Hey, I'm back! Today, I want to take the time to talk about Counter Strike. As you can see from the title of this blog, my name is Nico. Yay.
Counter Strike is one of the most popular shooter games of all time. Everything you have to know about that game is shootin' people, shootin' more people, and campers (I'll talk about them in a bit as well).
I'm just kidding. Let's go into more detail about this game. It's basically a battle between the Counter Terrorists (the good people) and the Terrorists (the bad people). The Terrorists can win in two ways: They can either wipe out the entire Counter Terrorist team, or they can place a C-4 somewhere and let it explode. The Counter Terrorists can win in three ways: They can either wipe out the entire Terrorist team (who would've thought?), they can defuse a C-4, or they can save a hostage.
As we all know, every game has some points of frustration. I think Counter Strike has a lot of them, but my dog says it's just because I'm such a noob at that game, so...
So, here is my list of the Top 3 things in Counter Strike that annoy me the most!
3. People saying weird stuff on servers through voice chat
Why do people do this? Imagine you're in this situation: You just join some random server, and because you're friendly, you want to say "Hi". Response? "Sup you freak we're extreme here and you'll be gone soon, ohhh"...
You don't know what's going on and think it's just one person who's being annoying. You type in "How are you?" and a second person sings "I'm doing fine, yeahhh"
I mean, it's okay if you keep it limited. But don't just do stuff like that after every word-- "Word, word... words are so pretty, woah-oh..." WHAT THE HELL?! It's just unnecessary and annoying. But as you can see, that's not the worst thing...
2. Various players you can find on some servers
First of all, it's just SO ANNOYING when some people just shout into their microphones... especially in a language you don't understand. Then, there are the wonderful campers. They are these players that just hide in one spot and kill everyone in sight.
And now, don't say it's tactical waiting. For me, tactical waiting is when you stay at one place for a short time. Not through the entire game! But there's some players that just take the cake...
Hackers. Cheaters. Cornflakes. Oh, wait...
Yeah, they're just the perfect candidates. There's one question: Hackers and cheaters, why do you do that? Do you feel overpowered through it, or do you have no life?
"but y?!?! i have a house made out of obsidian and theres lava flowing around it--" Minecraft is NOT life! "wat do u mean?!?!"
However, if you cheat in games, you indirectly admit you have no skill. That's why hackers and cheaters are... how should I say it... b00ns! But don't worry, you will eventually stop... maybe.
1. Anti Shooter Games
Now, this isn't a problem with the game, but the game plays a big role in this one. Think about it, what annoys about every gamer who plays games like Counter Strike? We're all annoyed by this ONE THING.
"Forbid this useless violence! Forbid killer games! All killer game players will become gunmen!"
Dear Anti Killer Game community... what's going on in your heads? Do you really think that games like that are the main reason for rampages?! And what about the social complications? Mental disorders?!
Of course, it can happen that shooter games can drive you to do stuff like that, but for that you already have to be kinda... you know...
If there's one thing that made me more angry, it was Mario. Do you remember the underwater stages in the original Super Mario Bros. with the bloopers? Oh man, I was angry at that! So, I don't think you should put the blame on shooter games. But they still do it. I WILL FIND YOU-- I mean, I don't think that's right.
If you want, leave your opinion about this topic as a comment, and I'll see you in my next post!
Hey guys! I'm Nico and welcome to Nico Talks About Stuff! So, today we're talking about gaming stuff... of course in a silly way.
Today's topic is: Minecraft! Minecraft is probably one of the most popular games ever. Especially in 2011, that thing just exploded. Everyone wanted to play it, every 2nd Let's Player wanted to do a Let's Play of it. Everyone who didn't want to do videos about it got this response:
"I don't want to play Minecraft." "WHAT? Everyone unsub him!!"
But why is Minecraft so successful? I think it's because it's kinda like playing with Legos. Everyone played with Legos when they were kids. Admit it, you did it too!
For those of you who don't know what Minecraft is about: You collect materials and craft many items with it. With that, you can build even more stuff, like houses, mines, planes, everything you can imagine. There's one guy who is interesting. He's called "Creeper". It's a green... thing with four feet and no arms. When you're near it, it can explode, and so it can destroy a lot or even kill you. Be careful...
Of course, there's not only creepers, there's also other things that can attack you, like spiders, skeletons or zombies. Ouch.
By now, pretty much everyone plays Minecraft. Even the cool kids. "Dude, I'm so awesome, I got Minecraft on DS! ...what? What do you mean, there's no Minecraft for DS?!"
Notch is the creator of Minecraft. His real name is Markus Persson. He made millions with that game! With those graphics? Yup.
Minecraft is one of the best examples that graphics are not the most important thing about gaming. I think other people should take that as an example, because today, everyone only cares about the graphics. Soon, everyone will be like this: "What's reality? What's in-game?"
Minecraft is like an addiction that no one can stop...
Okay, I have to admit: I bought Minecraft as well. In the first three weeks I enjoyed playing it, but then it became very boring for me. Yup, even this game can get boring. OMG!
But still, it's a very good game, and that's why it gets a "YAY!"
So, that's it from me. I hope you enjoyed reading this first post. Leave your opinion to Minecraft in the comments, if you want. See you next time!
New lyrics. Enjoy.
The air is following the fumes
of the pillars and mundane light
Where is the energy stored
when we choose not to fight?
It's tireless suffocation
gathering dust in my mind
Leading to the catastrophe
upheld by the blind
I can't fade
and the molecules we share
remain the same
don't feel as strange
and the bonds that we take
remain the same
Though the outside is deserted
it is home just the same
Through your contact
the anticipation is just a game
Introduced to the sound
and the bombs that drown
The tempest now knows
how to collude with what I've found
To those that feel it, too
Amused with the decrepit askew
Those with dry hands
cup the rain and take it from you
To those that see it through
and stand by me though you knew
The waltz we dance
is like the tidal of what is true
you'll never fade
With your magnitude of grace
The atomic legacies I won't erase
The melodies gathered beneath
feed the recesses by the fire
From the depths of the abyss
and the breath of every last desire
If I never fully heal
it has consumed me long enough
Finally belonging in the brine
has forced foundation to my bluff
I love you just the same
However guarded my forces feel
can't stop the heart I can't conceal
I have changed
you have changed
But the fusions of us all
leave no one left to feel estranged
I guess I'm feeling some type of way. I think it should be happy; but, well, shit. Nothing's ever that simple is it?
Apocalyptica (AKA awesome Cello dudes from Finland) are on a tour for the 20th anniversary of their Plays Metallica by Four Cellos album, and I saw them at one of their shows last night with my sister. The album was their debut, a collection of Metallica covers, if the name isn't a dead giveaway for that part. The show was fucking awesome. Maybe that's why I feel so guilty about being too messed up right now to feel that concert afterglow in full effect. Or maybe it's because I'm lying to my sister about how I feel, but can you blame me? I took her to the concert as her birthday gift, who the fuck am I to ruin her night with whatever the fuck this is?
I know what this is, it's me putting too much stock into my dreams, and not in a premonition type of way. I can't really explain it, but the last time I had a dream about someone I love dying, it was my sister, and immediately after I woke up I went over to her and I held her for like two hours until I calmed the fuck down. Can't really do that this time, seeing as the person is nowhere near me.
I'm scared. The dream was different this time. When it was my sister, her death was an accident. She was going to school and she got hit by a car or some shit. But in my dream this time, Sunshine's death wasn't an accident. She killed herself, and it fucking terrifies me because I know she's really fucking depressed and therapy and her pills haven't been helping much lately. I know because I'm the one that talks to her every other day when she can't sleep and feels like she can't breathe, and all I fucking want is to be next to her so I can fucking hold her and know she's still breathing and not doing anything stupid but I can't. I can't because we're literally fucking oceans apart, and what the fuck kind of friend am I when I can't do shit? I'm not saying I expect myself to cure her depression, no. That's some movie bullshit, I know firsthand it doesn't work like that. But I would very much like to be able to hug her when she says she wants to, to have her see me or hear me in person, because for some goddamn reason Sunshine loves me and I'm one of her best friends.
It kills me that I'm making her sad. I know it's not my fault, that I can't really help the fact that my family had to move to America and that I'm not back home anymore, but there's no getting rid of this guilt. I don't know how I would forgive myself if she does something to herself. I don't know how I would forgive her.
Oh right. This entry had a song to go with it. One by Metallica, as covered by Apocalyptica twenty years ago. No lyrics because Apocalyptica are usually just instrumental, but I've found that the way they play it manages to convey the message anyway. I did almost break out into sobs when they played it last night, so there's that. Enjoy if you decide to listen (it's linked to the name, in case you didn't notice it).
10 Most popular topics for August 2017
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6) NEW?!?!? Troubled Times video?!? - 265 posts
7) Green Day Tweets - 232 posts
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9) Fell For You remix coming to Spotify tomorrow - 201 posts
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The Universe is but a Network of Interdependent Probabilities.
Yet, here you stay, in practice acting more
one from which I can not escape.
You may feel like impossibility,
but as sure as I’m still breathing,
my thoughts will create reasons to return to you.
I know that each time I wake,
the rush of you is waiting, sworn
to grace my head with silly notions
of our escaping with each other,
but then soon after, I’ll recover myself—
I should know by now that love is no good for my health.
Still, you’ll have my heart racing,
I should probably tell you about the affection
that’s baiting me, but I’m not sure that’s a conversation
that I can sell.
So I write it here, in hopes of—well, I don’t know what.
Perhaps this is an illocution. I could give it up to you,
but that would take precise execution.
Even then it may be no solution,
more like an illusion than means of absolution,
more like elusive, barely a beggar’s chance at improving affairs.
I could dare to let loose and lay my thoughts out in a fusion
of emphatic rhymes, poetic screeds, epigrammatic lines,
and dramatic pleas for your constitution. I’d bleed for you,
leave my heart out bare, leave no room for confusion,
no room for ambiguous conclusions.
Perhaps doing this will lift the noose
and disperse these daydreams
it seems thoughts of you are oft producing.
Even if I hand you this as unrepentant proof
of how much of my attention you command,
I can’t imagine that you’ll care.
Still, I’d like to prepare something grand,
it’s my nature to embrace hyperbole.
To chase dramatic tropes and wear
them as a cloak in the streets for all to see.
Oh, how audacious I must be
to call what I do poetry.
New lyrics. Enjoy.
Atom Bomb Tears
Curtain call, roll call, enter
the seasons morphing through
the fall of Morpheus in distress
Undress the motors through inherent
void quarters with no value and the
nickel baptized in reclusive magnitude
Atom bomb tears
The fog now clears
One rogue, one laser beam
dances through globes of ultralight steam
One skull clown car, one by one
emerges from afar in the glass of the gun
Bullet of two in jet-lag vew
Confusion in the blush of the lavender brush
Toddler with a turnpike point collapsed
in the axe of a heated joint amassed
Cabin fever from the opulent screens
Never knew it from the dried fields of green
Alkaline fever in the crass collection of
heathens in the history of 1000 reasons
Run to the next sinking iceberg last
Run to the graphic expansive class
Beating of a drum of life causes a
life of strife, portrait of enigmatic
emblems and the sponge on top
The world is evil but who says so?
The roots of the labor seed the fruit
of the lust in fuss of the cusp, go!
Clear and serene
The fog now clears
The fog now clears
It tells you a lot about me that I remember the date: I’ve been a Green Day fan since April 7th, 2007.
When reclusive, 12 year-old me saw the lyrics to Boulevard of Broken Dreams on a Piczo site, quickly becoming obsessed as I stumbled into this world of music that resonated with me so deeply… I had no idea that one day I would be uploading this project to my professional website, a successful photography graduate making a documentary about seeing Green Day 42 times.
I was unwell back then, with what I now know was bipolar II and borderline personality disorder. When I turned 14 I’d barely left the house for three years. The music allowed me to feel understood, to cling on to some kind of hope, but alone it wasn’t going to save me. Only conquering the issues that kept me trapped in the house was going to save me, and I needed a big push.
When Green Day’s 2009 UK tour was announced, my mum Joy – being a huge fan herself – bought us tickets to four shows. It was questionable whether or not I’d be able to go, because just the short train ride to Birmingham was a huge deal for me back then, but I made it.
I left not only blown away by the experience, but having learned a lot about both the world and myself. There was a place I felt at home. After years of struggles, my mum and I were free, even if it was just for three hours. Something about Green Day’s show makes everyone in those sweaty rooms feel like they’re understood, they matter, they’re part of this huge, loving throng with a place they can escape. There was hope. If those guys who’d grown up with nothing and faced so many challenges could inspire us all so, I could recover.
The following year, I went back to school as we sold all our possessions and made some questionable – but entirely worthwhile – sacrifices to go to five more shows on the European tour, two in the US and eventually, one in Costa Rica. I remember standing there in San José, Costa Rica, having been attacked and had my passport stolen; and feeling safer than I ever had in my life when Billie Joe came to check I was alright. Maybe I’m completely insane – in fact I’m sure I am – but it empowered and inspired me to grow from a kid who couldn’t leave the house into a confident, successful and hopeful young adult.
Since then, I’ve done a lot of things I never imagined I could do, including going to college and on to university. We went on tour again in 2013, going to five shows in Europe and three in America this time. I was grateful for every second of every show – you can imagine I’d pay to see three hours of King for a Day if it was on offer – but my dream was to see even more.
Over the years I saved my meagre wages, my student loan, eating nothing but Asda Smart Price pasta for month after month; going without heating; spending 13 hours on the bus every time I came home from uni, and missing out on the uni experience as I refused to pay to do anything. One trip to the cinema was too much. One alcoholic drink was too much. Eventually, a fiver for a society membership was too much. In the summer that preceded the tour, I left our village – which has no more than a corner shop and kebab joint – a total of four times. One of those was for my grandpa’s funeral and the other three to visit his grave. I wasn’t going to cough up the £4.60 train fare or risk spending money otherwise for anything else.
So when the Revolution Radio Tour was announced, I was ready.
Armed with a £19.99 flight to Turin, Italy, I logged on to TicketOne irrationally early, shaking and silently praying the temperamental rural connection wouldn’t let me down. It didn’t. The first tickets I bought were for four shows in Italy. Gradually we added whichever shows I could fit around my uni schedule: Kraków, Prague, Oslo and Manchester.
It felt like years then until I’d finally see them again, but it approached suddenly. Every time I got on a National Express – which was often, because I’m too cheap for the train – I had to remind myself I wasn’t heading to the airport to see Green Day. Yet when I finally was on the bus to Stansted Airport, everything had been so focused on saving money, not actually seeing Green Day, that I’d forgotten exactly why I was sitting on a coach for 10 hours. It wasn’t until I was there, in Turin, in front of the venue, that I realised it was real.
I was there. I would see Green Day tomorrow. I wasn’t dreaming.
This was the first time I met Fran, and the first time I met someone else who had eaten a lot more than their body weight in pasta to fund a Green Day adventure. Within three hours we were planning trips to Oakland and Japan while I was on the toilet.
We only meant to scope out the venue, but when we arrived it was surprisingly empty. Two staff guys took a selfie with us and we walked around, expecting to find campers lurking somewhere, because it was Italy after all. No one was there. Being first in line and feeling closer to the show was far too exciting to leave. We marked our hands with one, two and three, left a note and went to get food before setting up for the night.
We walked around in circles trying to find food, but the only place open was Turkish Pizza Kebap. It’d have to do, since we were nervous about getting back to the line. While we waited we looked at the photos of Turkey on the wall and my mum commented ‘I don’t know anything about Turkey, Green Day don’t play there,’ which remains my favourite quote from tour.
The venue was still deserted when we got back, silent until we heard the rumble of Green Day rehearsing King for a Day. Later they played Still Breathing, Are We the Waiting, St. Jimmy and repeatedly, Forever Now. It remained hard to process that I wasn’t still watching videos from previous tours, that this was the performance I’d see live tomorrow, that it was actually Billie Joe, Mike and Tré in there.
As night fell the temperature dropped to -5°C. The park around the venue had been littered with runners and dog walkers in the day, but now it was completely deserted. A van eventually pulled up opposite and a man got out to ask if we were cold. We said we were fine and he left, coming back later with two packets of crisps. How sweet, we thought, then he came back again with some Coke. That was sweet, too. Then he came back again with warm food and we began to feel wary, probably with good reason, since he soon asked if we wanted to sleep in his van. We told him no and tried to sleep, but every time we laid down he came back, insisting it was raining and that we should go to his van. Fortunately the next two fans arrived around 2am and we were saved from Weird Man.
It was, of course, much colder than we thought when we arrived. We must have slept at some point, because I never heard Fran speak to me and she didn’t remember me walking around to keep warm. Around 4am, as I desperately pulled my £3 blanket closer, I wondered if I was going to die. I longed to return to the warmth of the hotel, but I forced myself to picture the front row spot I was camping for, to recall the rumble of the soundcheck and that it was real. It was easy to forget; but when the sun rose I was still alive and I felt both relieved and satisfied that I hadn’t given in.
By noon it had begun to snow and the queue stretched out of the park as people arrived from all over the country. Groups of us huddled and walked around to keep warm. No-one seemed to know when the box office would open and Fran still needed to collect her ticket. We were getting nervous.
My £3 blanket, frozen after camping
A few hours before doors, we made our last trip to the hotel to dump our camping gear and warm our hands. My mum texted to say we had half an hour until we’d be ‘locked into the cage’ so we headed back, but even though we’d made that journey several times we somehow got completely lost. We walked around for a while but nothing looked familiar. There was an hour until doors, the ‘cage’ would be locked and we were lost in an Italian snowstorm. In desperation we asked someone for directions (well, stammered ‘Pala Alpitour?’ at him with confused expressions) and got back on track. Thanks to Maddy from Turin talking to the staff for us, we were allowed in.
The bad news was that the box office was still shut. There was half an hour until doors, we’d been there nearly 30 hours at this point and Fran had no ticket. My mum gave hers to Fran and went to the box office with Fran’s passport and email confirmation. We began to get scared it’d never open and that she wouldn’t get in at all, but about ten minutes later there was a huge cheer and she was lifted back into the cage with the ticket. Hero of the hour, always.
When the gates finally opened we were let through in pairs and then left outside another door, in the snow, for what felt like forever. As I’d saved for years I’d started running, specifically so I couldn’t be outrun for the barrier, and the struggles up and down Cornish hills paid off as my arms slammed onto the metal between Mike and Billie. It was the best I could have asked for after having to get back into the ‘cage.’
The opening act The Interrupters were so much fun, and even after all that time spent in the cold we were clapping; but when their set was done, I was not looking back. All those hours spent in the snow were about to pay off. I remember feeling like I was watching through a glass screen, from another world somewhere far from earth, when Tré first ran on stage, then Mike, then Billie. I remember welcoming the rib-crushing surge because it made me feel present. I remember Mike pointing and saluting my mum, recognising her after all that time and the lovely girls we’d queued with squealing with happiness for her; and even though I have never gone to Green Day shows for their attention, it meant the world to me when Billie remembered me too. I had grown so much, changed so much since last time I saw them, and yet it was like no time had passed at all. I remember throwing my arms up to Revolution Radio, clapping like my life depended on it; I remember losing my voice because I screamed Still Breathing so loud, and I remember knowing I was home with all Billie’s freaks, weirdos and strangers once more.
After the show I shelled out 10€ for the poster, certain I would never top camping for 30 hours in a -5°C snowstorm, or deafening everyone around me with that rendition of Still Breathing. But this was only the beginning, and it was only going to get better from here.
We arrived in Florence at midday to find 20+ people had camped, wondering if it was our fault for arriving so early in Turin. Staff soon barricaded us in so we couldn’t use the toilet or get food or drink. At least it was warm.
Time crawled on, the mob gradually becoming more packed as doors approached. When security finally opened the gates we had a long way to run. The ground was slippery and people were falling over in heaps of sleeping bags and winter coats. I didn’t know where my mum was or even where I was going. I just kept running, slipping and recomposing myself until my feet hit the solid ground of the arena floor. I made it to the barrier, holding out my arms to save a spot for my mum who joined me a minute later.
Having conquered any first-show nerves, both The Interrupters and Green Day were on fire. It had finally sunk in that it was all real and I watched it with my own eyes now, not through the glass screen feeling the shock of Turin had left me with. It was Minority I lost my voice to that night, screaming a free for all, fuck ’em all, you’re on your own side! Florence remains one of my favourite shows of the entire tour, and wandering the beautiful city the following day while we waited for our train – the whole experience of this new adventure truly beginning was just so magical.
We arrived late to a dark and deserted industrial estate in Bologna, where the ground was icy and the air bitterly cold. Having accidentally left my blanket in Turin (RIP) and with no other camping gear, I decided I couldn’t sleep there. I reluctantly remained in the hotel, where I should mention that I also ate the best pumpkin soup ever. It made up for all those months of pasta.
The temperature hadn’t risen much when we headed out in the morning, and the streets now were solid ice. I wondered again if I was going to die as we picked our way up a hill to the Unipol Arena, but of course I didn’t and we joined the line as 88 and 89.
As the day went on it began to rain. My mum, having become disabled with chronic arthritis since the last tour, couldn’t sit down and was stuck in the line. The only way out was to climb over the barriers, and she was suffering just standing there in the cold.
Someone told me there was a Carrefour nearby, so I climbed out and went looking for an umbrella and a cheap stool for her to sit on. The only umbrella I could find was a Milano FC one, so I returned to the line with a fold-up stool and a football umbrella for a team I didn’t know existed.
We met Eleonora, a Milano FC fan who had also been in Turin and Florence, and later she saved me from the Carrefour staff who thought I’d stolen a slice of pizza. I’m still grateful for her storing the umbrella in her car for me too, since 12€ is approximately 42 bowls of pasta.
That excruciating wait came to an end with another long and messy run. Even more people were slipping and falling here. The frozen steps that led down to the arena looked like a death trap. Still, I managed not to fall and ended the run in a great spot to say we arrived at 9am. I had never been happier to be sweaty and crushed before Green Day even took the stage.
Maybe it was the cold, maybe it was me, but either way the emotion had hit me and I spent a lot of the show in tears. They were truly on fire again, one of the most energised I’d ever seen them. I was living my dream, and it was everything – more – I’d hoped it would be. The band looked genuinely worried about me, probably thinking something bad had happened or that I’d just gone mad, but nah. Just love Green Day, sorry.
Holding the stool we’d retrieved from Eleonora’s car, we braved the two mile walk along the icy streets back to the hotel, passing lots of men having a wee. We got a few hours’ sleep before heading back to Bologna station for our train to Milan, the final Italian show.
As with a lot of these venues, the Mediolanum Forum was way out of the city. People think I’m seeing all these great sights – which OK, I do sometimes – but I’m really spending most of the time on streets in weird, usually deserted areas.
We arrived there to take number 288 and 289, having got into a… difficult situation trying to get from our hotel to the venue, which turned out to be separated by busy highways and fields. As soon as we joined the line, the friends we’d made in Turin dashed up to hug us and welcome us, especially my mum (she was very popular in Italy). Gianluca, who was her hero after helping her down the stairs in Turin, bought her a warm tea and they all accompanied her to the cash machine. Sure, we met a few rude people in Italy – like the Trenitalia woman who spat ‘ugh, inglese’ at my mum at Bologna station – but also some of the kindest and most welcoming people we’d ever met on tour.
My mum proved later that disability wasn’t going to take Green Day away from her just yet. When doors opened she ran, all the way up the steps she was worried about and got to security before me. She’s 58 and can’t walk sometimes. Far more of a rock star than I am.
I didn’t expect front row at this show, seeing as we’d showed up at nearly 4pm, but we still got good spots at the end of the barrier. This was it: the whirlwind end of this crazy Italian adventure. The two of us sang our hearts out like it was the last time we’d see them, ever. It struck me then how not speaking Italian well might have been a barrier elsewhere, but here we were all the same, united by our love for the band, screaming all the same words regardless of what language we spoke.
At the end of the show Tré held up a fan’s Italian flag and it felt like a fitting ending – standing there, in a shower of confetti in this arena in the middle of nowhere in Italy, revelling in all the love I had for these nights that I’d never forget.
It took me about 24 hours to get back to Falmouth, and on the National Express I used up all my data watching bad quality videos, trying to convince myself it all actually happened. I could have just kept going, sleeping on Italian streets to sprint over ice into arenas, forever. A new adventure was coming soon, though: I’d hand in the first project of my third year, attend a class and then 48 hours later, spend another 12 hours getting back to the airport to fly to Poland.
For those who don't know, Blue is a Japanese 1981 daphne blue Fernandes RST50 "Revival" Stratocaster with a maple neck. It has a 7 screw hole pickguard (as opposed to a 11 hole).
Unfortunately finding this model in daphne blue is next to impossible, I've only ever seen 1 or 2 other ones and they weren't for sale. Because of this I decided to settle on getting one in any colour and just having it repainted. It took me about a week to find the exact model for a decent price. Most places wanted $700+ for the guitar even though that model isn't worth that much. After searching through ebay, Reverb, and other trading posts I eventually found one on an online store in Japan. Unfortunately they wouldn't ship to Australia but luckily for me, I had a friend in Japan will to help me out!
The guitar arrived a few weeks later and looks fantastic! I forgot to take pictures of it before it went off to get painted (it's currently being done now) but here's some ones from the online store
Up next - Part Two: Painting
So after many years of saying I'm going to do it, I'm going to recreate Blue.
Using the technical information in this thread I'll be recreating to be as exact to Billie's as possible.
Over the next few months I'll be updating this blog with my process, showing lots of before and after photos and comparing it to the real thing.
Up next - Part 1: Finding The Guitar
It's a very common occurrence for me to go surfing through old blog posts and stuff I've written that I've forgotten about; that's what I was doing literally a minute ago before I came to post this. I was looking through old entries on this blog, reminiscing about old times and shit I thought and wrote, and I realized how much I used to make music based entries. Like I would name the entry after a song I was really into at the moment and thought other people might enjoy as well, and would recap some of the lyrics in the entry with a link to listen to the song. I guess I'm gonna try to pick that back up right now, give it a go and see how I feel about it now.
I've been listening to like three things recently: Queen, Kpop, and Dieterich Buxtehude's complete organ works. Because I'm consistent in my musical tastes. Heh.
But a song that's been really stuck on me recently is Spring Day by a kpop boyband, BTS. It's about missing a friend, which I can relate too all too well. I'm gonna post some lyrics translations, since the original is in Korean. If you wanna check out the song, the youtube video I linked on the name has captions and they're the english subs.
You know it all
You’re my best friend
The morning will come again
Because no darkness,
No season can last forever
Cherry blossoms are blooming
The winter is ending
I miss you
If I wait a little longer
If I stay up a few more nights
I’ll go see you, I’ll go pick you up
Past the end of this cold winter
Until the spring comes again
Until the flowers bloom again
Stay there a little longer
It both calms and saddens me. But hopefully I'll be seeing my friends again soon, ironically in the winter. Don't think the actual weather would matter though, not as long they're there.
Fuck I'm so sappy.
Someday far faraway in my past, I was a child. Not a child in terms of age, that's something I still carry with me. No; child as in innocent, in so many different ways. A child hasn't been touched or tainted, by skin or by thought. A child is free, to roam without fear and sleep without nightmares that carry something more. A child hasn't lost anything significant, hasn't worked to gain something, hasn't felt despair, love, longing, lust...
I miss it. God, I miss it. So much, too much. I miss the days when my head wasn't full and my chest wasn't empty. I didn't long for the touch of someone I can't have, not the way I want to, anyway.
It's funny. Nothing has changed and yet everything has. It's hard to admit your feelings to yourself but once you do you can't take them back. No matter how much I want to, I can't take it back.
I'll tell her everything, piece by piece, year after year. I always knew I would. Even when we weren't even friends yet, I knew she was special. There was something in the way she held herself; she knew who she was and she felt no shame in it. I fell in love with the idea of her before I fell in love with her as a person, but it was always her, it will always be her. I will tell her everything because I can't not. I don't have it in me to deny her. My sister... she doesn't understand. It's not her fault, I haven't told her how I feel about our friend, and I never will, but she assumes that it's because I favor the other. "You didn't read this book when I recommended it to you twenty times yet all she had to say was she really liked it and you bought it in 3 minutes." The bitterness hurts, but I'll take it. It's better than letting them know how much this hurts. Everything else that hurts I will share one day, because she makes me want to tell her.
But not this. I can see it now, the rejection, but that isn't what stops me. I know her; fuck I know her so well, and I know she'd feel bad. Guilty. She doesn't deserve this, she doesn't deserve me and my fucking haywire emotions, she deserved better, so much better, and even if she felt the same way I couldn't do that to her. We're in different continents for crying out loud; it would never work, not long term.
But that's what I want. Her, long term. I wish I didn't, I wish these feelings would go away, but they don't. It's been five fucking years, and I haven't even seen her for like the last half of that; I've changed, and so has she. We've grown and fallen apart as friends and back together -because we always fall back together- but my heart hasn't changed.
I tell her I love her every time we talk and it feels like a lie, because when she says it she means "you're my best friend" but when I say it I mean "you're the love of my life."
Maybe I'm wrong. I'm still... young. Not a child, but young. Inexperienced and new. Maybe she's not "the one." Maybe she'll be one of many. But something tells me that if anything was going to change it already would have.
I hope I'm wrong.
P.S. fuck how did this even happen this was supposed to be a meld of fiction and my own frustrations but it ended up being a confessional. I shouldn't be surprised. When it comes to my brain, everything always somehow leads back to her these days.
That title of this blog post is a line from a song. Not one I wrote or anything.
But on the subject of things I did write, I deleted my old blog because there was way too much shit I was no longer even remotely satisfied with, and because that's what happens when self-consciousness and impulsiveness are dominant traits in one's brain. I'm starting over with a convenient word doc anyone can download at this link: http://docdro.id/2PKGIO2
Therein lies the poetry that survived the purge, a small volume titled Recursions. That is the complete collection of all my poems which I still like. Most of it has been posted here before, but one blog is better than 20. It opens in a new tab and everything when you click it. That's that.
Hello, fellow GDCers. Thanks for all of the well wishes through all of this craziness with my dad.
The latest on my dad is that he will have to go through chemo and radiation starting on September 11th. Surgery was unable to remove all of the cancer, so the doctors now want to do radiation to remove the last of it which they believe they can do. They had to remove one of his jugular veins during the surgery as well as a muscle from his neck to his shoulder that has now limited the ability of him to raise his arm above his head.
Swallowing is an issue for him at the moment and he's on a liquid diet until he can get his swallowing under control.
So, today...my mom called to tell me that she has a tumor on her throat and that she will need a biopsy to see if it's cancerous.
I honestly don't even know how to process all of this. Between my dad's cancer, his confession of an affair 15 years ago and now my mom maybe having cancer? In a dark way, it's almost become comical. Nothing fazes me anymore and I just laugh at awful news now because it's become so ridiculous.
Anyhey. Life is swell and I can't wait to see Green Day in 12 more days.
New lyrics. Enjoy.
Reach Into The Moon
What if I run now?
Will I ever be okay?
Do I deserve you?
Do I deserve anyone today?
Sometimes visions are all I see
nothing is ever real
The distance seems too far
for me to ever feel
Reach into the moon
That is where I reside
A counter to everything we see
That is where I hide
If you see the moon
hanging from the line
Fear me, for I have
fallen from the divine
Why do you stay by me?
When I never get things done?
What is the path of
stars when the lights run?
I always say what I mean
to better my own view
Driving away the remnants
of my chosen few
Living in air pockets
away from the fear
Giving into the torment
of relapsing when I'm so near
Roaming among coasts unclear
Do you hear the bells now?
They've only come for me
I'm the leader of the sinners
but it's what sets me free
I'm positively negative
and I remain unchanged
Realism tires out
the unholy and the strange
Seeping into the void
Riddles only confuse
when science is my point-of-view
There's no reason for this feeling
but it ends when I think of you
Orbiting out of skew
into what is true
Into what is true
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Hey, everyone. Here's the latest with my dad and it's a very, very complicated situation.
My dad's cancer is just in the lymph nodes in his neck. He will be having surgery at the Cleveland Clinic Monday morning and the hope is to remove all of the cancer through surgery.
However, here's where our lives get really fucked up.
The latest biopsy confirmed that my dad's cancer was caused by HPV to which my dad dropped the bombshell on our family by confessing that he had an affair 17 years ago. My parents have been married for 37 years and this has absolutely destroyed my mother. She kicked him out of the house for the time being and he's currently staying with my sister. My mom might not even go to his surgery.
I don't even know how to process this. In the brink of having a major surgery done and all the rallying and supporting we've given him this has taken the wind out of my sails. I'm furious at him and told him so. I had to go home Monday night when the news broke and try and console my mother which was an impossible task. I've never heard her cry like that. I had no answers or words of comfort. It was the worst night of my life.
Everything I based off of marriage and love was based on my parents relationship and now that's shattered.
But, he's still my father. He's having a major surgery done Monday and I guess I have to get back in his corner for the time being and then he has some questions to answer when he's healthy.
I just...this is the worst fucking situation any of us could be in and I feel so, so bad for my mom. She's the nicest person out there and my father was the world to her. Now, my mom is just a mess and it's heartbreaking. Seeing my mom take their wedding photo off the wall will always be cemented in my brain.
Thanks for everyone's thoughts and prayers through all of this. We could all obviously still use them (for various reasons now), but in no way do I want my dad to die or anything like that Monday. This is just a very trying time on all of us and I needed a place to express my thoughts.
As always, Rage and Love to my Green Day Family.
New lyrics. Enjoy.
This Rosemary Sky
As the sun shines over the hills
and the dawn is pierced
by the bolt of the damned
The wind caresses my skin
with the needle in your life
calling you in on the knife
Tread not the path of hate
The boat set sail
to tear down the veil
This rosemary sky
once brought a tear to my eye
When I pulled away
from all my darkened days
and took grip of the blood
and rose above the flood
The image is always unclear
but open your eyes
stop living out of fear
The baggage weighing you down
Unpack your mind
and face what you find
Fuck the rest; start living for you
Walk with respect but
don't cloud your view
Sometimes there's no sympathy;
only eyes filled with apathy
I forgot most of them
but abandoned that problem
The poison choking me
died in rosemary
What a beautiful day
even when you're not okay
but will get there some way
I sit on my knees and I grasp at the flesh of my palms. My nails sink into the soft mold of skin and meat, no pain. I am swelling, filling up with warm, pounding blood, plump as the ripest plum, ready to burst and paint the intricate fur of the rug underneath with the juice in my veins. At the same time, my pudgy body is sinking, melting into a puddle of human goo, indistinguishable. My nails are growing at an alarming rate, weaving through my palms and into my arms and beyond, building their own root system throughout me. I wonder if they will eventually come back out and repeat until I am so wrapped up in myself that I just lose. The fur underneath tickles my legs and rubs against the coarse hair that grows there. Could I be made into a rug? All my hair, taken along when I am skinned, and carefully cleaned and processed and softened and colored and preened. Someone else sits on the rug that is me.
I am soft. Oh so soft on the outside; I cannot be touched without being ruined, but on the inside grows diamonds. My diamond heart reaching up for my diamond brain but never reaching. Magma flowing through my hollow veins and coating it all. Growing thinner in skin and thicker inside. What am I? Dead? Alive? A human? A rug? The sitter? The seat? Plum? Diamond?
I am me, and me means nothing because it is all the words you attach to it. I have too many words attached to me, I don’t know which ones are real anymore. Who am I? Everything I ever wanted? All I never wanted?
I am null, because I am both. Invalid.
Today the Atlanta Journal-Constitution newspaper published a story on me in their “Weight Loss Success Stories” section. An unscaled photo of my neck/chest area highlights the top of the story, so that obviously makes me proud. LOL. I was hoping they would include my quote about how big a role music has played in my weight loss journey, followed by my undignified plea for (free) Music Midtown concert festival tickets. I obviously can’t afford to buy them! All of my disposable income is tied up in Halo Top ice cream and Sandwich Brothers egg white turkey sausage breakfast thingies!
Here’s a link to the article. Try to not get yourself too worked up over my clavicle.