Sometimes I'll write in lengthy prose and verbose wording just to practice doing it. Yesterday's entry is an example of it. Today's is not.

I get a call roughly at 6:30, 10 minutes after arriving home from a full work week. Hey it's Chris; you should come meet us out at the cabin. A dull conversation leads to the answer, Me, Zach, J, Paul and Bongi.

I think unplanned trip to Warsaw for one night to sing and drink my face off with the same buddies I've been doing this for years with brvbar; GREAT! So I make my quick preparations, which consists of a sweater, my sketch pad, keys, a pocket knife, 1984, and stopping at the gas station for some all-American Blue Light.

So I head out on for my hour trek to Warsaw, easy route, 90->400->20a->it all get blurry from there. For those don't know me too intimately yet, I'm the worst person ever when it comes to directions, more specifically geographic directions. I wouldn't trust myself to be navigator in any passenger seat, and I don't think you should either. So you can imagine my surprise when I made it to the cabin without a hitch. In fairness, I missed a street named Perry, but I noticed that I was missing it while I passed it. So that was just a quick turn around and didn't really count.

I pull into the hilly plot and park my car to the side of the driveway and walk toward the blazing campfire. They had eaten a great meal minutes earlier and had trouble drinking, and were therefore not obliterated on alcohol quite yet. This made me slightly more comfortable with the fact that a 12 gauge anti-riot shotgun sat gingerly at Paul's side. Slightly more unsettling was learning that Chris had just been shot earlier in the day. He bared his wounded side to me which showed a small hole surrounded by a budding bruise. Initially I was told this was from a ricocheted rifle bullet, his chest still housing the lead bullet; later finding out the truth in it being caused by a misfired Bee-Bee. It hadn't even punctured his shirt, let alone his skin.

After much requesting by J, we bring out the guitar and harmonica (which Bongi teaches me is a double reed harmonica, making it awkward and difficult to play). Half-baked renditions of Zeppelin, DMB, Toby Keith, OAR, and even some personal material filled the airwaves for an hour or two. Then the temperature dropped.

Now we have this cabin at our disposal. A multi-tiered, rich mahogany cabin with heat, electric, television, couches and carpets, beds and water (which smelled more like sulfur than a blown out match does). Directly above either side of the entrance way was a deer head. And in front of the fireplace was a thick deer skin rug. Antler trophies graced the wall along side nick-knacks, dolls, framed and hung pictures, kitchen slogans, and old family heirlooms. The obvious divide between the husband's and wife's decorations in the cabins was enough to make the most jaded cynic laugh.

I knelt down by the deer skin rug and pet the now-dead skin. It became all to clear to me that this was the closest I've come in my life to petting a deer. I've of course seen them hundreds of times, even had some wild encounters with them, but this was the first time I had actually physically felt there fur. The rug was made from the skin surrounding the body of the deer; the hair on the ridge of its spine was more coarse and disheveled than the hair that would have been on the sides of its body, making a streak down the middle of the rug. Two holes could be seen on the right side of the rug, where bullets had ended its life.

Inspired by the room and my surroundings I drew out my sketch pad. I did 3 quick sketches for later use; one of Chris standing with a can, a basic sketch of the room, and my common abstract sketch with dragons. Sometime soon after this, and after a meeting with Jack Daniel's, I fell asleep.

I awoke on the couch feeling good. No headache, no nausea, only the clean forest air filling my nostrils. My friends on the other hand, were not so lucky; they had also kept drinking for another 4 hours after I had taken to slumber. Chris's bruise from the gun wound had spread to the size of a silver dollar, and at least two others in the bunch were hoping for death; and what better way to celebrate such a wish then going to Wal-Mart to buy ammunition, which is exactly what we did. I being the most coherent one called Chris's mom, and got directions to Wal-Mart. This time though, my memory and sense of direction did fail me and the group. We made roughly 4 wrong turns, and had to stop off for directions. Eventually we made our destination. We picked up a couple boxes of slugs, some 22s and a few boxes of bird shots.

Having just bought ammunition from Wal-Mart, we knew had only one option, and that was to have McDonald's for breakfast. I happily polished off a grilled chicken sandwich, fries, and Barq's Root Beer. Some of the others couldn't even finish their meals because of their stomachs. We hopped in the car and rode back to the cabin. The Mickey D's had actually sparked a hang over in me, making me feel much worse than I had prior to eating there. So getting back to the cabin I pulled out of my satchel and laid down on the deerskin rug. I read to background music of 22s fires and 12 gauge shotgun cannons being fired into harmless woods, which worked surprisingly well for 1984.

Soon it would be time to leave Warsaw, Zach had to work, and I had other plans. But before leaving I felt like trying my hand at firearms. I decided to watch others first. Cock, aim, fire and watch the target on a tree disappear along with the wood behind it, splintering and ripping from the tree like chicken being ripped from the bone.

I tried the 22 first, and it was nothing special, just a regular rifle. Then I tried the 20 gauge shotgun. The barrel made a hollow pop when I opened it to inject the shell. Stay calm. Take aim at a can. Inhale. Exhale while pulling the trigger The gun cries war into the forest and punches me the shoulder. I lose my shotgun-firing virginity. No more can.

And in this instant my position is reaffirmed, I don't like guns. And this is coming from someone who's shot somebody (different story for a different time). But that experience taught me it's far too simple to move a small piece of metal half an inch back and unleash the wrath of Gods. It's just too much power. It's holding life in your hands, judge, jury and executioner. I don't believe they should all be confiscated, locked up and taught about in schools as the evil creation of men. I decided not to fire the 12 gauge; it was just not for me.

I'm not knocking hunting either. I've eaten venison, and liked it too. I enjoyed lying on the warm and soft deer skin rug. I would even like to go bow hunting one of these days, I always felt there was something romantic and rugged about a bow and arrow; relying on the skills of forefathers to capture a meal. It's the power of a shotgun that had really perplexed me. It's enough power to make something the size of a basketball vanish into mist and air. And all this power is available at Wal-Mart for the low-low price of $99.99. Watch for falling prices.

Yesterday was pretty cool, heard the term "Hippy Holiday" many a time. Now the real reason I bring it up is because I work at 420 Main St. I thought that was pretty funny.

I also heard of band, twice, in one day, that I had never heard of before; Bedouin SoundClash. I could see this being an amazing beach and relaxation band. Very chill, probably should've been listening to them yesterday in fact.

Also saw a friend's band I had never seen before. Dali's Ghost, they're kind of like a cross between Dylan and Pink Floyd. The have a good feel, great music to watch or to have as background in a bar. I really believe it adds so much to a bar to have live music, especially if its free. The Allenstreet Hardware is one of my newest favorite places because of this. Not only that but the music is phenominal. I went and saw Babique (spelling?) on Wednesday and they were SICK. They were playing with a stand-in horn player that was just jaw-dropping. He had an old style microphone for his horns that really rounded out the image of the band. The violin player was better than ever. People were dancing, the band was practically cracking musical jokes at eachother, at one point playing a jazz lounge version of Spiderman. I loved every second of it.

All in all, its been a good couple days. Musically oriented I'd say. Can't argue with that, I mean why would you want to.

PS. I think I'm lazy. The portfolio site is taking way too long. I promise, one of these days though. Oh, it will be great.

So, I noticed that I have 600 some odd views by people on estrip. Which topples the amount of hits I have on other forum/blog type accounts. So in light of this, I think this will become my new haven for posting. People seem to take more interest in art and writing than they do in just harnessing more friends. And that I like.

In other news, I'm building a new portfolio site, so everything will be all shiny and good looking again. The other one was taken down when I graduated. This is just a short small post on the happenings of late, I'm sure much more will be coming soon. See ya.