- Bret Holmes Baltimore Md

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I Kan't Spell

Thursday, March 30, 2006


Behold the day of rest. Behold my day of sun in the face. There are moments in life when things make sense. The mirky waters come clean to the clear tides. Have you felt the warmth today? Have you felt the feel of spring kissing your head this morning? Once you stop to appreciate sleep and waves of good vibrations you can easily accomplish anything. It's as if the waves deliver you onto a warm wet beach to be dried gently by the sun.

I have known only two things in the past moments. The first one is enlightenment through honesty. The second is the ability to overcome anything given confidence in yourself and the right frame of mind to take a chance. There seems to be elcectricity in the air today. There are apples to be picked from the sky. There is an optimistic "can't lose" feeling running through my body. That feeling has been a stranger for too long.

There has been a rebirth through temperature and sun. Mother Nature is a very smart woman. She let's you know when it's your time to be reborn. She gives you all the apparatus you will ever need to deliver yourself on to the alter you created. You need only pray to one thing; your own moving soul and the world that fuels it.

Skipping is largely underrated.

Friday, March 24, 2006

It Will Choke You

Assertion is assembled in Chinatown. Litigation gruffly wrists a breathtaking backhand. Compensate the majority with everything from exhilarating to shocking and watch socks over heads and pipes into fists. A thin joint with hands-on mainframe access decidely ready for an uproar. Scotch expressway with a virtual primary care. They outsmart biographical trees; leaves that are current affairs on TBS.

Bluff? S.O.B. as big league as a baby with a grade school routine.

Incompetent the honky in maturity: umpteen entrails of realtor talk. Sheltered reimbursement with your alma mater. This streetlight stairway to composure will leapfrog the savory people for the smell of antiperspirant. Topographically speaking we all look like numbered cells of rows. Statues can deflect the obvious. Ants become a column.

Status, as outdone as potluck climate. Hack a church of unforeseen
disenfranchised people and find the solution to what God intended. The unsteady bleeding hands at the chicken wire fence with feed muck dripping down their chins. Yellow corn meal is dripping down chins and mixing with their clenched fist as they reach tongue out for more. Please give us more before we sacrifice the fingers through the razor wire holes to feel air run through the blood. Distinguishable, impenetrable, abundant and one day improved.

A hornet's nest designed to send out a legion of stings while the end of a golf club tic toc's it. Capitalize the skydiving that carbon dioxide your home.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Happy Birthday Dad

Just simply writing him an email that says "Happy birthday Dad" is bad enough. There is no "Love Bret" or "Your Loving Son" or "Hope to See You Soon" at the end to maybe comfort him, or even me. All there is is some distant hatred, resentment, and awkwardness that should not come from two people that loved each other as much as him and I did.

Countless nights I have spent crying and punching walls over my father. I would get so upset over how much I missed him and how much he destroyed my life. There was no physical abuse or heavy drug use or domestic violence that you may think to blame. There was only a very hurt and confused man that was hurting everyone around him. You can't really get mad at nature for the tornado it created that smashed the trailer park. You just have to realize that sometimes nature is a motherfucker. On the same hand, you also don't want to live in that trailer park or ever see a tornado again after it has ripped apart your home.

There are so many good times that I remember having with my father that I well up in the eyes just thinking about them. There was the way he used to jerk the car from left to right to make me roll across the big L seat of the front of his car. There was no one that could talk to me or make me laugh like my father. There were the countless nights of Gin, Scrabble, Boggle, and Trivial Pursuit. I owe every mental attribute or accolade and the formation of my love of laerning to my father. There were "Bret" days where I didn't have to go to school and we would go to the movies, museums, baseball games, and to some place really cool to eat lunch. There were the times when he was my biggest fan and got more joy out of seeing me succeed than any sense of pride I had ever seen in a man's face.

While he was still him, he was a very good father to me.

I won't go into the negative things because believe it or not this is his birthday wish and the toast that I'll never be able to give him. I'll never be able to kiss his old wrinkled forehead and have him lift up his grand children. These sentences are all I have in lieu of holding his hand as he becomes old. These words are in substitution of the life that we won't ever get to share.

I miss my father.

I love you Dad. Have a Happy Birthday.

Your loving son,

Friday, March 17, 2006

Happy St Patrick's Day

I'm wearing green shoes and a green shirt that used to fit much better last year.

Irish trivia for ya - -

Sir Walter Raleigh brought the potato back from America to Queen Elizabeth and she claimed it unsightly and gave it to the Irish.

The shamrock was used by St. Patrick to show a resemblance of nature to the Holy Trinity.

The color green is used to symbolize the fertility that is the Irish country side.

"erin go bragh"

Tuesday, March 14, 2006


Just play this

Evil Umpire

It curses with a MF so may not be work speaker friendly.

Some additional ones -

Jamestown was the first...
The line must be drawn here!
Time traveler
Colin Tests My Soul
Chunk Addresses Congress
Hurricane Wilma Porn

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Stage 1: Boy Meets Girl

We just ended our 1 millionth conversation. They all end with "I love you". It's an "I love you" just like yours and we mean it just as much as two people can. The "I" stands for me. The "love" comes from my body. Nothing I know moves me to want to be alive more than her. The "you' is her. And to know her is to know what the sun sees when it comes over the water, always rising and setting forever. She is in me casting beautiful sunsets and awe-inspiring sun rises.

Our conversations all end like a balloon filled with oxygen as opposed to helium. They sit on the floor. They wait to be touched and picked up and made alive by each other's hands. They live for our breath but they can't be lifted to heaven. They won't be soaring over the world without us giving up fear.

"I'm afraid baby."
"As am I... But I'm more of afraid of not knowing than anything else."

We live alone from each other. We live separately while holding each other's fingers like two lovers being separated by a swarming crowd. We stretch and reach and sacrifice for our dream. We live for the idea that is 'us'.


It was under a Leo star that I was brought into this world. It was with screams and kicks I'm sure.

"I wouldn't say you were a quiet baby as much as you were a happy baby. I could take you anywhere and you would smile all day."

It was always screams and kicks when it came to making noise. There is no doubt in my mind that back when 1979 hit, if there had been a digital recorder or disposable cameras my little body would have been pitching a fuss forever. I would have been preserved on some film somewhere doing what all good wild babies do. Under the Leo sign, I mean shit - you can't hide anything you do, especially what you love.

Let's see in the time of my life, the Berlin wall came down and Lennon was shot. Gorbachev was gone and the USSR was no longer. God, the Cold War really was my childhood. I mean nameless, country-less planes in Top Gun and Lee Greenwood being on the radio to electing the Chairman of the CIA. I've seen a few continents and lived in places and eaten things that would make most people cringe. I have seen floods, and earthquakes. I have seen death and birth. I have known how to love and how to let go.

My life up to the point when I first saw her was full of vapid character building. There was booze and hugs with people who have faded like cheap paint in a widow's living room. It's sad to think of wasted love but it's all a building process towards a foggy goal aloft on a steep learning curve. I was a captain here and a lover there. I was rich and young. I had a great head of hair and bravado that could stop most Italian soccer teams in their tracks. I was happy with myself. I had a family then and they shaped me as much as anything. How it shaped me is still in the jury, but I was shaped none-the-less at least to learn to express myself through one medium or another.

"Too bad it wasn't Reagan that got shot", my father would always say. I'd roll my eyes and say, "He did get shot." To which he would reply, "Well he's not dead, so who cares." This was shortly followed up by his only other advice, "If you are going to steal make sure it's over a million dollars." Back then a million dollars was the baby boomer cap. My family had barely a bonnet much less a doffing cap to salute the market. "Too bad it wasn't Clinton" my Grandfather would say. And I couldn't give two cares to who was in the oval office. I cared about baseball and being heard. Well, I cared about women too. I loved women.

21 years went by since the lion perched over my Mother. 21 years of laughter and some love. 21 years of triumph and all that life heaps on you when you are looking for the next laugh. I wasn't looking to hide in love. I had no need to be crippled by love anymore. Love doesn't know this rule and will crush you as if you didn't exist.

I had 21 years of being thrown about in a washing machine on the gentle cycle. I got into my share of scrapes. Sure, I had bad times with drinking dads and crying moms. Of course I grew up pretty poor and had to sacrifice most things in order to do other things. I grew up in Baltimore for Christ's sake. There isn't anything here but dirt under your nails and bad air to breath. I'm sure decadence is somewhere. But how the hell would I know what that was? My mother drove a Camaro.

My bio - boy looking at it now doesn't really bring any tears to my eye. I know I had some good times and some bad ones but I figured it might be more than that. I wish my life for any person. Jesus, doesn't everyone wish his or her life up until 21 on anyone? Despite the reflection of later life, your golden years are still yours and you'd like to think that your 'best of times' is at least good enough for everyone.

Do you remember the feeling when you first saw perfection? And this isn't Vertuvian Man or Eiffel Tower perfection. This is YOUR perfection. This is the kind of perfection that rings your head with a tuning fork that can resonate the code to unlock the Kabala secret. It's different for each person. For some people, Cheetos are perfect and for other's it's Claudia Schiffer circa 1986. I've seen it twice in my entire life. I saw it once with my first love and then I saw it again with that girl who was always yelling about something, smoking cigarettes, and laughing. Her infectious gnarl of a laugh caught the felt of my ears for the first time and I was hooked. Her Cleopatra eyes were the kind that dart right to your eyes and can tell you exactly what kind of man you are. If sat down to do a confessional sketch drawing of the perfect women. The police interview would go something like this:

"Ok Mr. Holmes we want you to draw what you saw."
"Wat do you mean?"
"We mean that when you saw perfection... when you saw the woman that stopped your heart for those brief moments."
"Why do you want that?"
"Don't you know what that woman will one day do to you? I mean, trust us we find that in cases of this much infatuation...we like to have a sketch on file for future reference."
"I mean...she looked like...umm... Liz Taylor in the movie where she played Cleopatra. Only she was...yelling and laughing and wanting to be held more than she wanted to breath."
"I think we understand. They all say something like that. Sad fucking lots you romantics. Sad lot. Well anyway...we'll let you know when we see her. "
"Please do officer. That's my ideal."

I didn't know her name or what planet she ruled in her spare time but I knew she was special. Everyone has looked at someone and said, "Unbelievable!". I said that every time she walked by me. I never did this to other women. I'm an eye roller when it comes to women. I don't like their shyness and despise their push and pull behavior based on formalities and gestures of weakness.

I heard her voice and laugh the same way you hear an ambulance siren. You turn and look and have to know where it's going and how close it is to you. You get slightly excited by the overbearing sound of a rescue vehicle on its way to relieve or help. I heard that mouth and I had to know. I had to know where it was going.

I would sit eating my lunch with friends and I would spring from my seat and pounce on top of the table. I looked through the window and saw beauty. I saw real beauty and I screamed and shook my body as if slightly electrocuted. I called her "Liz" and I had no idea who she was or where she was going. I remember staring at her until my head could no longer bend around the doorways or posts to keep her in view. As if in slow motion she would walk past me everyday. She would walk past me guarded by her equally olive skinned boyfriend. I never even saw him or anything else around her. I saw her. I saw only her.

Every once in a while I noticed that she would look over her shoulder in order to see me. She would tilt her head and snarl when I would yell "Liz!". She would look with a furrowed brow that was less than inviting. In fact it said "Stay the fuck away you jack ass." I didn't care what it said. I was infatuated. I could imagine what she smelled like and how it felt to hold the small of her back when she would laugh that barrel laugh and kick her right heel up and throw her head back for you to support her. I would imagine that and sigh. But as fast as the fever of her being near came on, it went away.

If she weren't around I wouldn't think about her. I didn't know her. I had no idea who she was and for all I knew I was just one more dullard that yelled at her on a daily basis. I could have been any clown at any time that was vying for her attention. I was too busy with younger girls that had low self-esteem and not enough life experience to know Manet from Monet. I was too busy learning how to woo the poor rather than elevating myself to an absolute queen. The thought of having a real girlfriend again was completely absurd. And you could tell, at least I would have felt, that this was not a girl you picked up and took home and then discarded. This was a living goddess to me and her presence at all times brought my actions to a halt. Remember the standard comedy bit of the guy getting hit in the head with a ball as a pretty girl walked by? Well that reaction was mine whenever she was within sight.

Most of my psyche at the time revolved around me filling a void that I had assumed I had accumulated. How do you accumulate a void? Well, I guess it comes from thinking that you missed out on things as a result of wasted time. I felt as though I had missed out on some of my best sexual years by being in a monogamous relationship with my first girlfriend for a little over 3 years. I thought that I should be out fornicating as much as possible in order to see what I had missed. And that's what I did for the next 4 years. I went out every weekend looking for a new girl to fill that void. None of them ever did. None of them ever gave me the amount of love I wanted to give someone else. I never gave them any part of my soul. I never intended to hurt anyone and I never lied to have sex. I simply pursued and won over what I was after.

There were things I had to learn about love all over again. I had to learn to want again and not to strive so hard towards the middle. Somewhere deep down I knew I would see her one-day and make her mine. I would lose her for a few years but that image and that perfection never left me. Her presence seemed to be etched somewhere in my subconscious and the thought of the perfect woman always brought about images of her laugh.

"Mark my words boys. One day, that wild thing right there, that untamable beautiful woman will be mine. She will be mine and I will be king."

Hell, I had a Camaro.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Match Point

Jas and I went and saw the Woody Allen project, Match Point, at the Charles last night. I don't know if it's a project as much as it is just another British movie, but it sure wasn't the usual Woody. It was dark and Hitchcockian in many ways. There was murder, deceit, loveless marriages, and an affair. The dialogue was witty and the scenes were shot very well.

The scene I enjoyed the most was at the end where the camera follows a ring flying through the air just as we followed a tennis ball in the opening segment. The tennis ball hits the net and bounces back and signifies a loss and the main characters place in life. The ring at the end also bounces back but ends up being a win and also signifies wrong doings with a twist that his place in life was the happenstance of evil gone lucky. The scenes were meant to illustrate luck and the chaos theory. The underlying premise besides a love affair, murder, and marriage was that no matter what we do in life, no matter how hard we work, plan, save, or love that it doesn't really have any true outcome on how we really end up living.

Basically, the outcomes and choices of our lives are made more by things we can't control then by things we can control. It's an interesting point. It's also one not easily proven. You choose to have sex and then have a baby. You choose to go to work and not gamble or do drugs. You choose to shower. But, what you don't choose is whether or not the mother of your child had AIDS or a miscarriage. You don't choose to get into a car accident on your way to work or to die in an elevator collapse. You don't choose to slip in the shower or burn yourself because the dishwasher was turned on and the water became scolding hot. I found it all quite interesting.

The other part of the movie I enjoyed was the interaction of the classes. Jas and I were talking about it and I think we agreed that the Uber rich are genuinely nasty and rigid towards each other but accomplish it in such an airy, comfortable way that either no one takes offense or no one really cares. For example:

"Charles you look like a drunken sailor tipping in a Phillipino hump hump bar."
"Well old man at least I don't smell of booze and sleep with the maid."
"Touché, old boy."
I think they can do this because basically the Ubers have so much less to worry about. They never look at a 500 dollar check and wonder how many times they have to eat pasta the next month. And the poor in that conversation, which would be our main character Chris, would choose to either take a very high moral path or snap back. Lucky for Chris he took the moral path.

"Chris you look like a drunken sailor tipping in a Phillipino hump hump bar."
"Well, I have to say that my choices in life have only lead me to the path to be able to learn more."
"Touché, old boy."

Anyway, I found the way Woody depicted the underprivileged walking the high wire of Upper Society to be dead on.

Favorites List
Pandora Song List
Amazon Wish List
Revolutionary Wealth - Tofflers
Brian Jones

Things Making Me Smile
The City
Listening - [out of 5]
Benjy Ferree - 4.8
The Thermals 3.1
David Gray 3.8

Like the guy with the beard? YES - like the guy with the beers. What? Yep

Bands That I Check Schedules For
Badly Drawn Boy
Belle and Sebastian
Benjy Ferree
The Black Keys
Drive By Truckers
The Eels
Kimya Dawson
Mark Hopkins Band
Iron and Wine
Mates of State
Ted Leo
Two if By Sea

Places I Rock in the Flesh
9:30 Club
Black Cat
Electric Factory
The Knitting Factory
The Otto Bar
Recher Theatre

Places I Eat/Drink in the Flesh
Bishop's Collar
Cross Street Market
Hull Street
Joun Gak
Mick O'Shea's
No Way Jose
The Irish Pub
The Waterfront Hotel

My Greatest Hits (that's so lame)

The time I almost killed a child
July 4th in Korea
Excerpts from Demian
Why I screen phone calls
Bret's Death Metal Report
A conversation at a cocktail party
A conversation at breakfast
So you think you are a Baltimorian
A conversation about a girl singer
Observations from a bar
Observations of strippers
Tech Language
Why I love Oasis
I would go to war
"You Son of a Bitch" An Open Letter to Tom Friend
Dance to Your Ocean
Dream Ranch
When men become pussies
Jason Whitlock is a racist propaganda promoter
Pitchfork takes music snobbery to new level
The Cosmic Clash of the Red Sox and Cubs
The Hatred that is Runts Candy
Starting corporate line-up
Google Bio
Do you know me? List 1 / List 2 / List 3
The Night I Burned Philly Down
So You Want to be a Booze Hound
She Said it was Free
Funniest Corporate Story Ever
Striped Shirts and the Fucks that Wear Them
Death Peddle
Pieces of Morning
Oasis Album Revew
The Art of Tipping
Starting Fires With Grass Stains
Bret's Federal Hill Food Review
Sexcapades and your Picture on the Internet
Stupid Secrets
Stupid Secrets the Return

Contact Me

Stuff I Swing By From Time to Time

Indie Video Archive
Large Hearted Boy
Important Records
Oasis News
Pitch Fork Media
Reptilian Records
Scenestars MP3 Blogs
Sound Garden Baltimore

Shotgun Apparel
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Angry Little Girls
Atom Films
Eye Envision
Homestar Runner
Kill Frog
Junior Varsity Meat Market

Baltimore City Paper
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Korean Herald
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