Fluid Memories / of Ohio

Music is one of my favorite things in this whole blasted world because of the feelings I associate with the tunes and the accompanying lyrics. For those of you who know the Drew as best as one can know the brew the Drew, you certainly are aware Modest Mouse is my favorite band. Zeppelin and Nirvana are close contenders surely, yet it is with the Mouse I have had the most spiritual connection. I remember getting turned onto them (Note: it was during this time period I got turned onto Indie music as a whole though it has always been the Mouse whose words and melodies strike the deepest chords in my soul) and the band expressed everything I could not find the vocabulary or rhythm to express. The trilogy of their first three albums transversed a Midwestern landscape -- the pilgrimage to the American West which was a pinnacle site of exploration in the 19th century -- beautifully painting this world of alienation, uncertainty and absolute clairvoyance. One track off their first album, This is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About, has been an inspirational tune to me for quite sometime:

Ohio

(Note: lyrics are always my favorite parts of music, I love me some instrumental jazz and the such, but being a literary guy, the lyrics do it for me....and here they are - in case you cared)

Took a bus straight to Baltimore

On the way he took a nap

Dropped off a note that said "Im giving this note back"

PS there's a lot going on underneath

There's roots, there's pipes, there's drainage leaks

You're on, you're wrong

Truly sorry, I see clearly

Calmly crashing, I pace faster than anyone

Hinges rusting, they swing louder than anything

Truly lonely, this place is flatter than it seems

I;m upset and I leave the doors open wide

Our hearts are used up, cracked and dry

Pulled the scabs off of regrets

We haven't learned to read our conscience yet

Truly sorry, I see clearly

Hardly hoping, I spend it all on game machines

Calmly crashing, I pace and I figure it out again

One hand clapping, awake but napping

Rows of lights to illuminate lines

Why don't they turn the off and let us see night

Drove crazed, grooming my lies

You can't look in on one way eyes

When I first listened to this song in my adolescent years, it fueled my soul with the beauty of wanting to reach out and discover more. I never ventured far from my humble abode of North Carolina, regardless of how much I loathed the fucking state. I remember getting stoned in a room of my parent's house spectulating I'm worth more than this...eventually I will fly from here. Twas just last year me and two of my friends, Steven & Andrew, made arrangement to go to Cleveland, Ohio to see Foxy Shazam...and here's a clip by them, in case you were ever so curious:

The Rocketeer

I had missed them in Charlotte the previous Spring break and was fucking determined to see these guys live (Note: especially because I saw video footage of Eric Nally swallowing cigarettes on stage...alas he did not do so at the Cleveland show but there was enough to keep me entertained throughout the night). I put on Ohio on my car's stereo right when we got into Ohio and immediately it breathed new life into a song I had held dear for so long. This was the journey I had dreamed of in these wasted days and here I was making it a reality. I could go on and on about the 2 night venue of Foxy Shazam we saw up in Cleveland last fall, but that is a story for another time because just a few months later the meaning of Mouse's Ohio changed for me yet again. February 2014, I drove up to Columbus, Ohio to help my uncle move to Charlotte, NC for him to spend his last few months before the cancer took him away. When put on Ohio as Gregory pulled into Columbus, it no longer was a song of infinite discovery while rather transcending itself into a heapless mount of chords bent on the end of possibilities. I hadn't seen my uncle Tommy since I was 6, and here I was with my lasting impression of him this sick old man (Note: he was only 57) crippled on a couch spitting phlegm gasping for life.Out of my family though, he was one of the few who supported my decision in coming to China and that was the last thing I talked to him about and he told Gregory and my mum to stop giving me such a hard time about leaving the country...he knew the only way I would evolve would be in leaving behind the states and trying to figure out who I am. I didn't see him for a few weeks after that and our next encounter was placing his corpse into a van. 

I hadn't listened to that album for sometime with the memories I associated with that song, and it came on the other day as I walked to work. It no longer held the meaning passed down through years of constant play...once again I found new depth in a hollow place. If you read the lyrics to Ohio, there really isn't that much to the song, but I have transcribed so much context from it in the past decade. If it weren't for constantly changing, life wouldn't be worth what it's worth to me now. 

Heart Cooks Brain

My father is a huge buff for Budweiser which he crowns as the King of Beers. I remember once having a group of friends around; my dad asks the gang Hey fellas got any beers I can grab. We show him our fort the high gravity delights and he nods his head in disapproval saying What's with all this expensive shit can't I just get a Budweiser for Christ's sake? We chuckle and my soul brother, Anthony Zazzarino, replies How about you just water down one of these good beers, Mr. Peeples? Budweiser remains absolute watery rubbish in the beer world as a comparison to any decent brew (Note: living in Asheville for a few years, my beer snob attitude increased dramatically, though just two months in China have dwindled my fair taste in the fermented concoction and I am much obliged for anything that can take the edge off of life...my Irish heritage has taught me something I suppose...of course not forgetting the brilliant works of Wilde, Joyce, and Beckett). Here in China the beer quality is complete shit...if you have ever tried TsingTao that alone should be a fair indicator of what we are working with over here; there is also the baijiu (Chinese liquor) which doesn't taste completely awful but the inside lining of your stomach may just disagree with that sentiment come the next morning. My point in all this folly remains a certain longing for things I never noticed I enjoyed and honestly I still question if they are things I actually like or if it is simply the sake for remembrance of a world left behind. I fucking hate Budweiser, I only drank the stuff when I lived with my parents because my dad always kept himself stocked on the poison and didn't mind if I helped myself to a few (Note: to some extent, there were times he would get pissed if I drank the vast majority of a 24 pack he planned on saving for a few days). I haven't tried it here yet, but there are times walking down the aisles in the Grocery store or walking down the street passing by a bar with a Budweiser advert nestled in the window beckoning the longing of any perplexed American walking down that desolate road life. I spent three dollars on an Arizona tea a few weeks back (Note: Arizona only costs a dollar a can back home, and CVS normally has sales for buy one get one) though this was before I discovered there is Chinese sweet tea and the concept of cold, sweetened black tea is not just a Southern thing....oh the weight I haven't lost just because I supplement water from time to time with sweet tea.

Cleavage is nonexistent over here; The skimpy skirts and the whole affair of showing off one's buttox are still in fashion here (Note: being a committed assman, one would presume this suffices as no problem for my person, yet alas we want what we cannot obtain...thus the entire premise behind this post). I saw a Russian woman showcasing huge knockers yesterday and I could not help gazing upon the bosomful display. I digress.

I want some damn cheese quesadillas....a go-to meal during my college deals considering the simplicity in such preparation. Ramen noodles still remain a corner stone in the Drew Peeples food pyramid, though cheese has somehow escaped my diet (Note: nobody eats cheese in China :( ) resulting in infinite melancholy. I was asked by my adult class the other night what kind of fine cuisines they could find in a visit to the states? I simply explained to them most American food is a bastardization of more diverse, cultural foods then went into detail what American Chinese food tasted like...they got a good laugh though still curious if I was actually telling the truth or if I was just pulling the legs of these older Chinese women. Speaking of food, tis time for me to grab some lamb bbq at the stand resting round the bottom of the hill...

Back to the topic of long lost beers, my favorite variety of beer is a good old fashioned Indian Pale Ale and my hopes of grabbing a sixpack here looks slim. At a bar the other night I nearly paid 8 USD for a pint of the stuff just because I haven't a clue where else I can grab a taste. What do I want after I find a decent supply of this desire o mine? Live music, preferably a band I fancy quite a bit. The reality of that happening here? Slim to none. Something so common in my everyday life back home, yet here a near impossibility.

I did not come to China for the things I 'left behind,' but rather to further explore myself and the vast world existing out here and the roundabouts. To end on a corny note, as I most often am accustomed to by this point, I would like to address the thing that doesn't change regardless of location: friends; comrades; companions, lovers, coworkers, and the list goes on and on. There still remain good people, myself included, regardless of where I am placed and that is what makes the whole mess a splendid time. Sure, an IPA would be opportune right now, yet everything else that is going right makes these little things unimportant and slowly, but surely, I am learning to stop caring if the little things are going right (Note: not giving in to my constant anxiety, the one I attempt to rid myself of allowing smokes and drinks to clear the mind) and rather making sure the whole picture becomes a beautiful masterpiece.

Trickle in Time

The early morning of 10 am thrusts through the window emanating radiant beams speaking those nurturing words of time to wake the fuck up. I've been trying to wake up early, but on days off, it is hard convincing myself leaving the bed is the best option for the day's folly. I normally ponder on days such as this should I remain here in my cushion-esque shell all day...why not abandon life just for today. Persuasion for leaving the bed comes in the form of making coffee...sweet aroma dark ooze soothing nostrils, taste and all. Twas not any meager coffee, but coffee mixed with Jameson...Irish coffee as my ancestors called it while they slaved mongst the potato fields sprinkled in famine and Jesus. I accompany my dear friend with a smoke following the daily ritual we call Radiohead:

The National Anthem

Time passes as Yorke sings his sweet melodies, time passes as the days follow through beginning to end yielding passage a day following somewhere in the mix; time passes bringing the seasons' changes summer clothes packed away anticipating the harsh winds o' winter; time passes here feeling more complete as a day reaches its conclusion...everything feels more complete I can remember all of these individual experiences I've ventured through in the past two months, whereas my last year in the states remains as a consistent series of work and the same old thing. Time well spent with friends can be taken from this, and there were plenty of exciting adventures held with these special folks, but nothing felt as a whole and it was if I was existing out of sheer necessity.

The other day some mates came roun my apartment and we worked on our character creation for a DnD campaign we are setting up. For those of you who have never played dungeons and dragons, you are certainly missing out, but all you need is the pdf of 2nd edition and some creativity...so get on that. The world we are building consists of a preapocalyptic society in the 17th century where the major desert religions are determined to slaughter the heretics (those who don't follow the same creed they do) and our clan of outlaws and all belongs to a dogmatic practice who worship Skrooj, God of Greed. The characters we have thus far: a conjurer, a bard, a ninja, a druid, a ranger and an illusionist. There is more to the backstory and yadda yadda yadda, but I will continue on this DnD discussion once we begin our first chapter a week from the upcoming Sunday.

I haven't been great about sitting down and writing recently, the only cardinal sin I find important in this secular living of mine. Alot of the time its sheer laziness coupled along the ever persistent thought of it amounts to nothing and then I remember this is my therapy, this is my creed scribbling (edit: typing) across blank canvasses watching the thoughts of mind create a subsistence that now breathes life no longer an entry of a memory always slipping away such a hard thing retaining knowledge of this and that when you have those to worry about. Luckily I have a concoction that helps me in putting these pieces together:

Exploration and the inspirational influx of walking giving way to new ideas remain the passions of mine that allow my easygoing nature of life. Constant interpretations the world revolving around me and my cynical observations of this person and that developing situation hiding over there in the corner waiting to be addressed perhaps even subtly demanding the attention. Today I attempted finding the police station I was driven to my first day here. Didn't take much with the clues of knowing it was near Kunming jie and there was a sign that seemed to say there was a police station 200 somethings to the right. My Chinese hasn't developed at all, but I have been meticulously perfecting my art: the nomenclature of pointing and the universal language of smiling. The smile never leaves my face so long as I travel through the world outside my little nestled abode. I enjoy watching people arguing in the streets over matters of driving. Have only seen a couple of accidents, but it is a display where the masses gather round and anticipate one dude punching another dude in the face...we leave in despair, no violence here today it stays in roun the H.K. Speaking of punching, a five year old boy in my class punched another of the students smack dab in the face this past Saturday. I looked over in the instant this demon child slammed his clenched fist into the mouth of the victim and I immediately ran over to diffuse the situation. The teacher's assistant had left the classroom so here I was explaining to a five year old Chinese boy he was in some deep fucking shit. The bastard starting crying as if he had done no wrong the fucking spoiled brat, expect nothing less from an only child spoiled his whole miserable existence constantly being reminded he the saint of some greater plane destined for anything regardless of the intelligence of willingness to become something...doomed for nothingness, perhaps rioting in the streets, something actually obtainable and practical for the violent twat. I moved the child's chair to a corner and he refuses to oblige then attempts to leave the classroom. I attempt blocking him but after a few seconds I realize I will not be able to calm down the child and there are fourteen other anxious/confused students in the classroom that I must attend to. I get out of the child's way and he proceeds to run down the corridor.

Moments later the teacher's assistant arrives back in asking what happened, and explaining to me how bad it looked the kid left the classroom without anyone since his parents are nearby watching. I explain that's a load of fucking bullshit, and that the kid must be psychotic if he's a five year old punching another child in the face. The assistant is shocked by my claim and asks if I'm positive the demon child punched the alleged victim in the mouth. "Of course I'm fucking sure, I've got two eyes don't I?" She asks the alleged victim and obviously he agrees yes, that demon child punched me in the face. Following class the father of Damien -- Note: I'm not an idiot and going to post this child's real name on the internet, so the alias arises declaring the child of our little story as no other than Damien...like the omen. Also note: I don't typically go around calling little kids bastards and demon child yet when you punch a child in the face and then try to act like I'm making shit up and I'm the asshole...I'm going to think you're a bastard, end of story -- asks me why his child was placed out of the classroom. Sadly enough, the demon child's father spoke English so I couldn't just walk away. I explained everything, then proceeded to wait 5 minutes (during my 20 minute break where I still had to walk 5 minutes back to the school since I was at the kindergarten down the street) as the demon child voraciously cried weeping deceitful tears and the father keeps saying Damien apologize to Mr Drew, Damien apologize to Mr. Drew and it goes on and on I bite my tongue wishing I had had a pot of coffee before work instead supplementing my elixir with a mere cola, a 20 ouncer if you will, and not even a cigarette, biting my tongue and counting my time wondering when will this sick nightmare end and will this happen again next week because certainly I will say good day to you sir talk to my employers for further disclosure I have somewhere to be you shant have me wait here again for the same old folly of last week.

In other news, work is actually going rather well, I just had that run in this past weekend and it really fucking irritated me mainly because this father thinks I should give special attention to the demon child when there are 14 other students in my class and none of them go around punching children in the face. I could go on and on about the positives/negatives of work, but I have to deal with that at work, so praise work and praise Mao, and now I shall enjoy my home stay for the evening as I continue being merry on wine and writing this selfrightous gibberish to be passed down the millenniums, so I digress from the altercation of this past weekend and continue onto a more...somber discourse, a conclusion where all the points meet together and conclude amongst themselves.

Nearly two months have passed, and I already feel completely immersed into my environment. These two months have been filled with memories, moments and experiences that shall continue to develop and they will persistently build me up as a more self-aware and globally consciousness individual. I don't have a camera, nor do I intend to buy a new phone until my old shitty one dies so I apologize but eventually I will bombard you folks with photos galore inviting your eyes and minds into the beautiful (relatively speaking) city of Dalian, so until then...read national geographic, I suppose. It's been nearly a month since my last blog post, and I have plenty of other material I can write about, so check back soon I'll try to get back on it as a weekly thing

Or not...only time will tell...as it passes