- Child (recently tendered resignation from this position)
- Burnout (still employed)
- Punk (this is always, probably)
- Romantic, though hates to admit it.
- Sexually active
- Cowgirl (get it? Positions? Hahaha).
- Anarchist! (8th grade-10th grade)
- Communist! (10th grade-11th grade. Read communist manifesto).
- Neither of those things.
- Capitalist, by default, apparently.
- Unemployed (hates the words poet and musician. They sound dumb).
- Sandwich Maker (read: “engineer”).
- Sales associate.
- Recovering. (Ongoing. [Read: indefinitely])
Recently read about:
- A meta-material (graphene) no thicker than an atom,
which can hold more than a thousand times its weight.
- Some kid, drunk, invincible, callous, and rich, who
killed four people with a car.
- Your favorite albums this year (including, but not
limited to: Talon of the Hawk, 20/20, and Bulldozer
by Kevin Devine, who wore unfashionable cargo
pants when we met him and you looked so happy
the cold didn’t matter to anyone but the coffee).
If I asked a graphene angel to hold up my head
I don’t think it could, but I think sometimes you can.
And that kid? I could’ve been him. Maybe.
If the money around here wasn’t so tight, and my dad
didn’t have to send my mom checks in the mail,
even though he could just as easily slip them
underneath the front door of her apartment.
If I asked you to list your favorite stories I’ve told,
or your favorite songs, or your favorite poems,
or your favorite strands of my hair, I think you
probably could, and that makes little (to no) sense.
And so little makes sense, really,
But take it from someone who has stabbed himself
countless times, that this one thing can make
a lot of sense if I let it. However, in the spirit of
lists, and list making, and bullet points,
here is a list of some things that make sense:
- I have never seen anyone look more beautiful
while arranging men’s boxers.
- Start: I dropped my glasses by the dam
to see if you would let me jump.
- You made me go around the wall instead.
- I could’ve handled jumping the three feet.
- (but in retrospect, you probably had the right idea)
- You call me a fucker, and I don’t doubt it
- and neither do you.
- The air I choke out of your chest.
- The air-raid siren you set off
with every whispered theory.
- A scar.
- The sound my teeth make when they click
- How every time you punch my arm
I hope to Christ that I bruise.
- Spilled soy-sauce.
- Your surprisingly poorly assembled confession
at your school when I got off the bus.
- The bus I slept on.
I could keep going, but I think you get it.
Recently, I read about:
- Chaos Theory: In which out of chaos comes, inevitably,
order, of some kind or another. Picture a desert full of
bombs, roadside bombs, and we’re in Iraq, and two of them
are set off at just the right moment, miles apart, and we’re
standing on them and as we’re blown to pieces we catch
a quick glimpse of one another, riding this quick burning
fuel, kicking up a dust cloud that just so happens to be the
exact dimensions of all the bombs together, which all
equal out to 3.1415….you get the picture. Anyways,
when the investigators come in they figure out that
although the bombs are irregularly and randomly placed,
each one is RIGHT where it should be in a larger, overarching
pattern of thermite rain, or shrapnel hail. Ergo, chaos theory.
Or at least my understanding of it.
- Predestination, or Fate: Hard to swallow. I control every move I make
in this world, and you control yours, but we experience time as linear,
even though, in truth, time exists all at once. So each move we make, has
on a technicality (which, sidenote, you love to say), happened already.
But we still have a choice. Sorta.
- How to apologize for almost killing someone, indirectly.
- The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway, which I liked much more
the second time around, when I wasn’t beating it to death
and instead was having coffee with it, to apologize for
nearly beating it to death that one time.
- A folded up poem scrawled on paper that I’ve read every day
for weeks now. It’s starting to fray because it’s sandwiched
in my wallet, right between my faulty debit card
and a coupon for free pizza, which I have
(and god knows how) yet to redeem.
Things I have learned:
- That being punk doesn’t mean shoving a safety pin through your
earlobe, throwing on a pair of doc martens and calling it a day, but
instead is more about not really giving a shit about what people think,
but also caring a lot about what people think. Basically, punk is confusing,
but I’m glad I’m allowed to continue to dress how I do, because
it’s way too cold to shave my head, and I look like Herman Munster
when I wear Doc Martens.
- That being in love doesn’t mean writing your name in hearts
all over all of my notebooks, and it actually DOES mean saying sorry.
- That working in retail during the holiday season is absolute hell
but that you meet some pretty rad people sometimes while doing
- That I’ve learned more over the past year than I have in nearly 20 years.
And that’s scary as all hell.
- A LOT about college level tutoring.
- That everything is really weird, and things happen you didn’t think ever would,
and sometimes you’ll crash into a coat rack while you’re watching a girl
you’ve just met walk past you, and then in a few weeks you’ll be kissing her.
- That you are the most condescending, sarcastic, piece of shit, but so am I.
- That I pretend to know a lot, but I’m really pretty lost.
- That sometimes the sun will hit you just right, and then you’ll hit me,
not literally, but pretty much like a punch to the fucking jaw,
and it’ll drop, and I’ll be standing there, like a goddamned fool.
- That you breathe in patterns I’ve only ever dreamt of.
If we tallied up our losses vs. our wins we would most definitely be
the underdogs in next season’s sports movie;
raging bull, rocky, the titans, miracle. Whatever.
Last time either of us bothered to fight we got kicked
so many times we thought we had swallowed our own teeth
so we stopped mouthing off, for fear of exposing our own
bleeding gums, tattered tongues.
But now we’re spitting teeth across the ice,
staining our jerseys burgundy.
Because no one
and I mean no one
is going to fuck with us
and get away with it.
File under: Cover Letter, Resume, Application.
• 19 December 2013 • 41 notes
Urgent update about my bandcamp page
Okay, so two weeks from now I will be doing a major clean-up of my bandcamp page, deleting a lot of my older albums. I’m telling all of you this because I will be discounting said older albums so that those of you who have expressed interest in getting them can do so. This will most likely be your last chance to purchase a lot of these songs. In case you don’t know my bandcamp page, it’s right here. Long story short, get on that, people! Limited time only, etc etc etc.
If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask
• 23 October 2013 • 4 notes
• 6 October 2013 • 3 notes
note to tumblr users: If you send me an anonymous question, unless it’s a serious question asking for advice, chances are good I will respond sarcastically or terrifyingly.
• 13 September 2013 • 2 notes
update on my life:
I got the job at old navy
I had my first day today
it was clutch.
We get a fifty percent discount and Banana Republic and Gap and a 25 Percent discount at Old Navy, so that’s fucking rad because now I can buy jeans again and not spend 50 bucks a pair.
• 12 September 2013 • 11 notes
I am not an angry or violent person. But if you harbor venomous feelings, or the desire to cause harm, towards anyone I care about, I will torture you until you beg me for the release of death.
• 11 September 2013 • 10 notes
Long post about feminism and me and stuff
So: it took me being on tumblr to realize that I am a “feminist” (though I fucking hate that word because it implies a militant attitude but at the same time like, the fact that it implies a militant attitude is fucked up because it’s basically just supporting the fact that all people deserve respect.)
But anyways, I digress. Lately I’ve been getting some anon messages that I’ve chosen not to publish talking about how I’m either arrogant (which I will assume responsibility for, because I definitely am at times) or, more importantly, how I (and I quote one of these anons), “should be supporting men’s rights instead of women’s rights” because I am “a man, and us men should stick together to stop these feminazi’s” from “belittling us”.
Quick background about my family: My mom was born to a 16 year old native american girl who had an affair with a married (also native american) man living in Phoenix, Arizona. She was scared to raise my mom, not only because she was poor and living on a reservation but because she knew she would be ostracized by her family, her tribe, her friends, and of course, by the man whom she thought she had loved and had been led on to believe had loved her. She also was reluctant to have an abortion, partially because of the stigma at the time (early-60s) but also because of her own beliefs that all things have souls and that my mom was a gift from nature herself, not to mention that she definitely did not have the money to get the abortion anyways. So my biological grandmother found a nice, older jewish couple from New York City to adopt my mom. Keep this whole story in mind.
Now my mom was raised in Long Island by my grandma and grandpa. Upper-Middle Class, white, Jewish, already in their later years (my grandma is 97 now and my mom is 50 so that would make my grandma…47 when they adopted my mom). Basically what I’m saying is that my mom grew up in a pretty cushy situation. My grandpa was one of the head designers for the LEM (the lunar escape module) and they pretty much lived off of that legacy for most of my mom’s adolescent years. But anyways, my mom never really gave much thought to my grandma’s early life and assumed it was relatively boring, etc etc etc. What we all assume of our parents.
Well, it turns out that when my grandma was growing up she and her mother were huge supporters of the women’s rights movement right from when she was just a little kid. In the early 1930s (from the time she was like 14 to the time she was about 17) she worked in a speakeasy in Brooklyn and eventually started smuggling whiskey into the states from a group of friends she had made during a family vacation to Canada. After prohibition she worked as what she calls “an entertainer, if you catch my drift” in a club in Manhattan until the war broke out, at which point she immediately decided she would join the army, because she was a badass, and because, quote, “Rosie the Riveter looked like one ugly bitch. I wanted to do something where I could still look pretty.” Of course, she was denied active duty. Instead she started working intelligence, and seeing as how her whole family was from Germany and she had grown up speaking it around the house, this proved exceptionally useful, and by the time the war ended she moved up the ladder until she was actually put in command of a large group of women (and *gasp* men!) whose sole task was to decode german intelligence that had been gathered from the front lines and pass the information along to higher command. When the war ended my grandma came down with a nasty case of tuberculosis and was put in a TB ward, much to her chagrin. However, while she was there she met a fellow patient, whom throughout her 1 and a half year stay in the ward would follow her around every day and ask if he could just take her out for ice-cream. On the day both of them were discharged she left the hospital and he was waiting outside with two ice-cream cones. At which point she told him to fuck right off. But he just handed her the ice-cream cone and she gave in and when she finished hers there was a ring at the bottom of it. And the rest is history. They adopted my mom, my grandma finally got to stop working, (which, seeing as she came down with TB, was probably a good thing) and most importantly, my grandma secretly taught my mom to be a total badass without her even noticing it.
My mom is a registered black-belt. She is a personal trainer who can probably bench two of me. Before she fucked up her knee she used to run super-marathons and Iron Man races. She was briefly a professional kick-boxer. She met my dad while they were both training sharks and dolphins. She can dismantle a 1960s Mustang and put it back together again in a day. She’s a fucking badass.
Look, all I’m saying is that I find it interesting that it took being on tumblr for me to understand that I was raised by two hardcore feminists. Mostly because I never really thought about it like that. I was raised to understand that women are equal to men in every way. Yes, their bone structure means that they could be considered “weaker”, but my mom is living proof that that is just total bullshit. Sure, they give birth and are the mothers of our species but that doesn’t mean that they are less capable than men are to work and do totally fucking awesome stuff. MY MOM TRAINED SHARKS. It also doesn’t mean that the strong women are all buff and androgynous and such.
I was raised to think of feminism as common sense. Because it is. Dumbasses.
• 19 August 2013 • 22 notes
Nick Brady music downloads (the full list)
I Have Never Left the Country -EP (will be adding more songs to this as they come)
…and now I know what Kafka meant, now I know, now I know. -EP (basically a bunch of songs I never planned on releasing and a bunch of demos and stuff)
A Break in the System -EP (12 songs I recorded and edited in my room between Feb. 15 and Mar. 13)
ALL SONGS AND ALBUMS HAVE A “PAY WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT FEATURE”
so you could pay zero dollars for all of my music or you could help me out and pay for some of it.
EVEN IF YOU’RE JUST TOSSING DOWN A FEW BUCKS YOU’RE STILL HELPING ME :D
plus, it’s getting my music out there, and that’s what matters.
Also, I urge any of you who really like my music, go to my tagged music page on my blog (sidebar button, “Music and such”) and find your favorite song of mine. Reblog that shit, yo. Help a brotha out.
Also, last thing, if any one who is also a musician/singer wants to either a) collaborate or b) cover one of my songs, dude, shoot me a damn message. I’m into that.
• 21 April 2013 • 4 notes
My name is Nick.
I live in Western Mass.
I am in a few bands.
I play music (guitar, vocals, piano, bass, etc)
you can download my music (some of it for free) here and I love to get feedback so feel free to message/reblog me :)
I write poetry and some prose stuff, which you can read here and here
I’m an ex addict. If you’re having issues with that shit, or with anything,
I’ll listen, even if you want to talk about stuff other than that. You can talk to me here.
As far as music goes, I listen to a whole lot of it, from classic jazz to 80s hardcore. So feel free to talk to me about music too if you want to. I like discussions.
Jesse Lacey is a god among men.
I’m straight but I am intensely attracted to/in love with multiple male musicians. Not really sure why.
I’ve never been out of the country. Because I’m dirt poor.
If you want to know a lot more about me because you find me relatively intriguing, you can read my personal posts here
if you want to see pictures of me because you find me relatively handsome, you can gaze at my visage here
and I think that’s it! Enjoy my blog :)
• 5 March 2013 • 1 note