Poetic Rants from Common Street Trash

Do you remember when everyone you knew was an artist? When you'd rush from sleep to paint your dreams, or write a song that had a nice melody but lyrics that were as meaningless as being teenaged? Do you remember when trauma, disappointment, failure and heartbreak were only as real as the scenes you watched unfold in films, projected on a screen 20 feet tall? I feel like everyone has lost the passion for that inspired them in their youth. It has simply been choked out by too many years spent fighting to keep fat and fed. I see my friends struggling almost everyday to find work so that they can earn a living, and while the jobs that they take provide them with the ability to eat, their souls seem to grow increasingly malnourished. They watch their dreams turn to dust and don't anything about it. It breaks my heart.

I often look back at the things that have happened to me, and I look to the future, and I wonder what more there is for me to experience, and who else will appear on the road. There are people from my past that have influenced and affected me in ways that I still don't fully understand, and they don't even know it. There are people that I miss dearly that I will probably never see again. But then, one day, I will sit down and I will write a song, or a story, or a poem, or draw a picture (although my drawings resemble the finest works of children fresh for the 2nd grade), and it enables me to go back to that moment and see that person again. That's the beauty and the truth of art; that's the reason that when I die the one thing that I want people to understand, whether they loved me or hated me, is that I did my best to live as an artist.

Please do not tell me to listen to Animal Collective, because I fucking cannot stand them. I WILL punch you in the nuts.

Goddamit. What the FUCK. Here's the list for the Best Picture Oscar Nominees:

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Frost/Nixon
Milk
The Reader
Slumdog Millionaire

In 2008, the Dark Knight was, based on any criteria you'd like to use, the best reviewed movie that came out. How then can this film not be nominated for Best Picture? I could understand, possibly, how it would not win the nomination, but to not even be nominated? That is just plain crazy. This is going to end up being one of the biggest mistakes the Academy has ever made - the other two giving it a run for its money are its failure to acknowledge "Star Wars," and "Do The Right Thing." "Star Wars" was at least nominated, but lost to "Annie Hall." Seriously, FUCK that noise. Woody Allen's neurosis, or fucking goddam LIGHTSABRES? There is no contest.
And "Field of Dreams," won in a year that "Do the Right Thing," wasn't even nominated. What the fuck? It's like periodically all of these film critics will take stupid pills.
Movies are supposed to be about spectacle, and fun, and escaping the boring work world that we live in, and there was nothing more spectacular, on Film, than the Dark Knight. At a time when movie critics are becoming less and less relevant as it is, snubbing the Dark Knight only serves to further prove how out of touch these people are...

You'll come if you're my friend!

There always comes a day when you realize that you hate your job. Today was that day. I was able to coast through the first few months of this job fairly easily, content to think to myself that it was much better than working at the bank. You let that sensation sneak up on you and you get caught up in euphoria, you feel like things are changing and that your life is going to be better. Then, of course, what was new becomes the new routine. It's an unescapable circle. I think that this undeniable ebb and flow is at the very heart of the divorce rate and substance abuse issues. All I know is that this job of mine is starting to push me towards alcohalism.

1. The whole Keffiyeh thing got me by surprise because I thought everybody was just wearing bandannas around their necks to look cool. Like they're a bunch of crazy outlaws. I thought the cowboy look was coming back, and now I'm sad. Doesn't a keffiyeh have frills on it or some crap like that. I don't know, it just sounds SO tacky to me.

2. Fixed gear bikes are stupid, regardless of whether or not you're a hipster, because there're no brakes. You're going to get creamed by a bus. If, however, you're actually able to stop without killing yourself on one, then more power to you. You get mad Fred Flintstone props.

3. Who cares? If someone calls you a hipster, they're probably just bitter and angry because they're not having any fun. I'd rather be a hipster than a condescending dickhead-- and yes, the dude who wrote that article proved himself, in my opinion, to be a condescending dickhead.

4. I don't understand the whole point about our generation not being motivated to do anything. Doesn't the fact that "hipsters" are so obsessed with bicycles show that they are actively trying to change things? I mean, isn't the whole biking thing a response to increasing gas prices, global warming, and the whole environmental bit? If you can't come up with a solution, then at least you can stop being part of the problem, right?

Come on out if you want to see me make a fool of myself!

Check it out, Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney wrote this article about the videogame "Rock Band," it's pretty great:
http://www.slate.com/id/2177432/

Salt Lake City is #12 on Forbes' list of best cities in America to get a job, and it's nestled between the mountains. Sweet.

I was laying in my bed this evening talking to my Mom and she slipped in conversation and said something that sort of took me off guard-- she was talking about Katie, but she called her Gina. It's been over a year since me and Gina split, and I've gone through so much shit-- the death of my Grandma and Grandpa, friends leaving town, playing all kinds of shows and getting swept into scene bullshit, friends getting married, watching one sister fail out of school while my other sister begins, depression, meeting Katie, etc... Somehow I even accomplished one of my life's goals in making a record. Seriously, I was a 12 or 13 year old kid listen to fucking "Big Ones," in my bedroom, rocking a sweet brown leather jacket with the Aerosmith logo hand stitched into the back, and I knew that one fucking day I wanted to make music. I know that there are people out there that fucking hate me. I know that every other day there's probably someone out there that I piss off-- most recently Zack, but that's a whole other story-- and I know that I can come across as arrogant, or selfish, or obnoxious, but I feel like when I'm 90, and everyone's testicles are sagging to the floor, and we've all got hearts and lungs that are partly constructed from some sort of space-aged-aluminum-super-metal, at least I'll have made an album. 9 songs that I created, assembled together in that same shiny little package that gave me so much hope when I was a nerdy little fuck. It's so fucking rad... I don't even know. But anyway, I was talking to my Mom and she slipped and it was just sort of like a kick in the face, or a bee sting, or something. I don't know, it's been all this time and it can still creep up on me.
The hardest thing is knowing that there's no one single person out there who can understand how I feel. I know you've all had your heart break, and I know that it would be arrogant to undervalue that experience, but we were together for nearly 10 years. That's one decade. That's almost half of my lifetime. I can remember more of my life with Gina in it then without, and that fucking shakes me up. One of the reasons Gina gave for breaking up was that she wanted "some sort of grand sweeping change." She took it as incentive to go to Chicago, where she lived for a few months before realizing that she couldn't afford it. Waiting tables in Chicago and going out to bars. Wow. I had become part of something that simply wasn't exotic enough. She sent me a message the other day, from Mexico. She's living at her Mom's house in South Bend, substitute teaching, and she took all the savings she had and bought a plane ticket to Mexico. I guess what I'm thinking about here is someone's definition of grand-- what is it that you find romantic? For Gina it was, and always was, planning these huge trips. She totally got off on being able to tell people that she was going to France-- just being able to tell them. But that's OK. That's her. When we were together we were trying to work towards a different goal. We were just trying to survive, and I'd never seen her more unhappy. It's like, for her to be happy she's always got to be working towards the next plane ticket-- that next avenue of escape. To me, that's sort of sad-- I want to bring things to me. I want to work to build something that's not going to go away-- and that's sort of the bitch of the matter. I invested so much in her but she was always trying to get away, and ultimately she took this huge chunk away, and it makes me feel numb about most of the shit that I've experienced since. It's not like I'm sad, or overly happy, it's just that I don't feel like there's any emotions that I haven't felt. I'm on my second or third everything, and nothing feels new.
Anyway...So yeah... John told me that I should write a blog because he used to like them, and I guess this is sort of why I stopped.

Hey everybody!
I hadn't checked my LJ in like 2 weeks and Jesus!!! I think we need to break into a drug store and start ripping off happy pills, on the real. Anyway, here's something that may or may not make you feel better about yourself.
Saturday morning I was having brunch with Adam and my friend Kevin, who was visiting for an evening before driving to Indy for a wedding. Adam had recieved a message from Matt telling him to check out the Herald Times. We got 50 cents and got a paper, and at first we didn't know what he was talking about. There was a fire by the Bean Blossom festival, was that it? Then we turned to page two and there, to our horror and amazement, was a picture of one of our friends from highschool and the headline "Police confiscate $100,000, cocaine, marijuana..." Some of you may remember me making references to "my drug-dealing friend Pete." His full name is Peter Nyguen and now he's facing multiple Class A Felonies. I played basketball with him about 2 weeks ago, so suffice it to say that I was shocked. Another kid I didn't really know very well but went to High School with, George Behensky, was arrested as well.
Thursday night the Special Investigations Unit of the Bloomington Police Department obtained a warrant to search their residence, and at 10:30PM they knocked on his door. Upon searching the premise they found an ounce of cocaine, 2 pounds of high-grade marijuana, and $10,000 in cash. They also found a big safe which Pete told them contained personl items. They were arrested and taken to the jail, but Pete made bail the following morning and sent about gathering up enough money to post bail for George and some other dude. Meanwhile, the police got a warrant to open Pete's safe...and they found $90,000 and a half pound of cocaine. Had Pete elected to forget about George and flown the coop inmmediately, who knows how far he could've gotten, but he went back to bail out the other guys and they rearrested them all as they were leaving the jail. Pete's pretty fucked now. He's looking at 30+ years in prison if he's convicted on all the charges they've brought against him. So while you're dong whatever it is you're doing today, just remember that it could be worse.
Word.
-K

Hey Everyone,
If you haven't heard, Secrets Between Sailors is rocking the first show of the new Total Trash era at the Bluebird! $1 PBRs, $1 admission and if that wasn't enough, the first 100 people in the door are going to get a free Reverend Horton Heat / Nashville Pussy ticket!!! Do I ever lead you astray?
The full line-up tomorrow includes Secrets, Gravitas, Everybody and Sticky & the Bees. Secrets will also be dropping a fresh jam or two!
Seriously, this is going to be off the hook!
-K Money

Not too shabby if I do say so myself. Tyler recorded this!

Long time, no post. Today is my 5th day on my new job and I'm beginning to get a feel for what I'm actually supposed to do, and it's fucking easy street. I'm a glorified secretary, and I spend most of my time on the phone with lonely old people, or crazy hippie chicks from Hawaii who think my voice is sexy. Seriously. The customers are pretty hilarious generally-- If only they paid me more cash. Also, if you didn't get the message, I've got new email addresses. kd.burkett@gmail.com, for personal stuff, and kyle.burkett@iuniverse.com is my work addy. Compared to the bank, iUniverse is virtually a stress free environment. I have my own little cubicle where I can put up pictures of stuff-- any suggestions? Giant German cross?
I think I want to buy a cactus, anybody know where I can get one?
Also, my cellphone has now finally died completely, so if you're trying to get ahold of me you're going to have to call Katie. I might be able to pick up a new phone tomorrow, but I'm not sure.
Word.

Hey Dudes and Darlins',
Do me a solid and check out the rough mixes of some new tunes that are going to be on Secrets' first album, and let me know what you think. They're up on our myspace:
www.myspace.com/secretsbetweensailors
Also, if anyone can get word to Clint, Dustin and Ryan, let them know that I don't get off work until 5:45 tonight! If one of them would like to come pick me up at work that would be boss though. Apparently the bank blocks Hotmail, but not LJ. Vicotry is mine!
Peace,
-K