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Micah Madche

[ website | Soulcrater- Music and Madness ]
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This is not an update. Do not be alarmed. [Oct. 25th, 2006|12:08 am]
Micah Madche
Remember, folks... Garth Brooks nailed 'er in the head when he said,

"I will sail my vessel 'till the river runs dry..."

Our nation is a ship, and a bunch of white schmucks are at the wheel. Ladies and gentlemen, this particular ship is heading straight into the iceberg field of stupidity.

See? What a horrible... shit... what is it? Similie? Metaphore? How do i spell that?

Think with me here... I'll wait for some of you to catch up.

Kim Jong Il is full of shit when he says, "ooh... I'm reawry sowee about the bomb threats. Pwease wift your sanctions." You see, he is a power-mad facist who is plunging his country into the deepest poverty possible. He doesn't need our money. He can just sell stuff that blows people up to other wackos who have money. Or, he'll just trade them for interesting "blow people up" stuff that he doesn;t already posess.

Pull your head out.

Know what's really screwed-up? In my mind's eye, Kim Jong Il speaks in broken asian-man english. Know why? I learned who Kim Jong Il is from Team America: World Police. America wants us DUMB... if we want to learn about important political leaders, we've gotta turn to the creators of South Park.

What is more confounding? The english which Kim speaks in my mind is actually more intelligent than the crap spewing from the mouths of America's youth. You see, kids don't need to finish real school. While kids in Japan are learning to perorm brain surgery during grade two, American kids get to take welding school and mechanic classes. HUH? If normal education does not work, kids get to either go to school at a correctional facility (great place to learn how to eff people over) or go to a trade school of some sort.

You see, nothing is better than a well-trained workforce. Especially when this workforce can be conned into taking bullets to the chest and IEDs to the torsoes for less than minimum wage and the promise of an education they could have never afforded otherwise which will not be put into use as they are not provided with any type of de-brainwashing for their integration to society after spending years as killing machines.

Killers don't go to college. They get drunk and beat their wives. They have lots of kids. They vote for rich white guys who will send our sons to pointess wars. They want blood. Their children do not need an education. They need to count to three and throw a grenade. They need to know how to shoot to kill and weld the holes in their bomb shelters shut.

We've gotta win, and we don't even know what we're fighting.

The guys at the wheel wants big, dumb, mechanically apt cannon fodder so we can clobber those around us who would out-think or out-capitalize their way into our position on top of the manure pile.

..."I will sail my vessel 'till the river runs dry"

All you big, dumb white folks have heard it. Maybe you sing along. We gotta keep sailing. Till there is no river left for us to screw-over.
The Natives of our land would paddle on these rivers. They had brown skin. We clobbered the shit out of them.

The main reason was that one of them pointed out something which we white folks took offence to: in order to achieve the best results, you don't use sails on a river... you row or paddle on it.

Don't critize Garth Brooks, Injun'...
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(no subject) [Jan. 1st, 2005|09:38 pm]
Micah Madche
january 1. huh.

last year, i spent approximately 6 months without a home. i finished my first CD, and began my second. My computer crashed, and i thought that the second CD had been lost. i moved into a new apartment, threw together a new computer from spare parts, and found both of my old hard drives intact. Allison and i started a rocky (but enriching) relationship, and decided to start things aney in 2005. i worked at the choppping block tavern until march, moved to minnesota for the summer, and had an amazing trip back with allison. the badlands were incredible.
i befriended the homeless, the crazy, the addicted, the hated and the misguided. i found pleasure in that which was simple.

my writing improvewd last year. i began a novel which i hope to find the right atmosphere to begin writing again. after returning from minnesota, i spent a short amount of time working in a factory in monroe. after being fired, i had to sell my car to pay rent. to keep sane, i started a band which plays quite regularly at the tavern. i broke promises to those whom i had loved and broike ties with nearly everyone i had considered friends. i lost faith in organized religion, family bonds, the common american and myself. i broke my own moral codes to make ends meet. i attempted to be who i thought everyone needed me to be.

the knowledge of who i truly "am" is my only goal. am i to be a man behind the counter at a 7-eleven, hands raised far above my head, worrying for the fate of my childrent and wife, as a masked figure with a stolen gun tears wads of money from the register? Am i to be the man behind the mask, reinfocing my self-inflicted povery through an act of despatation? Am i the owner of a failing chain of convinience stores, wondering when the other shoe will drop? Am i the balding stock-holder, waking every morning to the aching of my ulcer, the smell of over-priced coffee breaking my stupor? I do not know any longer. But every step i take brings a new piece of evidence to my atttention. Though i falter, i will not admit defeat.

Mr Miyagi/Doogie Hauser/Yogi-Master Moment:
To judge my past actions as perfectly "good" or "bad" only prevents my growth. Should i uproot a tree to prevent a few branches encroaching on the domain of another?
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(no subject) [Nov. 27th, 2004|01:42 am]
Micah Madche
allison and i spent thanksgiving at my parents' house here in washington.

i just erased a section focusing on my frustration with family. writing about it is not solving anything.

i truly wish it was possible for me to cut my hair and get a "respectable" job. it seems that college is out of the picture until i turn 24... at that point, the student loans will still be out of reach as a result of my horrible credit. what, then, are the options? apparently, my music made very little impact on people. Of the thousand of hits that my website had received, only one person whom i had never contacted bought a copy online. i'm pretty much dissatisfied with my writing abilities, thus rendering the book i have started writing completely worthless.

i want to fit. i want to fit and wear snappy clothes and follow the atkins diet and run three miles a day and keep myself well groomed and get a normal job and buy fancy stuff and follow my leaders blindly and just nod my head and walk into the meat grinder with a shiny white smile as my body is crushed into meal for the masses who follow in my footsteps.

i want to use my middle finger only to type the appropriate keys on my keyboard without looking at the keys.

i want my words to be plain as the beige interior in my reliable car that gets sensible gass mileage, seats five and has enough trunk room for eight sets of golf clubs.

I want to get married to someone with whom i never disagree and have "intercourse" with exactly twice a week, with an extra session on my birthday and whenever i get a raise or buy her an expensive gift made by children in sweatshops who i feel especially sorry for when the guy with the white beard comes on the TV and tells me about how much my pennies a day could help them.

I want to wear nice pants and have a leather wallet with lots of pockets for credit cards and a plastic fold-out section for the pictures of my 2.5 kids.

I want to name my children after relatives whom i secretly dispise and raise them by taking all of the precribed steps in all the right books and alienate them after they grow out of my control and begin forming their own opinions and begin to act like i did when i was young and stupid.

i want to have a midlife crisis.

i want to cheat on my wife and regret every decision i have made since i began making decisions and fall asleep each night under my billion-threadcount nordstrom angel-down comforter fearing the day when i make a mistake and lose every material posession that i have worked so hard to secure in order to buffer myself from the world around me.

i want to be a prozac junkee and have a few heart attacks and live on social security in a retirement village and go to the clubhouse on friday for a potluck and play cards with old men who smell like mold.

i want to get shipped-off to a nursing home and shit myself as the doctors add tubes and wires to my body in hope of preserving my suffering for as long as humanly possible.

i want to die frightened and alone in the middle of the night as nurses attempt to recusitate me with elecrtical shocks to the heart, filling my veins with synthetic jesus blood.

i want to be buried in a pretty cemetery with a fountain and trees and footpaths, surrounded by family members who tell each other that i accomplished so much.
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(no subject) [Nov. 17th, 2004|01:04 am]
Micah Madche
There are 4 of us in a 1 bedroom apt.
(Allison, Chuck, Tonya and Myself)
somewhat cozy, really.

As per usual, i am unemployed. Grandpa Mel is in rehab to recover from brain damage incurred in a logging accident. I sold my car. I owe michelle more money, and have no idea where it will come from.

The idea of prayer (specifically in the Christian world) is on my mind a lot recently. It is one of the easiest ways to blow-off those in need. When i lived in my car, my family constantly told me they were praying for me. So did folks i had known from various churches. I needed a place to live. If a man is on fire, the most helpful response is not prayer.

Allison informed me that i have a, "really big imagination."
I had suggested that a wolf could be so completely wild that even its footprints could not be captured in a photograph.
She may be right.

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(no subject) [Oct. 26th, 2004|05:38 pm]
Micah Madche
a taste of death
so soft
yet lingers

link to be foundhere

i doubt we were ever truly friends. i was always "on the outside looking in," although i am not terribly sure of the accuracy of the locations specified. people always seem so much more caring and kind after they die. strange.
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(no subject) [Oct. 6th, 2004|01:53 pm]
Micah Madche
just got some time behind the computer.

Working at Canyon Creek now. Hidden somewhere between the cabinet line, the spray-paint/laquer/glaze shop and the shipping bay. I put pieces of wood in cardboard, tape the cardboard shut and put the package in a rack for later retrieval by a shipping monkey.

at first, i didn't mind the job. now, three or four weeks later, i feel that those who "supervise" me should not allow my use of any large, sharp or otherwise dangerous items. i want to set the factory on fire after smashing everything within it to pulp with my bare hands.

still living at the Chopping Block. suuposedly, Chuck and Tonya and i will split an apartment in monroe begining on the 15th, but only time will tell.

i need to find a job that suits me. bartending did. if i do not find something similar soo, i will go completely mad. last night, i nearly went on a rampage because some stupid DJ played a horrible cover of Lennon's "Imagine" while i was working. i almost got fired as a result.

some babbling about a dreamCollapse )
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(no subject) [Aug. 25th, 2004|04:13 pm]
Micah Madche
okay. this is an update. i am still alive.

came back from an extended roadtrip, lived in a tent in camano island.
went to oregon for a week. was informed while in oregon that camano island was no longer an option.

i live in my car for the time being... smokey point rest stop is pretty nice. the last two nights, though, i have crashed-out at the tavern... cushy benches are a nice change.

keep in mind that i do not really dislike the current living situation- as soon as i can find gainful employment (which is becoming panfuilly difficult), things will swing back into motion. only time and effort are needed.

the badlands changed my life.

Park entrance, from a crumbling standpoint

hiking into the badlands, 1/2 mile

1 mile in, allison in lower right hand corner

2 miles in, from highest peak availiable

walking back, attempting to locate vehicle

some night, in some hotel room

many more pictures to be found here

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Before the Aftermath [Jul. 20th, 2004|01:34 am]
Micah Madche
Driving back to washington after daybreak.

I slept so much today. Woke-up in the morning, smoked, talked to allison and reina, took a shower, felt a bit queasy and fell asleep until 7pm. Strange. Had a lot of fleeting dreams- only caught bits and pieces.

If you can survive the poison, visions will follow.

Allison's mother wants some sort of "pole house" built on her land... i think i've seen kits for sale online. Hopefully, i can get that built, haul away all the millions of rocks strewn throughout the field, build my grandpa a fence and get the first few chapters of my book to some publishers/agents by the end of august. Somewhere in there, i need to make enough money to prevent starvation.


this is a song of life
it has no words
only movement

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(no subject) [Jul. 1st, 2004|03:25 pm]
Micah Madche
At the soul of an artist dwells two personas: The Creator and The Destroyer.

Both are pure. Although seemingly opposed to one another, they can be allowed to work in unison. Sadly, many attempt to capture one or the other, not allowing the freedom that both provide. The end result of this is seen in the writer who spends day at night in a drunken stupor, rising on occassion to create things of intense beauty and passion or the painter who will leave family and friend in dire need if any interruption to the "beautiful life" occurs.

Either Creator or Destroyer can cause harm. The Destroyer will alienate itself from others (sometimes violently), fuel the lifestyle with hate/frustration or similar emotion, and ultimately create havoc in the soul. The Creator will belive in nothing but "pretty things," live a lassez-faire lifestyle without ever helping those in need, and ultimately dry-up the soul for lack of passion.

The two, working in unison, is ideal- Passions will fuel the need to make a world of beauty.



i can see Reality towering above my hopes and dreams with a fiery hammer. His broken teeth gleam black under matted hair.
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(no subject) [Jul. 1st, 2004|04:35 am]
Micah Madche
[Current Music |Damien Jurado- December]

i feel so good right now. Monday, i sent some copies of my CD to CD Baby as they had run out.

I included some handmade chocolates and fudge from the local candy shop in the package. This was because Derek, the owner, mentioned in the e-mail how much he liked chocolate. I guess most people take stuff like that as a joke, but i figured that it would be nice to hook him up.

Today, the package arrived at thier office in Oregon, and the whole crew at CD Baby E-mailed me a really super excited "thank you" note. This made me feel really good. It wasn't one of those "thanks for the chocolate" e-mails. It was a truly surprised and happy one.

Herein lies the beauty of independent buisiness... REAL people are doing what they love to do because they love to do it... not just for the money. If i sent chocolates to tower.com or one of the big-name digital distributors that carry my music, i would be lucky to get a real e-mail from a real person.

Hippie-ish peace-and-love rambling begins hereCollapse )
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(no subject) [Jun. 28th, 2004|02:24 pm]
Micah Madche
From 1077theend.com:

Don't Piss Jack White Off--We All Saw What Happened To That Von Bondies Guy

White Stripes are not happy that a concert video was shown at the recent Seattle Film Festival. Filmmaker George Roca shot the Detroit duo's four-night stand at New York's Bowery Ballroom, and though he had permission to film the shows, the Stripes say he never had permission to screen the material. Jack White says he and Meg White own the rights to the footage and have gotten their lawyers involved. Jack says, "This situation is obviously an example of the latest generation of people who think they are entitled to do whatever they want -- no matter how greedy or self-serving their actions may be -- with no repercussions for these actions."

dude... relax. You're a pretty crappy musician, and now you make lots of money as a result... in with the good air, out with the bad... stop being a buttplug.
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No Fruit Juice [Jun. 28th, 2004|03:08 am]
Micah Madche
[Current Music |Neutral Milk Hotel- The King of Carrot Flowers]

apparently, it is not possible to add "water balloon fights with the neighbors which involve massive civilian casualties" nor, "waterballoonfightswhichinvolvemassiveciviliancasualties" to my 'interests.'

i can, on the other hand, include, "waterballoonfightsinvolvingmassivecollateraldamage"

nobody shares that interest at this time. Nor does any person share my interest in volvet underpants. pansies.

...transferred every poem i have written online to the hard drive here on the roomie's computer. printed them out.... almost 40 pages. although it spans a year and a half, most of these were written during the last 4 months. the 'gipper would be proud.

Allison's birthday is tomorrow (well, today, now that i look at the clock) my mom's is on the 29th. Why don't y'all buy them something nice? Better yet, send me money... i'll take care of stuff for you.

damn... i just used my journal as a way to communicate with people who read it. i feel sick.

hmm... anyhow, we will probably be stupid tourists on the way back- drive through the Badlands, visit Mt. Rushmore or Crazy Horse, possibly try to find Old Faithful.

most everything major is packed... except clothes and some minor knicknacks... think we'll fix Allison's van when i get back... if it could be done soon enough, Oregon would be a great drive to test it on... or a horribly disasterous one... should be an experience either way.
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Finally figured-out how to use something i wrote a while ago. [Jun. 27th, 2004|05:46 am]
Micah Madche
i reach
into that fire
every ounce of self
every year of self-betrayal
no more

children laugh for lack of tears
hoping, dreaming, reaching forever further
casting themselves soul-deep
clutching life as it races
into ever-changing unknown

only miracles
only wonder
only learning
only peace

sing to me your lifesong
sing to me your journey
sing to me your passion
sing to me your love

i refuse to keep this life
of white knuckle desparation
ruled by blind and hateful
generations of the dead

to follow un-named paths
blood which flows so savage

and yet,
pieces of dreams
broom and a dustpan
because the carpet's overflowing
singing drums and fire
nicely tucked-away

"rule number three thousand and seventy six:
never tell tales which have no words
rule number seven hundred fifty two
never dance to the beat of your own soul
rule number eighty five
never set yourself free

these things must remain
these things must be "

I have heard your words and tell you
my blood is pure and wild
blood which flows so savage

I have felt your words upon me, and yet,
My Blood is Fierce and True
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Micah will now wax poetic about death. [Jun. 26th, 2004|04:07 am]
Micah Madche
...feel somewhat sick from lack of sleep and lack of care for myself....

one thing you learn from living with meth addicts is that only knowledge of our own mortality kills us. I have stayed awake for days with people who had no knowledge that they would ever sleep. I was the only one to suffer. Sarah would look at me with sad, broken eyes and tell me when it was time to get some rest. This, when she had been awake for most of the week. I would ususally be sick, starting to hallucinate and a bit shaky. I knew that my body could not sustain life unless i was to find rest. Sarah, on the other hand, knew that she was awake, and would stay awake. It was not until that final moment when her lashes met and she became certain that they would not loose their embrace that she would find rest. It came with no surprise- in that final twinkling her thinking changed, and it was time. She had felt no ill effects beforehand as i had. This was because she was never accepted the existance of sleep until that point while i lived in reverent awareness of my need.

Death is very much the same. Those of us living in constant awareness that our path leads only to an abrupt end will lead a dead, painful life. It is only those who deny that death is upon them who truly live. It is my belief that a man can deny his death while dirt is being thrown upon his grave. If this theory holds true, a man will only die if he allows this to occur. Of course, at one point or another in a man's life, death becomes a comfort rather than a fear. Even if this time of realization happens for the briefest of moments, the man who has denied death for many years may very well be able to accept its existance and give himself over to it very quickly. Others feel the need to struggle after the acceptance, making the experience even more difficult. While it can be staved-off for a long while, simply acknowledging our mortality sets its gears into motion, only to be slowed by our innatention.

There is no weakness in accepting death. True weakness is in the heart of a person who cannot face the possibility. A man of stregnth will accept every possible challenge in life, including those which are destined to be faced late in his journey. I am in no way proposing that death is not inevitable, of course. I simply believe that it may be staved-off indefinitely if a person does not allow himself to face it. This is quite a problem, of course, as the man who fears death obviously accepts its reality, and will live a life fighting death. This is no way to live. We should live, instead, never letting our mortality dock itself in our minds until that ship is the only one in life which chases a horizon we have yet to see.

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Good thing i made this a private entry... I wouldn't want anyone to read it. [Jun. 25th, 2004|08:16 pm]
Micah Madche
Dear mind-sucking internet diary,

Altough my CD is for sale online for the low-low price of $8.00, i went ahead and set-up an account to offer single songs for download at $1.00 each.

"Only one dollar to download a Soulcrater track? That's INCREDIBLE"
you might say...

and, yes, only charging one dollar to download an incredible track is pretty great... and everyone on LJ should know about it... but i want to make sure that my journal does not turn into a way for me to, say, shamelessly promote my CD (which only costs $8) every time i do something new with distribution... like, oh i dunno... offer single song downloads for only a dollar. Now, i know that one dollar is an incredible price for great music downloads, but i don't want to go overboard with it.

*sigh* geez... i dunno... hopefully, my creepy internet friends with tell every single damn person they know how good my music is, and that they should all buy at least one copy of my CD or download a few tracks for only a dollar each.

I just wonder how i could ask my shadowy companions to do such a thing...?
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