I'm hungry.”

“I mean, it's not like I'm going to climb all the way back down. You go, I'll go after you.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I did it already, butt hole. I want to see you jump from up here.”

I can't argue with that. Stephanie's always had a way of pushing me past any insecurities or fears I might have. Although she's three years younger than me, she is the accomplishing one. She's a natural athlete, and beats me at just about every sport. I remember teaching her to roll around on a skateboard one year, and the next year that I went to Hawaii to visit her and our mom, she was airing out of vert ramps while giving me a high five and drinking a Coke. Even though she is a tom boy, she really is adorable. That's how she gets away with causing mischief all the time I suppose. Regardless, her and I compliment each other so nicely. She carries the bravery while I carry the compassion. In short, if she wasn't there with me, I would've walked all the way back to the beach where all those beautiful ladies were and never turned back.

So I approach the edge of the world once more to get a final look down. After deciding that it was a terrible idea to do that, I take a couple steps back and recollect myself. I breathe in with my eyes closed. I feel so good. Then, almost involuntarily, I take off. I run at the drop, and with every step, it feels like my heart beats 3 times. My right foot lands right before the depression and I bend my knees a little to launch myself up.

Up I go.

I don't go up very far before gravity reminds me how much control it actually possesses.

Down I go.

Oh, jesus, I insist that you exist! This sensation is much too much. I won't stop falling! I won't ever stop falling! Where is the ground? Shit. I hate you, Stephanie! When you die I swear you will burn in Satan's left hand forever, he's going to poke you with spears and make fun of your stupid hair and I'll be able to come around and laugh about it whenever I want, and...

Splash!

I feel the security of something other than air brushing against my flesh. I leave my eyes open to soak up everything. From somewhere in my soul, I feel another tickle. A chuckle comes out in the shape of bubbles that float to sea level. I start to laugh hysterically floating about 10 feet under water. As I surface, I hear another splash. I see Steph cut through the ocean at a million miles an hour. She floats up to me and we practically scream with laughter. Brandon leads us back to shore. Steph gets a plate of Kahlua Pork and we spend the evening with friends on the beach.

We watch the sun dive into the same ocean that we did. When it submerges, there is a beautiful green flash that races through the sky, almost like the anxiety that left me once I hit the water. Given the current situation, meaning my discerning free fall and now the beautiful sunset, I start to think to myself. So, I say, “Self, I'm really glad you decided to jump. Promise to freeze moments like this for the rest of your life. Don't be old and lose your luster. Keep taking chances and scaring your mother half to death, but hold your head above water.” I smile. Now I lay back in the sand and stare at the sky to ponder perpetual motion.

At least I'll die in paradise.

In Alabama with Altered State

Just a quick update. I rarely find internet and when I do, we're normally looking for an address to the next venue or something.

I'm a lucky son of a bitch. My friends are the best. I love my life.

Ashley, text me back or so help me god I will take your ovaries.

- Tojo.

Oceanside, California

For these countless years,
Torture and torment.
I'm haunted by chase dreams,
Whenever I'm not falling.
This feeling is accurate
Because I believe in it.
Hemera, where are you?
If I've any hope, you're relieving it.

I'll manage to say "I'm sorry"
While I'm choking on bolts of lightning.
And I'll never question you again,
Because questions are far too frightening.

Take me! Open up!
Your eyes are useless.
Oceanside, California
The air around me is tensing.
But you built me a conduit,
I lived secure for a while.
Dionysus, where are you?
I'd forgotten how to smile.
- "The Fault Line" by Mr. Mitchell Young

My 11:11

If I could have it my way, I'd set my clocks a minute apart from each other, so if I happened to see the right one hit 11:11, I'll get about 4 wishes every time. It's not that I'm selfish. Never. It's simply that so many things weigh me down, it results in me depending on wishes to get my shit together.

Went to a couple dance parties this weekend.

Don't remember much.

But I DO know I want another tattoo. I want to start my Ramones collage with this little guy:




although I don't do psychedelics. So maybe not. But it's so hard to find a good idea for a Ramones tattoo because you've got schmucks all over the place who think they're the world's most thorough Ramones fan, so they get a stupid tattoo attempting to glorify those assholes. Unfortunately, I'm one of those schmucks. Now I'm bitter. I've got Bryce's set list hanging over my desk right now, and I can't stress enough how happy I am for him. He's damn good at what he does, I must admit. I haven't talked enough to my roommates lately. Even Justin, you can never spend enough time with that booger.

I am more than just a reoccurring accident
But the more I fuck up the greater the penalty
From plane to plane, there is evidence of my mistakes
And I'm constantly reminded of those days...
God, I'm shaking!! And no, I don't know when I'll stop
The plates just keep pushing together
Completely unpredictably. And it's affecting me
On the outside and beneath the surface
Believe me, your reactions are less than necessary
And yes, I agree:
I know I'm scary.
I know I'm reckless.
I know, I know.

A new song I'm writing, relating my bottled emotions/intense reactions to an earthquake. How original. Hey look, a longhorn.

Intro Bust.

This will be simple rhetoric. I can't believe I'm blogging, but I know it will please Ashli, so get ready for me to blast this shit... SAHN.