Palahniuk

I am the worst English major ever. I just don't like to read. It's not something I do in my spare time, and when I am forced to read for school I tend to skim over the words. However there is one author whose books I do enjoy, Chuck Palahniuk.

Chuck wrote the book Fight Club, which I'm sure a lot of people know from the movie. In my opinion that is one of the best book to movie adaptations I've ever seen. When I read Fight Club it became my favorite book. I have read it more times than I can remember now, and it turned me into a huge Palahniuk fan.


His others books are rather insane like Fight Club, but in different ways. I couldn't even begin to describe what some of them are about. Chuck write stories that feel completely real, while at the same time, there is always some kind of element that movies the story into uber fantasy.

The other day I was looking through his website http://chuckpalahniuk.net/ because I wanted to get a new book from him for my Christmas break. I had decided to get his book "Haunted" - a collection of short stories, and kind of a book within a book. While searching through his site I came across one of the short stories called "Guts". I absolutely loved this story, it was hilarious, gross, and so good - pure Palahniuk. As I reached the end of the story I almost passed out. It was so intense and I was so into what was going on that I had forgotten to keep breathing, which is rather interesting considering how the story ends. After I read the last few words I realized I was about to black out and started taking in some deep breaths. It took me about an hour till I felt totally normal, both physically and emotionally, but I'm not the only one who seemed to have this effect when experiencing this short story.

Later I attempted to explain the story to a friend, but had to stop before the climax because I could never do it justice, you just have to read it for yourself. Don't blame me if you get sick or pass out or anything...

Writing Music

Creativity can spark from anywhere, however if you never go anywhere then that spark never happens. In the summer of 2008 I was living in Lewiston Idaho with Richard, my best friend from high school. We had a long past of on again and off again friendship, all stemming from our first encounter in 10th grade Government class. It was her that we met, and it was here that we found out we were both musicians. It was here that we formed out first band – K Complex.

About seven years later here we sit in our living room trying to write some new and interesting music. The summer before this one we had written an entire album in a matter of weeks, and just 4 months earlier we wrote a nine minute EP in just two days. These albums were written under a new band named Memorial Man, but now we were stuck. It was early August and we had not written a single piece of music, other than a small harmonica riff I had just recently made up. I would have forgotten all about it had Richard not heard it through the ceiling and ran upstairs to ask me what I had been playing. We needed something. Soon Richard would be going back to school in Corvallis and our summer of music would end with nothing to show for it. Lucky for us, our friend Ryan, who used to sing for K Complex was coming out to Seattle to visit his parents. After a night of discussion we decided to head out to Seattle, pick Ryan up, and then head out to the Wenatchee Mountains.

After the drive to Seattle, with a short stop in Othello to get our picture taken, we picked up Ryan. With our instruments, tents, sleeping bags, food, water, and whiskey in hand we set off to find our haven for the night. Driving along highway 2 was an experience in its self. The lush landscape, covered in mountains and trees is very different from the empty mountains of Lewiston, and the flat swamplands of Florida.

Within just a couple hours we came upon the area we had been seeking, Money Creek Campsite. Money Creek was not quite a river, but much larger than any creek I’ve ever seen. We found the campsite but we also found disappointment when we realized this was a very established camp site, with porto-potties, grills, and loads of annoying families. This would not satisfy us.

We continued driving up the creek, making up random songs and jingles, about an old man we made up who was swept away by the miniscule Money Creek. “Money Creek, It only touched his feet, but he was very weak, it swept him into the deep.” Upon driving up the trail we found a secluded spot under some gigantic trees that we hoped would shelter us if it had happened to rain. Lucky for us, they did shelter us from the heavy downpour, but by sundown we were still very wet and very cold.

Our fire took a little while to start with the rain coming down. The whisky kept us warm for the time being. After the blaze had built up the rain started to seize. We drank about half the bottle of Buffalo Trace before we were finally able to grab our instrument and jam. We must have played for an hour without speaking, without knowing what the other person was playing, without any direction at all. The feeling of the music led us to play, and words weren’t necessary.
When we finished out bottle, I took out my harmonica. The only thing I could play on the thing was the little riff I made up just days earlier. After playing it a few times, Richard and I started adding chords and words. In our drunken and jokingly slumber we started singing

Pink Floyd would reunite, Blind people would regain sight
Things would fall from the sky, If pigs could fly

Dinosaurs would roam the streets, Listening to bodacious beats
Dancing cause they didn’t die, If pigs could fly

Money would grow on trees, Jacksonville would have better weed
Everyone would stay satisfied, If pigs could fly

And thus our first song of the summer was written.

The night was a blur of drinking, playing music, being rained on, until we stumbled to our tents for the night. I didn’t sleep well because the rain began soaking through the bottom of my tent making my pillow and extra blanket soaked, leaving me very cold the entire night. We woke up near dawn and packed out gear while it continued to rain down on us. When going to bed the night before we all left our shoes outside out tiny tents so we would not get them muddy. This was a mistake. Nothing can ruin a morning more than being forced to wear shoes that are soaking wet in almost freezing temperatures of water. Unfortunately my options were wet shoes, or walking through the forest barefoot.

We looked upon our campsite and couldn’t wait to leave. Following the trail down Money Creek we tried desperately to remember the lyrics to the song we wrote the night before. With our clothes soaked, shoes freezing, and gear muddy we set out for civilization and warmth. A few miles down the high way was a small town known as Der Baring. I’m not sure what the population was, but my initial guess would be somewhere around ten. As we drove through Der Baring we saw a sign on a large building (large in comparison to the other four buildings anyway) that read Der Baring Store.

For such a small building, Der Baring Store is packed full of just about everything. It was the grocery store for the town, as well as a restaurant, post office, and National Park Headquarters. Standing in the door way, we thought it might be a good idea to spend some time in the warm building and grab a bite to eat. I have only drunk coffee two times in my life, this was one of them. I really don’t like coffee, but under the circumstances there was nothing better in the world. We spent a good hour attempting to warm ourselves with food and coffee. The cook, Steve, sat with us a bit and asked us where we were from; when we all said we hailed from Jacksonville Florida, his expression of surprise was priceless. We had to explain to him the very long story of how we met in high school, and just happened to all have moved or come to visit the north-west.

We thanked Steve for saving our lives and providing us with food, coffee and shelter for the morning, and left him as big a tip as we could afford. We stepped outside to find that it was still raining, and wasn’t going to stop soon. On the side of Der Baring Store we noticed a detailed, yet humorous, map of Washington. Richard checked it out to find the way back to Seattle while I played my harmonica. He finished his search, and I finished with my song, which I promptly title “The Map Song – The Way.” The drive home was nothing spectacular. My feet were still wet and cold, but we were soon in civilization. The next day Richard and I drove back home to Lewiston, singing our new song along the way.

That night while playing around with my guitar I began writing another new song. This short masterpiece wound up being called “Der Baring Store.”

Your feet are wet, weather from the night before
You keep on shivering till you can’t feel it anymore
If food, shelter, and coffee are what you seek
Then head on just a few miles down past Money Creek.

Out in the mountains where there’s not many folks around
There is a building it’s the biggest one in town
Post office and restaurant it has everything you need
Just ask the cook there his name was Steve.
At Der Baring Store

The rain keeps coming you know it will never stop
Western Washington everything is soaked from the bottom to the top
You can try to escape but you will never get dry
In a little town the warmth will keep you alive.
At Der Baring Store

Within three days of our trip to Money Creek and Der Baring, Richard and I wrote and recorded eight new songs. These would become our latest Memorial Man album entitled “If Pigs Could Fly.” The songs range from real life experiences, fictional stories, improvised jams, and one about the fictional, but great, Buck Rogers. It took us a whole summer to accomplish nothing, but just one short trip to inspire us to write what we consider some of our greatest work. As time passes we wonder if we will ever top what we have done previously, but we somehow always manage to do it. It just takes a little inspiration.

If you want to hear the album, just head to Memorial Man

The very first track on our page is the 21 minute album in its entirety. Each track was recorded live from my basement, by Richard Sheffler and I.