Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Something Like a Marigold

I am something like a marigold,
A tiny flower with expending powers.

I am something like a marigold,
Planted in the dirt and completely inert.

I am something like a marigold,
Beautiful and bright, dependent on your light.

I am something like a marigold,
Clenching on your thirst until I am submersed.

I am something like a marigold,
And I will drain you of your radiance.

- Alexander McCurdy

"The Alex Show" Episode 9


"I do not remember this place."

"Perhaps we were never here before. Maybe this is something new."

"Then why would we choose to come here? Shouldn't we go someplace with a good memory, someplace that matters?"

"Perhaps that is the point. Any memory - whether good or bad - could trap us here. Then how would we ever leave?"

"Perhaps this, perhaps that. Perhaps we were never meant to leave."

"You don't honestly believe that, do you?"

"No. I was just... you know... being dramatic."

"I know all too well."

"It was fun, though, wasn't it?"

"Most certainly. It was a lot of things actually."

"Yeah, I'm glad I had the chance to share some of it with you... together."

"Yeah... Okay, this is it. Ready?"

"I'm ready."

"Thank you."


"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For living."

"What do you mean?"

"I tend to forget how important a life is. I get so caught up in the general right and wrong, and all too often I dwell on what I think is appropriate. You and I have played one too many games. I have grown utterly tired of that. Now, I simply want to stop and remind you how important your life is not only to me, but to this universe. Without you here, everything would be different. I know I would be. So thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for living. And thank you for loving me."

"This place... I know it now."


The folds of my wrinkled pillowcase match the creases in my skin.

"Me, too."

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Monday, March 30, 2009

"The Greatest Warrior Alive" Afterthought, Afterlife

post script. what happens to the greatest warrior alive? part four: he dies. don't you see? it doesn't matter if he is a warrior, or the greatest warrior or even a warrior at all. just like everyone else he dies. existentialism blackhole pale horse blah blah blah eternity is floating in an empty room with no walls, staring into the dark abyss blah blah blah the only thought being the lack of thought blah blah blah no desire blah blah blah we all end up in the same spot, and you can cling to belief blah blah blah and you can claim you even know, but you cannot blah blah blah you can tell yourself that you are not afraid and i will believe you blah blah blah after all, how can you be afraid of the unknown? you should be fuckin excited. you will discover something new, not the blinding glare of the paramedics' flashlights or the the sound of angelic sirens, but something greater. why do you even want an eternity? i would prefer an end. eternity just means more work. i do not want to live and breathe and feel and hurt and love and laugh forever. i do not want hell.

- afm

2009 Albums

I am super excited for 2009 album releases! I already got the new Number Twelve Looks Like You album and it is crazy awesome! I'm seeing them with Protest the Hero and Misery Signals in late April. Bruises will most likely be an outcome from that show. I still need to get my hands on the new Yeah Yeah Yeah's record. I've heard nothing but good things so far. Thursday's new album isn't bad, but I am now positive that Epitaph Records cannot master an album for shit. They fucked up the production of the last TSOAF album, and they butchered this one, too.

Other '09 albums I can hardly wait for:
  • The Bled
  • As Tall As Lions
  • Emery
  • Periphery
  • Animals As Leaders
  • August Burns Red
  • Dance Gavin Dance
  • Owl City
  • He Is Legend
  • Saosin
I am certain there are more albums that I am either unaware of or have not been announced yet. I really hope that Glassjaw doesn't pansy out of producing this record, and I'm crossing my fingers for The Bled's senior LP. Excitement holds hands with worriment, so some of these are sure to be let downs. Regardless, this year should kick some musical booty.

- afm

Saturday, March 28, 2009

100,000 Plays

Some artists on myspace can accomplish this is in a single day, but I'm just some kid messing around with a guitar and a macbook in his spare time. It is an incredible feeling to know that even one person out there is listening to my tunes. Hopefully I'll be able to put something legitimate up by the summer.

Alex McCurdy

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Teeth Like Sheathes, Episode 1, "The Change"

5:18 a.m. How much longer must I sit and wait? My body presses up against the wall clinging onto its own shadow for comfort. Shaken and cold, it needs this shade. I suppose I do not need it - or anything for that matter - but limbo is the closest thing I have to a friend. I am not ready to be still just yet, yet still is what I have to be for now. I can see the horizon peeking through the half drawn blinds. Do I dare risk leaving? One sudden movement, one slip or slide north will lead me south. I know I should jump. I might be able to make it, and the longer I sit and wait, the less likely my chances become.

What was that noise? Something like a grumble. I thought I lost whatever it was that attacked me. I ran for what seemed like hours, and now my flesh clenches onto my bones. I thought I was safe, but to be honest, I never once looked back. Perhaps it followed me here. There it is again! but I am distracted by lightning shooting up my spine, tearing my limbs. It travels through every muscle in me, twisting, knotting, releasing. The sensation is excruciating and pleasurable at the same time. I do not remember being so masochistic. When did I change? My sense, including my common one, is altering, heightening. All of this power, this eminent form, yet I cannot control my desire. Unceasing like a wildfire, it does not desist. It only persists, and I cannot resist drooling over mangled wrists . No barricade can aid the open valley in my arms. This place of security is now of harm. Again, I feel like I should be concerned. Instead, I smile.

Are these my teeth?
They seem more like sheathes, narrow knifelike blades for samurais to sway. There is that noise again. I am hungry, very hungry. The craving is unbearable. It distorts my sight, and I cannot focus on anything but the need to be full. Nothing seems good to me, though, and my head is ringing with unfamiliar sound. I swear I can hear a voice making a choice for me, but it runs from one chamber in my head to the next. I cannot catch it, whatever it is. The other noise, however, does not linger anymore. It strikes me with unyielding force. The noise is hunger, and I am blinded by it. I lied about not needing anything. I need this. Maybe just one bite?

I prayed the day would never come when the sun becomes my night.
I pray this night will save me from the hunger that I spite.
What a horrid fright, this wicked delight.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

you can make it

I dare you to jump.
I dare you to jump.
I dare you to jump.
I dare you to jump.


Monday, March 23, 2009

"The Greatest Warrior Alive" pts. I - IV

I. My feet burn like the sun, and so I run. My legs, pendulums in motion, stomp upon the earth and mud. I am Sandstorm, plunging from the mountain, sinking like hope down a slip'ry slope.

II. My arms bend like the hawk, and so I fly. My hands, feathers of wings, float upon the clouds and sky. I am Whirlwind, roaring from the heavens, soaring like pride when one must abide.

III. My chest yearns like the heart, and so I breathe. My lungs, fish out of the sea, pierce into the walls like sheathes. I am Water, coursing through the river, streaming like blood from a vital flood.

IV. No rampart can stop me. No mountain can top me. I will purge through like a rampant flu, but in the end I will fall like you.

- Alexander McCurdy

Fuck "The Alex Show!"

I like what we don't have. These empty spaces have such potential. Not the kind of potential that every troubled child is rewarded from their middle school counselor, but the kind that can actually evolve into something greater. The lack of feeling is better than feeling everything good or everything bad. It is a clean slate, better than birth.

ASIDE: When you are born you are not clean - definitely not in a literal sense. You have nine months time to learn. You adapt to the thought and sound of undeniable security. You are shielded within another being until you are forced out of your womb, your home. You come out bloody and crying, still attached to the very thing that is trying to get rid of you. How is that fresh? How are you new? You're not.

Erase everything - these words included - and you can be new for the very first time... like Madonna... but better and far less holy. Take that as you will, and know that our lives are like television sets showing us watch televisions sets. We are sitting on couches within screens on couches within screens. Let me know when you break this cycle. I will be waiting on the other side with a pocketbook heart and a crowbar in my hand. Remind me to remember to forget to open it once you cross that pane. Otherwise, we will have no spaces to fill, and the idea of forgetting will be long forgotten.


- Alexander McCurdy

"The Greatest Warrior Alive" pt. III of IV

My chest yearns like the heart, and so I breathe. My lungs, fish out of the sea, pierce into the walls like sheathes. I am Water, coursing through the river, streaming like blood from a vital flood.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

"The Greatest Warrior Alive" pt. II of IV

My arms bend like the hawk, and so I fly. My hands, feathers of wings, float upon the clouds and sky. I am Whirlwind, roaring from the heavens, soaring like pride when one must abide.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Sunday, March 22, 2009

"The Greatest Warrior Alive" pt. I of IV

My feet burn like the sun, and so I run. My legs, pendulums in motion, stomp upon the earth and mud. I am Sandstorm, plunging from the mountain, sinking like hope down a slip'ry slope.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Thursday, March 19, 2009

From Son to Father

Happening: You can rest assured when speech is slurred, and sleep until reaping faces keep cases deep beneath this cheap and meek oasis. This world is ours and we can twist the hours into empty spaces, replacing places with tourniquet laces. Maybe then we can create something whole and cover the holes that time erases.

Questioning: Otherwise, how can we endure when Death embraces?

Answering: When the fire ceases, I will release your pieces, and pray that they can sleep in peace.

- Alexander McCurdy

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 8, part I


The stairwell is a descending letter L, crooked and droopy. When I think of an object that droops, I imagine it being limp, lifeless even. This is a jagged droop, though, like half opened scissors in a pocketknife.

ASIDE: A pocketknife is not practical in dire situations if you do not have long fingernails.

I am sitting on a leather couch. It is red, but faded, easily mistaken for maroon or a light brown. I have room for two more, but I greedily decide to sprawl out. While examining the building internally, I can see its pulse. Even when we sleep, we breathe, and this building is no different. Its heart pounds, and blood pulsates through its walls. The chambers are still, but they digest everything consumed within the last hours of their consciousness. I can hear it. I can see it. If only I could feel it, perhaps my heart and belly would start moving in a different rhythm.

My brain is abandoned all too often. It thinks incessantly, but rarely about its self. Now is different, and so it wonders, Self, why do I not fixate on my own being? Aside from rarities such as now, why is this building directing me? To my brain's own knowledge, there will be no answer. If it thought like it generally plays chess, it would have known this ahead of time. However, it persists, When do I truly know things ahead of time? When does any brain? We can guess, we can predict, but I do not think we can know. See? I do not even know if I can know! In its world - my own mind - it is satisfied with its own answer to its own rhetorical question. Now I can think about the other members again. Hello, Heart. Hello, Belly. How do I start?

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Monday, March 16, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 7

DISCLAIMER: There will be no clever moral or any snide play on words. This is not the time for play, so if your eyes are telling your bones to jump, by all means, jump.

Hours Ago
Twenty-six: my day starts
Eighteen: my shoulder is a towel
Twelve: a new ally approaches
Six: worriment follows
One: it is no dance, but a state of being


I do not move physically or emotionally, and I wonder if I am broken. I am certain many people "feel" like this all the time for countless reasons, but that does not discount my moment as something real. I am not looking for a reason anymore. I do not need an explanation. I do not need purpose. I do not need anything, really. Your sight and sound are enough, and if I was not so far away, I wish your touch was with me, too. Funny. I have not wished for anything in a long while. Maybe I should edit: I do not feel like I need anything, because I do not know what is needed? Feeling is an incapability at the moment, but even from an outside perspective, I do not know where to go from here. I do not know how I am supposed to be. Am I supposed to call someone? I tried, but she is not here. I do not know if she even watches this show anymore. Calling was unfair, and I think I did it purposefully, knowing there would be no answer on the other line.

ASIDE: How appropriate in correlation to "your [enticing utterance] instructed by your movements."

My belly feels funny, but it might be from the copious amount of ice cream I had before I went to bed, or maybe from the sleep I refuse to accept. I should just confide in Jack. Whether to help me sleep or show me how I truly am beneath this rocky exterior, he usually helps. This is too long, and too vague.

I have become a fruit-bearing tree. I look magnificent from afar. My goods are easily accessible. My taste is delectable. Still, be warned: if you eat from me, you will be scorned, and your mouth will never be the same again.

this blog will continue, but some of you will not...

- Alexander McCurdy

Sunday, March 15, 2009

pick up chicks

like a farming hick, i pick up chicks and place them in crates. i wait and wait and wait until a later date when they can kick out eggs from between their legs - a pretty nifty trick for such young chicks. as time ticks and ticks and ticks the chicks kick and kick and kick and create tasty balanced bait for waiting sneaky snakes. i get on my knees as if to beg, pick up the eggs from beneath their slate, and place them in another crate. depending on their height and weight, i debate whether i want to sell them or if i want to tell them to jump on my plate. first i must crack them as if to attack them, and make them into a sunny-side state. But cracking is a gamble, for the eggs might break, and snacking on scrambled eggs is a fate i would hate.

still, i continue to procreate.

- Alexander McCurdy

Saturday, March 14, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 6


Why is this line taking so long? I wonder, selfish and impatient. There are only two people in front of me, a stranger and the girl who brought me to this place nearly two weeks ago. She had not come in until today, so since I was here before, I should be first. The classroom is familiarly foreign and I dislike standing in it. The chairs are carefully paired in rows of eight, round in number like a plate, while their state is squared and naturally bare. Every sound moves too quickly, and diction is muffled in the mist of its travel. A bumblebee would not be bumbling. A nightingale would not sing gaily in night. I cannot tap my foot on the floor or whistle while I wait. Fuck it, I am not standing any longer. I step to the side and interrupt the current conversation.

"Hi, my name is Alex McCurdy. I think you remember me," I tell the lady in the blue suit.

She looks back at me with a halfhearted smile. Evidently she does not remember nor is she pleased with my lack of courtesy.

"I sang for you the first time I auditioned here," I continue frantically. "You then sent me to Ms. Haight. She said I passed, and that I can continue. I was just wondering where I go from here."

She nods her head and hands me a blank piece of torn paper.

"Here, take this. Put your name atop and write down one sentence that best describes you as a person aside from your musical standpoint. We want to know what it is that you do, whether it is your greatest achievement to date, or the thing that defines you most. Remember, though, it cannot be anything in regard to music. We already know about that here."

I take the slip from her as she ushers me to any open seat in the room. I find one, third row, third chair from the front desk. I do not bother to eavesdrop my way into the latest gossip. I do not care to know how far others have passed or what they are working on. I merely want to finish this part of the challenge. I begin writing my name: alex mccur. I now realize I will have nothing to write after it. Aside from my audition, my name is all I have. I erase it.

I look around the room to see where she went. She must have answers to her questions by now, and maybe she would have some for my own. She is seated first row to the door, first chair from the front desk. She is ready to go, and must have been watching me already. She waves, and in return I give her two thumbs up and flash my cheesiest smile. I glance back down at the paper, blank like it was in the beginning, and I wonder why a prestigious place such as this would tear it. Surely they have scissors or even one of those colossal cutting machines used to make gigantic letters and stars. It just does not seem professional.
I will ask where they hide the ants.


My throat hurts. It appears to have developed another hole. This one feels like it is located behind and above my left tonsil. I do not understand why these misfortunes keep happening when I do so little to provoke it. Perhaps I was never meant to audition after all.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Friday, March 13, 2009


shapes/ figures/ in blood/ my taste/ my taste is good/ sounds run/ run away from me/ run to the holes/ beneath the ground/ sound the mellow bells/ those brazen bells/ dinner is now/ let me into you/ if i cannot come in/ let me pass through/ it sounds like you are dying/ like an angel/ dying/ stop/ now cut the streams/ laid in your arms/ this place of security/ was once of harm/

- afm

Thursday, March 12, 2009

stop. stare. smile.

sometimes i forget what's in my own backyard.


Tuesday, March 10, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 5

Not all of these episodes have two parts. This upcoming episode in particular only lasts a moment. Try not to blink, and I'll try my hardest to move as slowly as possible.



A violent shift, silent and swift, violently throws me to the curb. Silently I grow trees: two perturbed into a celestial body of gravel for bestial, rocky gavels. They do not unjustly judge me, they just plot to condemn me to a grave for the way I behave. They declare enslavement in the pavement, a fair payment of bereavement to deprave the sins I crave. To say the worst, I drive my hearse through this cursed street of shuffling feet before my undeniable thirst uncontrollably bursts. Otherwise, I will drain you all. The skies will kill, slain, and squall using my hammer of scorn until Amor is reborn.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Sunday, March 8, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 4


The average person would be shivering in my position, but I have adapted to colder conditions over time. I think my body takes the expression "overheated" in a literal sense, so a frigid state is necessary to keep my cool - so to speak. Still, I cannot decide if my extraordinary warmth is what keeps my teeth from chattering, or if my blood flows cold and coarse and I am within my natural element. I am in the highest of spirits, regardless. My belly is full of well done chocolate cake - both scrumptious and a little overcooked - and I am resting after a long night of biking, hiding, snacking, and sharing. Everything is slowing down now - as if time is not already at a standstill in her presence - and for the first time since I came over here, I can hear us breathing. I can feel her watching me as we lie together in the bed of a pickup. I am open, more so than I wish to be, and it is surprising how whole I feel when she can see right through me. I look up to the sky, and something catches my eye.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

I am not seeing things twice, but there is something familiar above. It is nearing morning and I have not closed my eyes but to blink. However, my sight does not deceive me for I am certain she can see it, too.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

There is a whisper in the air, and I can only grasp faint echoes questioning my discomfort. Segments of monotonous conversation reverberate from one ear to the next clashing the past with the present.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

It grows louder, deafening almost, and it is impossible to remember that I am real. I am not in a truck. I am not with her. I am not my age. I am not named, just labeled, but I cannot see what my label reads. The flash is blinding as it is blaring, and I can focus on nothing but its bright red light.

Flash! Flash! Flash!

I am paralyzed from the waste down, but I do not bother to flail my arms or cry for help. I do not require assistance. I am certain I could escape by myself if I truly needed to. Instead, I stare harder into the flashing red light, counting seconds in cadence to its flickers.

Flash, one. Flash, two. Flash, skip a few. Flash, ninety-nine, awaken.

"Alex! Alex, what's wrong?!" she screams, shaking me vigorously.

"What? Wrong? Nothing is wrong," I assure her. "I was just thinking."

"Thinking about what? I've been trying to get your attention for a while now, and you would not respond."

"I was just looking at the sky. The stars are wondrous tonight, aren't they?" I ask, trying to avert her worries.

She rolls back onto her back and gazes up without an answer. She believes in tit-for-tat justification, so if I turn the topic, she will turn her shoulder. She was never one to pester, and tonight will be no different.

"There sure are a lot of red eyes out tonight," she notes without interest.

"Excuse me?"

"Planes. I am surprised there are so many of them at this hour," she clarifies.

Planes. Red eye flights, flashing lights. That was the trigger, but what was the memory?

ASIDE: If planes are the trigger, is happiness my ammunition?

Remembering the memory. Making a film on a camcorder. Recording light flashes bright red, blinding sight, changing wrong to right and day to night. Driving in the car after traffic light hours. Stop, look both ways, proceed with caution, sell your soul at an open auction, hear their distant repercussions to fasten your seat belt. It is a rough ride from here.

Flash, one. Flash, two. Flash, skip a few. Flash, ninety-nine, asleep.

ASIDE: Was this whole night real, or am I lost inside a dream?

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Saturday, March 7, 2009

stupid... cupid?

i wish more words rhymed with "stupid," so i could write a blog about you.

instead, i am going to make a list of things making me exceedingly happy right now:

- afm

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

everything without a name

together my eyes are opening and closing like muddled masts. i will be forced to cut them down in time.
fictional subconscious seeps through into a shakily vivid sphere. i confuse its field with actuality.
distinctive and familiar, feign faces speak in twisted tongues. there are no words, just harbored lips.
the limbs i carry cannot take flight as i uncontrollably sail above. winds can only take me so far.
defeated or victorious, i look up to my only destination. the sky falls below, taking my trust with it.
i cannot tell what is a dream or a distant memory. i cannot be judged without a name.

- Aelnaxedr MuCdrcy?

payback paid back

i want to attack your heart with a trench knife jack and nail it to a plaque by a two-timing tack. i wish you had more in your chest, so i could pierce through your rack with a sodomizing seax and make this smut duck quack. with a sunder and a smack, i will throw you on your back, and smile at your smile and the reaction you lack. lash, lash, lash. contrary to fact, your fictitious tales and whore-monger sales result in your deserving crack, crack, cracks. once your skin fails to be intact, and you are inept to physically attract, i promise to stop this dismembering act. you owe me nothing.


Alexander McCurdy

ps. sorry about that. i take it all back.

Monday, March 2, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 3, part II

I will now purposefully discontinue "Episode 3, part I" to bring you a more recent show update. For all of you sappy romantics with your heart sinking to the pith of your chest, wondering if I was going to kiss or drown with ____ in the rain, I sincerely apologize for the interruption. However, earlier this morning one of my viewers had questions. This is my show, and when someone does not fully comprehend how it works, I feel obligated to explain (or at least try).



IYNH: Is there a particular girl in your story, or you just don't want to name her?

ALEX: You're the girl.

IYNH: Yes! I knew it!

ALEX: That is why I leave her name blank, so you - the reader - can insert your name here: _____.

IYNH: Well, then that doesn't count.

ALEX: Sure it does. After all, it is my show.

IYNH: Make a "_____ Show." I want to know what it would be like.

ALEX: You don't know what your life is like?

IYNH: Nope.

ALEX: The show here on my blog is based on my life. It's just an altered version of how the screenwriters wrote it for the show you see on television or online. Did you not read the first couple episodes?

IYNH: I did, but I don't get it.

Alex: It's alright, but if the first disclaimer does not make sense, then I don't know how else to explain what is happening. I will try my hardest, though. This show is running all the time. The tapes never stop filming and the show is accessible 24/7 for anyone's viewing pleasure. These blog entries are me, the protagonist, writing about the show from my own point of view.

IYNH: Oh, so you're not making it up?

ALEX: Yes and no. Like I said before, this blog is an altered concept of a conceptual show. I am writing the blog entries, which are based off of a show, which is based off of me, Alex McCurdy. Don't act like you don't know, _____. I am sure you watch it on television or online. Most of my friends have seen it. Some even own the DVD's.

IYNH: Shut up!

ALEX: Certainly you have seen "The Alex Show," _____. That is what these last few blog entries are all about!

IYNH: I hate you.

ALEX: Why? I am honestly trying to explain it.

IYNH: 'Cause of your lies! There is no "Alex Show!"

ALEX: It is no lie. I am Alex from "The Alex Show." I am the real deal.

IYNH: Okay, so you are making it up is what you're saying, but you're not making up the concept.

ALEX: I am not making anything up. The writers made up the concept, and I am sharing my life with my viewers, only this time, from my own point of view. I know you have to play along, _____. You're an actress. It's what you do, and I don't want to get you fired.

IYNH: You are frustrating.

ALEX: You hate my blog now, don't you?

IYNH: I am confused, but not.

ALEX: Just think, _____. Think about that concept: life has been screen written. What if you are the show? What if the world is watching you right now? What if this is my sneaky way of revealing it to you and you are missing it? Are you in denial? Have you never wondered why life is so hard and some things don't make sense? And why you feel the way you do and sometimes wish you didn't? It's the show! It's all written out, and I am just an actor telling you this so you will think it is preposterous. That way you'll never second guess it, and in your blissful oblivion the show can continue. Or maybe you're right, and there is no show. Maybe Alex McCurdy is just crazy.

IYNH: I get what you're saying...

ALEX: We are instructed to think within the lines, _____. Remember when you were a child and someone instructed you to color inside the lines? Do you not remember that freeing feeling of crayon wax spilling all over the paper or even on the floor or the walls? You could create whatever you wanted. You could alter anything with a surface, but someone told you where it was and was not appropriate to color. Well, it was a sham, _____! They were manipulating you. Changing you. Keeping you within boundaries. There is a reason why children naturally color outside the lines, and there is a reason why some "someone" tries to keep us within them.

IYNH: Now you are warping my brain. You are like drugs, Alex McCurdy!

ALEX: If i am a drug, then thank you. It's good to know that I am addictive and influencing something or someone, especially since I am not on any at the moment.

IYNH: I would say you are a good one, and one I would like to hold on to.

ALEX: Anyways, I apologize for the rants, but I am glad I made you think outside of those boundaries today.

IYNH: You say that like I don't know how to think without the help of someone else... which may in fact sadly be true.

ALEX: You know how to think, _____, but everyone thinks differently. When you read my blog, it is a different perception from the one I am thinking when I write it or how others are perceiving it. That is what I love about poetry and music and sight and sound and everything. It is all interchangeable. I know what my show is about, and nobody will fully understand it the way I do. No matter how much a person can relate, we will never be exact. I think it is a good thing.

IYNH: Yeah. Okay. Well, after that being said, please come home.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy & Supporting Actress

"The Alex Show" Episode 3, part I

Whether or not the weather is hot, I always find myself in this itchy spot. I pet my eyebrows and give them each a name. Calm down, Antonio. You, too, Verde. Once they are soothed, I calmly and comely pursue the chase. Most people would insert a blush or a stutter here, but I simply need to scratch. It creepily travels down from Antonio and Verde to my nameless cheeks and chin. The itch is less of a tickle now, more like a prickle now, so I am in a pickle now on account of my fickle brows! I must avow, I don't know how to properly ditch this twitchy itchy itch. Perhaps there is an off switch. Fortunately, the rain answers my elsewhere prayers.

ASIDE: It is considered demeaning for a woman to get on her knees before a man, yet we still kneel before God.

Rain affects people. Even if it only affects a person mentally, a person's mentality affects their physicality, thus affecting them all together. Personally, I enjoy the rain. The feeling of water on my body is refreshing, and the idea of clouds and winds and science making love in the sky, birthing precipitation, and allowing their creation to fall helplessly - yet gracefully - lets me know I am here and I am real. Still, like almost anything in this world, rain can be too much of a good thing.


"We have to go inside, ____. It is pouring far too hard!" I shout to her. I am not angry, but the rain impacts every surface around us. I cannot hear anything else.

"Is it not wonderful, though?" she asks me.

She spins around and around, arms outstretched, wearing her fullest, most radiant smile. The clouds can cover the sun, but they could never hide her smile.

"Let's stay out here forever!" she declares, still spinning, chasing that five year old high.

"But it's cold out here. You'll get sick!" I object.

She stops spinning and frolics up to me. With a splash in a puddle and a tap on the nose she says, "Correction: we will get sick, and we can stay home from school and work, and not do a thing except bask in each other's wonderful sickness."

I have to admit, her idea sounds full proof. I could be healthy for the rest of my life and obtain everything the general person strives for and not nearly be as happy as I would spending my eternity sick with her, together. She throws her arms around me, and instantly I am warm again.

"Kiss me in the rain, Alex."

"I like you too much to kiss you in the rain, ____."

"Whatever do you mean, silly? If you liked me too much, I wouldn't even have to ask. You must not like me very much at all," she teases. "Now kiss me!"

"I cannot kiss you, ____. If I were to kiss you in the rain, we would eventually drown."


to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy

Sunday, March 1, 2009

"The Alex Show" Episode 2, part II

I now realize - now is far too late - that I can never pick up exactly where I left off. It contradicts the point of these episodes all together. At the same time, I clearly cannot sit here and tell you what you are viewing. If I were to do so, I would incessantly be writing, "I am typing what you can see, so you can read what you have seen." There is no entertainment in that. I would be a liar if I were to say that I am not trying to entertain you. It would be like a musician saying, "I only write music for me, and if people catch on, that's just dandy." That is a bullshit statement for, "If you do not like my music, it's because I was not writing it for you to enjoy or even notice." My lack of insecurity here will tell you that if a musician was only creating music for himself, he would never record it. Anyways, if you are ever second guessing your existence, you can always go online and see that this is happening. You would know me to be real, and at the end of the day that might comfort you. Well, it discomforts me knowing that that would be it: an eternity of me sitting here, constantly updating and informing faithful viewers and unwarranted stalkers that reality is reality. Short version: I will recap certain events that I know are worth remembering. You can call it a "Best of" blog, or "Alex's Favorites." No matter what you call it, I want you to know that I will always be a channel, a go back one page, or a rewind away. With that being said, I will continue.

DISCLAIMER: Now that you know that I know that you know, it might get a little confusing from here. It's like I told Maggie, "I talk like I play chess."


Strength and weakness swirl together, clinging and pushing, clinging and pushing, unsure of their relation or their purpose. She stops.

"Has it been longer than three minutes?" she thinks aloud. "I cannot feel my chest. The water... I almost forgot! This is not my sight. This is not right." She turns to me in surprise. "Alex, you scared me! What are you doing here?"

I remain silent. I have always had this fear of being abandoned. I know you are always watching, but contact is my orphan. Clinging and pushing, clinging and pushing. I will never leave.

"These shelves... they are not mine, are they?" she interrogates. She is remembering.

"The water is not all you forgot, ____. You are not standing where you stand, or even at all."

She looks down at her feet, seeing how they merge into the floor. "Then how am I?"

"This is how you analyze the insides. Now stop knowing, and go back to wondering. It is easier that way. Wake up, ____. Wake up!"


I do not know where she goes from here. I have my assumptions, but there is no "____ Show" for me to follow. How fortunate you are. Yes, you. You are fortunate to have me here.

to be continued...

- Alexander McCurdy