UNWRITTEN LAW LYRICS

“Save Me”

Had a bad day, don’t talk to me,
gonna ride this out,
My little black heart, breaks apart,
with your big mouth.

And I’m sick of my sickness
Don’t touch me, you’ll get this.
I’m useless, lazy, perverted,
and you hate me.

You can’t save me,
You can’t change me,
Well I’m waiting for my wakeup call,
And everything, everything’s my fault.

Went to the doctor, and I asked her,
to make this stop. (whoa)
Got medication, a new addiction,
Fucking thanks a lot.

I had to relapse, I’m bad at rehabs
It ruins everything. (whoa)
So point your finger, at the singer,
He’s in the pharmacy.

You can’t save me,
You can’t change me,
Well I’m waiting for my wake up call,
and everything’s my fault.

You can’t save me,
You can’t blame me,
Well I’m waiting here to take a fall,
and everything, and everything’s my fault.

And I’m a death threat haven’t slept yet,
Baby why the wake up call
I’m the bad boy tell the tabloids
everything’s my fault.

Whoa whoa whoa yeah, write it write it,
Whoa Whoa whoa everything’s my fault,
everything’s my fault.

I went to heaven, but couldn’t get in,
For what I have done.
I said please take me, they said you’re crazy
you had too much fun.

You can’t save me,
You can’t change me,
Well I’m waiting for my wake up call,
and everything’s my fault.

You can’t save me,
You can’t blame me,
Well I’m waiting here to take a fall,
and everything, everything’s my fault.

You can’t save me,
You can’t change me,
You can’t save me,
You can’t change me,
You can’t save me,
You can’t change me,(everything’s my fault)
You can’t save me,
You can’t change me,

Everything’s my fault.

What Do Losers Do

Unpacked another box today
cause it seems that this could be an extended stay
and I wonder why I fooled myself
into thinking something else would happen
Sat and watched TV this afternoon
cause is seemed that after failing constantly I’d soon
break down if I did not take a break
but I broke down anyway, it happened

So no more feeling like
I can do whatever I want to do
I have learned this time
You’re controlled by a select few
so don’t try to kid yourself into saying everything will be ok
I guess I’m giving up, but what do losers to each day

                I was bored, I was online, looking at movies on Amazon.com that have a gay theme in them. Doing shit like this makes me feel ill as I realize it’s a desperate attempt to connect to a culture that I refuse to allow in. Anyway, I stumble across Rules of Attraction , a movie about three different college students who all like other people and fuck and do drugs and don’t go to class. My kind of crowd. I recall that it’s also a book and my mind instantly shifts to reading. I have three books sitting in my room which I want to read. Two about Led Zeppelin, one is the DC comics encyclopedia. Instead whenever I get the literature craving I bust out old issues of Uncanny X-Men. I decide, what the fuck, I may as well add one more book to the list. I jump in my car and immediately head for Borders. I drive by my high school and start daydreaming about stuff. I imagine myself running into Jenny Howell, prom queen who was genuinely nice and really pretty. She is with Chris Weber, basketball player, seemed quiet to me, and wore a pink shirt sometimes. They see me at Borders, shuffling through a row of books like I know something about current literature, and they begin to whisper? “Is that Adam Moschell” “He looks really good” “I heard he was gay” “no way, are you serious” “Chris, you should ask him out” “No, I’d be too embarrassed, I don’t even know him really”. I pull into the actual lot at Borders cursing myself for being so stupid. I hate when I have blatantly ridiculous daydreams. I walk into the store and feel disgustingly trendy. The coffee beans boil, the people wear black turtle necks and I am just waiting to see the first fag. I turn my head, found one. I locate my book, it’s $13.00 for paperback. I don’t know if I want to pay that much. Maybe they have it at Half-Price Books? I get in my car and cruise further south, I am running out of gas. I have like, a few fumes to run on. I hope I make it. I am a cheap bastard. Why don’t I just fill my tank or pay full price for a book? Jerk.

              Half-Priced Books. The first thing I see is a fat girl with pink stretch pants on, flower print fat girl shirt and knotted blonde dirty hair. She has a bugger in her nose, it’s gross. I hate kids. Especially dirty ones. Her brother is next to her. I think he has polio. Didn’t they cure that? What the fuck is wrong with this kid? Maybe it’s a deformity. There are people everywhere, and I realize Half-Priced Books is having a sale. I make my way to the back of the store, fiction section. They don’t have the book. What a fucking waste of time. I move to their movie section, they don’t have it on DVD either. Lame. I bail, it was beginning to smell of a white trash, garage sales and a big fart. That’s basically what Half-Price Books is though. I buy gas with my new credit card. Probably a mistake, but hey I can avoid getting fucked by it for a few months right? I pull out and go left, the mall is close by, Best Buy. Fuck it. I go to Best Buy and look for the movie on DVD. As I walk in I think about how I applied there recently. I can’t believe they hired some of those fuck faces there over me. Tragic. Anyway, they don’t have it in their regular DVD section. I am pissed. What a waste of my time. I could have been sleeping, or looking at internet porn or watching Biography of Rob Lowe (which I did earlier, truth be told). I walk to the front of the store, I see a rack that has random movies in it. What are the chances. I circle around, and Waka Bamm! There it is. I move to check out, Best Buy credit card swipes, I am out the door. I decide I still want the book, and it’s nice out, so I trek across the entire parking lot, cross a little road and head through the mall parking lot. There’s a book store in the mall which always baffles me. Who buys a book at the mall?

             I walk towards the door of the shopping center and see my reflection. Ugh, my hair is atrocious. Whatever style I had committed suicide or something cause it was gone. I did a quick fix while starring at my reflection and the door flew open in my face. Out came some overweight thirteen year old boy in a football jersey. God, I would be mad at his rudeness but I have faith he’ll have a heart attack and die by the time he’s 20, lard ass. I hate kids. I move through Van Maur or whatever it’s called and enter into the mall area. It’s crowded, but duh, it’s a Saturday. I see these two middle school girls standing their in Keds and jean jackets. What is this 1993? I fix my hair though, having a complex about always looking presentable. I’m tempted to ask the girls if I look like a homosexual, just to freak them out and make sure I don’t, though I am sure I do. It’s a weird thought, I let it go. I mall walk frivolously, weaving in and out of strollers, slow moving old women and ghetto thugs. Why aren’t people more normal? I reach the bookstore, I find my book immediately. Still $13.00. Oh well, I contemplate looking at the recent issue of Playgirl that they have, but no. I have internet porn for free. I get in line and the cash register guy is some played out old hippie. He looks like the boring kind that doesn’t do drugs though. He starts talking about the book and the author, I just smile and count my money. For some reason I want him to think I am intelligent so I mention the name of another book by an author who I believe to be similar. He says he’s read it and loves it. He says bye and I leave. Was he flirting? I think he called me “Hun” as I was leaving. barf. I should send the middle school girls to him. They can be fuck ups together.

               I walk back to my car and drive home, making all the lights and having my ego build up for some reason because of it. Oh well. I enjoy the moment. I make it home and can’t decide to watch the movie or read the book first. I start the book, but I don’t get to finish. My Mom and Dad return from home. It is their 25^th anniversary and Mom got a new ring. Dad gets a putter, a Cadillac hat and a wind breaker. Lovely. They announce that we are going out to dinner, so I grab my wallet and keys and we’re off. At the restaurant we have to wait an estimated 50 minutes. I hate this shit. Can’t we go somewhere else? On top of that, the waiting area is of course crowded, and I don’t feel like conversing with my family right now. I stand on the left end so I can’t hear their conversation thanks to my deaf ear. I see kids everywhere. I hate kids. Take them home and make them Easy Mac, don’t bring them to a nice restaurant. Then I see a little girl with pig tails and big pink sunglasses on. She looks kind of Asian. She’s no more then 3, but she reminds me of Jubilee from the X-Men. I’d chill with this kid. We finally find a waiting area that has chairs and we sit. I immediately do a scan and notice a hot bar tender. He’s chatty, hand motions, I think he’s gay. I try to make eye contact, but I fail. Our table is called.

               We sit down and I order a beer, though I’d really rather have a joint or at least something a little stronger like a screw driver. I can’t decide what to order, and our waiter is this crazy Mexican guy who waited on us last time we ate at this place. I decide for the fish. Mom says it’s good. I look over and notice that Jubilee and her three parents, two women and a man, are sitting across from us. One of them appears to be on crack, my mom says she thinks the woman is getting a nose bleed. I try to look, but I hate to be obvious. I don’t see what’s going on. My food comes, I am starved, but it’s too greasy. shit. I should have got what my sister ordered, pulled pork. We finish eating and leave, my parents talk about what they want to do with their night. I say I am reading.

          As I dive into the book I realize I love the style. It’s free flowing and reminds me of things I used to write. It has a sharp tongue too. I miss writing and I wonder why I have stopped. Well, not stopped, but really slowed down. I guess I feel like I don’t have anything original to say right now. I feel like I have run out of metaphors. Everything I write ends up about me being gay anyway, and that’s such old news I think Moses has a copy of the original memo. I decide to stop whining about something I could change and I get online. I look at away messages. It’s a Saturday night and I am reading a book and checking away messages. Pathetic. I see that Beth is in Indy, so I sign off and call her. She says she is just watching TV at Sharon’s, Cheaters to be precise, and we small talk about my being unemployed and her being stressed about teachers smashing work in before Spring Break. I feel lost cause it’s almost Spring Break for her. I still haven’t done anything with myself. I have tried though. I sulk about being a graduate. I say goodbye to Beth and hang up and I wonder why none of my friends have come to visit me in Indy. Well, my grad party they did. I’ve been there a lot. I decide I am being pretentious. I take a shower, it feels really good, but I just think about the book, I think about my bitching. I should just get over myself. I should find myself. I should write.

I am constantly called pessimistic. Well these are things that I love people!

I love when I get into a pop song and feel like a diva…or something…that was really gay.

I love when I listen to head phones at night, that way when Stairway to Heaven comes on all I can hear is the pipe player because the sound is in stereo and the singer is producing sound into my deaf ear

I love when I read comics and cry, Jubilee and Professor X roller blade, only for his legs to hopelessly give out Jubes have to help him back to his chair. Tragic.

I love when I got out with my parents and my mom says stuff like “I think the happiest day of my life was my wedding day” My Dad says, “It’s was like a lotto ticket, you scratched it off and underneath was a smiling picture of me.

I love when Marvel Comics kills off the token gay X-Man for shock value just to bring him back as an evil assassin three issues later.

I love that I have people helping me find a job now. My mom’s boss is throwing me leads. So is my old T-Com Prof. Thanks guys!!

I love when my X-Men message board fucks up and I get a message on my screen saying “The server is too busy at the moment. Please try again later.” I donated $10 bucks to these guys once. They can blow me. But please allow me to continue posting.

I love the Rufus Wainwright songs I have downloaded. I should buy a CD.

I love that two summers ago I listened to 92.3 a lot and got really into a few bands. I bought the CD’s. I never listen to them.

I love that Judd Winnick, former Real World cast member, is the former writer of a comic book that I buy on a monthly basis.

I love that I watched Roseanne last night for an hour and thought of Beth.

I love Barenaked Ladies – Call and Answer. It’s simple breath taking. If you don’t think so, then you’re more deaf than I am.

I love sexual conversations that just keep going and going.

X-Men UNO? They make X-Men UNO? FUCK YEAH I LOVE X-MEN UNO! I bought it tonight off Amazon.com. Be prepared BAP. This will be the ultimate UNO battle.

I See How

It started with a simple point of view
so generic, but easy to prove
and I wondered, how did you feel
I didn’t judge I just played along
sang the words that went with song
now I wonder, how should I feel
it was easy to ignore you
it was hard to say they were wrong
but I understand you
I guess I just realize and move on

It’s a simple as the pot and the kettles tale
the shoes your wearing determine pass or fail
and I guess you know that I didn’t know
any better but what now
I won’t say I’m sorry, but I’ll say I see how.

THEN:

The front door flies open, I take one step on the porch and then launch myself into the yard with the speed of a 9 year old kid who has just eaten five dollars worth of concession stand candy. This consisted of Airheads, Gummi Worms, Baseball Gum, Laffy Taffy, Snickers, giant pixie sticks, licorice ropes, Big League Chew, M & M’s, Shocktarts, Tear Jerkers and Reese’s Pieces. The sugar rush shows as I crash down on my knee and do a summersault, only to then leap up and rush down the front hill. Next came the ravine, a long path that went downhill and was filled with leaves. I mean like three feet of leaves for the whole stretch. The battle was fierce, and I wasn’t wearing shoes. Who wears shoes in the summer? There is the fear that a mouse will be buried in the expanse of fallen foliage, the fear that Dad may have tossed an old thorn bush down in the ravine which could impale my tender foot at any moment. There is the sheer depth of the pit itself, as my 4’3 body barely sticks out above the mass gathering of brown and yellow leaves. In certain areas I just sink down so deep I have to climb my way out. Eventually there’s a halt to the chaos. It ends at an old log which is just sitting there, boasting that it once used to stand upright as a mighty tree. I don’t give it much thought. I pass over it like a balance beam and leap across a small puddle that’s in front of me. Then I am there. I have finally made it to my clubhouse.

It isn’t really a clubhouse and my sisters would laugh if they heard me refer to it as that. In all honesty I had tried to once construct a shelter, but being 9, I had limited skills in woodshop and my father was somewhere off drinking, off building something for someone else, off being my father like he was suppose to be doing. No it’s not a shelter, but instead it’s a tree. A perfect climbing tree. The first branch was too high though, so I strategically leaned a log up against the lowest branch creating a ladder of sorts. What’s funny is that the log actually had several knots up the side, and hence, almost looked like a ladder or stairway. I run to the ladder log, I make sure it’s sturdy and then I circle around to the other side of the tree. The bar swing. It was my Dad’s one contribution to the clubhouse. A stringy yellow rope connects to both sides of a wooden bar like a trapeze, enabling anyone, anyone who I allow of course, to swing through the wind, to hang upside down, to become, for a brief moment, someone else. Someone who doesn’t have to touch the ground. I reach out, grab the bar with my hands and begin my ritualistic routine. It’s well crafted and planned out. I could probably put music to it. Swing forward, legs up over the bar, pull around, land in a sitting position (where at this point it’s key to increase the swinging speed otherwise the whole routine will end), throw myself backwards, hang by my legs, dangling back and forth, hair wildly upside down, then the pull up, you have to reach hard, flip your legs out, carry the spiral and accelerate your body over the top of the bar only to land so gently on your feet. With a bow and imaginary applause, I feel like I’ve accomplished something grand. I turn, I SPLASH!!! That’s the one problem down here. The puddles for some reason don’t dry up. My feet are solid brown as I examine them for leeches, not that leeches live in puddles, but you never know when one leech could decide to break the mold and reside right by my tree house in one of those holes gathering excess H2O. No Leeches.

I embark for the ladder log, making my way up each knot with care and then pulling myself into the lower branches. My path is now not se tout for me, but instead exists in a variety of patterns. I think that’s why I enjoy climbing trees so much, I have this freedom to choose how I reach my destination. I can be direct, or I take the long path which requires strength and speed, the ability to drop through branches and most of all, not be afraid of heights. I choose the direct route for now, still a bit tired from the rope routine, and I cross over to the thickest branch on the entire tree. I balance myself on the limb, slowly taking steps outward. There’s a branch right above my head which I could hold for support, but I know I am better then that. I don’t need the safety it provides. I continue out along the fat branch, I get to the middle and look down. The rope swing is tied up here, it’s yellow string embedded down into the wood now from so much use. I pass it, the branch begins to get thinner and the end of it begins to curve down with my wait. When you go out far enough, it creates a clearing and you can see through all the leaves. You can see the entire baseball field which I live next to. I take a glance, but I am not interested in the team that is playing. I retreat back to the base of the tree, and I begin to climb. Falling is not an option, and I dream of making it all the way to the top someday. I reach for the next highest branch, pull myself up and rest for a minute. There’s an old Crown Royal bag nestled in the crevice of this branch and the tree’s base. It contains coins which I am saving so I can buy materials for the clubhouse. I don’t have anything to contribute today, instead I bought candy. I pass the purple and yellow bag, rising higher into the mass of branches. It’s delicate work, but you can’t be slow. You must keep moving, reaching higher. “Adam, dinner is ready, come inside!” My mom. I wonder what she cooked for dinner? I dangle from one branch, release and land, I climb down the levels until I am back at the ladder log. I won’t climb down it though. That’s not what it’s there for. Instead I reach for the nearest branch, I hold on with my arms and I throw myself out of the tree, yelling a battle cry and landing on my feet. I race up a side hill, not wanting to keep Mom waiting. the ravine would take to long to maneuver through. I end at the picnic table on the side of our house, I round the corner, leap onto the porch and smile.

     It’s a moment you go through everyday. The light is paralyzing, the eye crusties have just set in, the blankets have been heated by your body warmth and you memory is moving at a million miles an hour trying to remember the last few minutes. Your dreams were just running at full strength, but as soon as you enter that limbo phase, that between sleep and awake, the world becomes truly insane. This weekend was freakin’ awesome as I found myself whisked away to Muncie. It started with a simple dinner, family feud and cosmic bowling. It’s now been brought to my attention that cosmic bowling is also a high schoolers skating party. Yes I was surrounded by annoyingly hyper little kids all evening. When I purchased beer, I noticed a few kids scowling at me. It wasn’t my fault they couldn’t buy their own. Anyway, I had a fun time bowling and the chaos commenced at Aubrie’s where I did some kung fu and passed out before finishing (or even starting) my Taco Bell meal.
The wake up was out of a movie as I heard the sound of Schuyler’s voice. She was yelling about things not looking tip top shape in the apartment, after all, her family was visiting, and cleanliness is always a must around parentals. While Linds frantically picked up beer bottles and uneaten Mexican fast food, I wandered around limbo, yes the in between sleep and awake place where I found myself remembering the previous nights dreams. That’s the last time I steal gum from someone else’s mouth. Anyway, I got up from the couch in the girls apartment and went across the hall to the boys apartment. No one there was yelling. I slept for a while, until I awoke and cleaned up a bit. Geoff appeared. We got McDonalds and saw two guys on a date there. It was almost sad yet depressingly charming like on of those LifeTime movies. Enter Patrick and Aubrie, and somehow the sunny day had lured us to it’s grasp. We played frisbee and drank beer out in the parking lot. The Schuyler family chatted with us for a bit and then we resumed to the couches to watch Usual Suspects.
I fell asleep a little bit here, wondering in the dreamy state, thinking to myself about the past and about past relationships. I had recently wrote about relationships changing, and sometimes, I think they change without you even noticing it. At least not at first. The dream state didn’t last long as someone farted and stunk stuff up. I am not kidding, between Aubrie and Patrick, I am surprised there was any fresh air to breath in all of Muncie. We got up from our lazy movie watching, began doing some construction work and then set up a dessert party to be held with the Schuyler’s. Mr.S helped with construction, but the job was a bust. Oh well. Things followed with an attempted bar trip and then the final decision to hang out with Megan Wheat. Yes, ill Megan was drinking beer and enjoying the effects of liquid codeine. Geoff and I joined her. Again I had a dreamy mind, thinking of what was to come. Thinking of the present. Thinking of what had once been. Geoff and I left and returned to the apartment together where we watched Ray. It was a great time.
Sadly on Sunday I was reminded that the next day, Monday, my real life would begin. I have to go to work at 11:00 until 5:30pm. This seems like a dream. This seems like a place I am stuck in. My dream was college, my limbo is the here and now. I want to wake up the rest of the way and be set in my life. I want to know that I have stability, a place of my own, someone to kiss me on the forehead when they leave for work before I am even awake.
I thank everyone for the incredible weekend. I have remembered something I had once forgotten, and I know that dreams can be awesome, but in the in between state, you have a little control of your dream. You can push it, guide it, and then maybe when you wake up things will be perfect for you. I just have to push through the right now till I feel more comfortable with what is life. But I won’t forget those dreams…… I wonder how hell is unleashing it’s wrath right now?

 

Double Standards

I’ve heard it over and over again
the kind that’s clear as day, the kind that never ends
It’s a message that is meant to prove
just one opinion, show one point of view
and sometimes if it all makes sense
you play your card and hope the trump is spent
but don’t expect some never ending love
you’ve just made it to the next round, your far from done

cause the world, it has no answers
it’s a ball that goes round and round
a spinning motion won’t just stop
and gravity has no sound
you should try to find a place that’s for you
everyone can have a different truth

it’s not that I think your full of lies
you just haven’t shown me how or why
Can’t I feel a little insecure
or is perfection all that you’ll endure
I was raised in the back row of your home
but all I saw was fear of the unknown
you can’t expect me to just give up to you
I won’t do it for the devil, I won’t do it for you

cause the world, it has no answers
it’s a ball that goes round and round
a spinning motion won’t just stop
and gravity has no sound
you should try to find a place that’s for you
everyone can have a different truth

Now I just will not accept
eternal, darkest death
there must be some next level to attain
maybe that’s just self righteous of me
is it simpler then it seems?
then why am I worrying if it all means nothing

cause the world, it has no answers
it’s a ball that goes round and round
a spinning motion won’t just stop
and gravity has no sound
you should try to find a place that’s for you
everyone can have a different truth

 

They’re always ruining the best of moments, but making them so relatable that we can’t help but acknowledge and even enjoy the irony. Clichés, can’t beat ’em, join ’em. That sentence itself proves my point. But to further investigate, lets talk about stereotypes. I am not exactly the most masculine of guys, but I can hold my own in a beer drinking contest. I enjoy Desperate Housewives, but I also love fishing (which most people don’t know). I don’t see myself as a gay cliché, which is nice, but sometime I fall into the role of feeling like I am scandalous or full of drama. I guess I just have to deal with it. But I can’t be defined, no, one must not be what’s expected. But then again, your limiting yourself to always being the extremist. does this make any sense? I have, as of late, had to deal with the issue of who I am. I am at home in Indy, I am a new person, and I feel like I have had to change to accommodate my surroundings some, but then again, I know I am the same deep down. am I just putting on a mask here? or maybe taking one off? or maybe just over analyzing myself. the problem is, the me at home is different in ways that I don’t like, causing me to feel less open about life, about my social history. I want to keep reaching out to my friends who I don’t see all the time, and this constant reaching has brought forth a new realization (hold on, this is coming together). The old cliché “Friends come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime”. This is making sense. I am seeing, now that I am far away, who I really need to talk to. Who I want to fill in on my latest adventures, whose adventures I want to hear. I am realizing who other people are, because I am at a distance, perceiving from a new angle. It’s sad to see the natural progression of friendship from close to distant to dead, but I guess the cliché is right. Reasons, Seasons and Friends. But then again, maybe I don’t have to follow the cliché, maybe I can just ignore it? or maybe it’s just too true. maybe i have to accept the time spent with some as what there was and enjoy it as a memory. And from those people remember lessons, and laughs? the acceptance of loss? it seems so desperate. and not in the good Housewife sort of way. I guess if nothing else, whenever a door closes a window opens, right?

so it’s official, i have no game. no game at all. My night started with a drive down to Muncie. Naturally, there was a wreck on 69 right before my exit, so I sat there, starring blankly at the exit ramp which was mere feet ahead of me. It was frustrating. Anyway, when I finally made it through the traffic and over to Patricks…….UUUUGGGGHHHH…..this xanga is dumb. I am typing on Patrick’s apple mac book laptop, and it just sucks. anyway, there was a party. there were three hot guys, all who i know, i was a dud. i am done here.