Hey Lafiametta, can you continue that sasil story with Hasil showing Sally Ann around his home and him being nervous about what she thinks? Thanks!!
Sally-Ann hadn’t really known what to expect. She’d been camping a couple of times, out in the woods as part of a school trip, but that had involved tents and sleeping bags and traipsing off into the trees with a roll of toilet paper. And it was all very temporary, just a few days outside, with the bugs and the dirt, the nighttime silence so loud she could barely sleep.
But up on this mountain, where he lived – through summers and winters and the pouring rain and the blanketing snow – everything seemed strange and foreign, like it was from another world.
Hasil’s cabin was just like he had described it, set into the trees, with the two-sided porch and the open windows, although, if she were being honest with herself, she was pretty shocked at how small it was. It seemed impossible that someone could live there, with no space to move around, no real place to put anything.
It was only once she stepped inside that she understood. There was a mattress laid across a cot on one side of the room, filling most of it, and two chairs siting against the other wall. There were a few things here and there – a pile of clothes, another pair of boots, a few carved animals in various states of completion – but most of all she was struck by how little there was. She thought back to her own room, all her books, her childhood stuffed animals, her closet full of clothes, the band posters lining her walls.
He was watching her, she could tell, trying to gauge her reaction to seeing his home, and for once he seemed quieter, less sure of himself.
“So, uh… this is where I live,” he said, throwing his hands out in the air for emphasis. “It’s not that big, I know, but…”
“It’s great,” she said, walking towards the mattress and taking a seat. There was a quilt laid across the top, its pattern a beautiful design of overlapping diamonds, even as the colors in the fabric had started to gently fade. She wondered if he had pulled it out especially for her.
“Well, you got yer bed right there,” he said, pointing towards where she was sitting. “For sleepin’ an’… uh, for…uh…” He trailed off, a sheepish grin flashing across his face. “An’, uh, yer chairs, for when ya’s got comp’ny. Ya can sit outside, too, watch th’ afternoon go by… An’…” He stopped, the smile fading. As if looking for something else to mention, he turned around, but quickly swiveled back to face her. “Well, that’s it… that’s everythin’…”
He gave her a little tight-lipped smile, but it didn’t reach all the way to his eyes.
But there was something else she had seen, something he hadn’t mentioned. In the corner, by the door, was a weathered wooden box, a little smaller than a shoe box, the sides of it stained a deep chestnut brown.
“What’s that?” she asked, nodding towards it.
“Oh, uh… jus’ some things I keep.” He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t want to press him, not if he didn’t seem comfortable talking about it. But then he looked at her, tilting his head like he was thinking something over. “D’ya wan’ ta see it?” he asked, a cautious lilt in his voice.
“’Course,” she said. She would look at anything he was willing to share with her, and the box itself had piqued her curiosity.
“Okay,” he said, and walked over to pick it up. He sat down next to her, his weight on the mattress pulling her down against him a little. The box was now sitting in his lap, and he carefully moved to pull the lid off.
There wasn’t much in it, just a few odds and ends, but they seemed to be arranged deliberately, intentionally, as if he often found occasion to want to look at them.
The first thing she noticed – perhaps not surprisingly – was a carved wooden bird, but unlike the one he had given her before, this one had its wings outstretched, the tips of the feathers splayed like it was coasting on the wind. It was somewhat crudely made, though, rough scratches written across its surface, as if made by less than skilled hands.
“That was my firs’ one,” he said. “My grandfa’ helped me.”
She smiled, thinking of Hasil as a young boy, his child’s hands gripping onto the wooden figure.
Next to the bird, there was a pocket watch, bright silver and still on its chain. She guessed that the two hands had probably not moved for a long time.
“That was his, too,” Hasil added. “Not for tellin’ time, a’ course. We don’t really worry ‘bout that none. But he liked to carry it ‘round in his pocket, an’ som’times he let me polish it.”
The next item surprised her; it was a photograph, a Polaroid, the edges of it yelllowing slightly with age. What was even stranger was what it showed: a man and a woman, dressed more or less normally, although the man’s facial hair and the woman’s dress made it look like they were from the ‘70s or ‘80s. But the way they were placed in the photo, with him sitting stiff and upright in a chair and her standing behind him so formally with her hands on his shoulder, it looked like something out of another time, another century.
“My folks,” he said. “On their weddin’ day.”
The last thing was a coin, so dark she could barely see it, most of it corroded with dirt and the pale green of oxidized metal.
“Can I…?” she asked, wanting to look at it closer.
He nodded, and as she picked it up, she realized it was heavier than it had seemed. In the light, tilted just the right way, she could see the writing on it, and the design of an eagle on the back. ONE DOL., it read, and on the front was a year: 1867.
“That’s somethin’ I foun’. Well… my sister foun’ it. We was jus’ chilluns, jus’ li'l ones diggin’ in the groun’ for fun.”
“You have a sister?” she said, passing the coin back to him.
“I had a sister.” He looked down at the object in his hand, absently rubbing the edge of it with his thumb. “I’s jus’ ‘leven winters. She was fo’rteen. Got a real bad fever, an’ they couldn’t do nothin’ for her.” He was quiet for a moment, and everything became so still, Sally-Ann could only hear the soft rhythm of her own breathing. Then he gently placed the coin back in the bottom of the wooden box and closed the lid on top.
“Sally-Ann, I know… I know it don’t seem like I’s got a lotta things… not like some people might…”
“Som’times… I jus’ don’t know what I can offer ya…”
“Hasil, that isn’t important.” He looked at her, and she could see the shadow of disbelief in his eyes. “It isn’t…” she repeated. She had to make him understand, to get him to see what she now knew: this cabin, that box, it was more than enough. It was a life, it was a whole world. “Up here, you got everythin’.”
She nodded. “Everythin’ that matters.”
He paused, and then he smiled at her so sweetly, she could feel her heart begin to break into a thousand brilliant pieces.
As usual, I say something in an interview and of course fans have a problem with it. I don’t know why i continuously feel like I should have to defend myself, but because no one is able read between the lines to understand why I said what i said.. I can’t help but want to try and encourage people to use their brains for something other than typical tumblr nonsense.
I quoted in an interview that “Motionless In White are not about preaching the message anymore or pushing the be yourself shit”
Yes. Myself and the band as an entity have decided to stop the preaching. If you’ve been to any shows of ours since I think Warped Tour of 2012, you will notice that I put an end to the speeches and on stage rants, I don’t post anything people may find inspirational and I have completely stepped away from social networking on a regular basis. This has been an occurrence that has taken place for over a year, so why only now that I brought it to peoples attention in an interview are they whining about it? When are people finally going to get it through their heads that MIW is not the same band it was when Creatures came out?
Why did I say that in the interview? *cracks knuckles* *takes deep breath*
Three very big reasons.
#1. 8 out of 10 bands, clothing lines and public figures around now are on the “inspirational message” train. I’ve been watching it grow for the past few years. I can’t see a band anymore without hearing the same regurgitated and hollow words come from their mouths. I haven’t seen a clothing line released lately without the accompanying message in any variation the company decides to convey it. Do people not realize that they are being scammed? Are people too stupid to see that the “message” is a money making failsafe plan? These bands and companies realize that people are responding heavily to the “message” thing and many of them have no problem using that to their advantage. I’m not saying in any way that we were the first band to claim any sort of message.. fuck no we weren’t. But I can assure you that I never spoke a word I didn’t mean in an effort to take your money. You can see how us carrying on as a band but not wanting to prey on the willingness of said money spender would demonstrate the sincerity of where we’re at as a band now. It’s bullshit and I want no part in it any more. It’s that simple. I’m going to write the lyrics I write because thats how I feel and thats how it’s always been. I’m not your life coach and my lyrics aren’t supposed to be a guideline as to how you should live your life. I’ve said that before. IF people want to find hope or inspiration from them then hey, thats amazing and i’m incredibly honored, but i’m not writing them for you, I’m writing them for me. It’s all on you as to what you take from them and how you allow it to help you.
#2. This “you saved my life”, “you’re my hero” and “you’re my voice” thing has become an unbearable burden and a downright eye roller. NO. I did not save your life. NO.. band X, Y or Z did not save your life. IF in fact you were on the brink of any self harming action… it was YOU who pulled yourself from the ledge. You saved your life, You are the hero. Why are people not willing to take credit for their own actions? Thats right… because thats what fans think bands want to hear. I’m not taking ANYTHING away from people who do self harm or have a hard time with any aspects of their lives. We’ve all been there and having gone through those things myself shaped who I am today and made me want to use music as an outlet. I do agree that music can be a very helpful tool in helping you overcome whatever is ailing you, but in the end it’s only you who had the strength to pull yourself out of it. I am strictly speaking out against the many many people i’ve seen approach me in the most absolute insincere, dishonest fashion with the “you guys saved my life” lines. I wish I had video of it so you can get the full effect. I can see right through it. It’s as though that has become the new “hello” when approaching a band member. What happened to “hey man, great show”, or “Hey guys, I really like your record/song”? Why does fucking EVERYTHING have to be laced with the “omg like you totally saved my life, and my friends life and her cats life” or the “you’re a huge inspiration, you’re my hero”? Can someone please tell me how the FUCK these bands who write lyrics about getting wasted or degrading women have saved your life? Seriously? It’s giving the people who really do deal with this stuff a bad name. Not to mention that on many occasions, I’ve seen people tweet things at me, then i’ll go to their twitter page only to see that they literally copy and pasted the same words to 15 other band members with only the intention of getting a response from one of us so they can screen shot it and brag about it. Disgusting. And you wonder why I just want to just simply write/play music and get the fuck out of that world of things??
#3. The hypocrisy amongst the very same fans who are upset with me is just embarrassing. I see fans every day tweet at me and say that I’ve helped them, but then will see that same person rip someone else apart over their opinion of something, the bands they like or a certain musician they like etc… Just go to a bands youtube page and read the comments on one of their music videos. Or better yet, go to my instagram and read the daily wars that happen between comments on my photos of things completely irrelevant to what they are arguing over. Seriously, I can post a photo of something like a cool piece of architecture I came across on tour and somehow @Andrew_bring_me_the_memphis_sirens_to_remember and @JulieMotionless_may_fire_the_horizon_bloodysuicide will end up tearing each other to shreds over Ronnie Radkes recent haircut. It’s sickening that people who claim that music has helped them and gave them any sort of values and morals to live by treat others with such disrespect. You’re full of shit.
Looking back on everything I’ve ever said makes me realize that underneath it all, MIW’s main message has always been about not giving a fuck what people thought and encouraging you to do the same. We stopped with the preaching and pushing. We changed our style of music to sound like how we wanted to sound without fear of losing fans. We’ve maintained our image regardless of criticism. We are pulling back from the shit like putting “fuck” or “666” or fucking upside-down crosses on shirts just to sell merch because those are the only shirts kids fucking buy anymore. We are doing whatever the fuck we want and if that means our time has come where our band isn’t welcome anymore, then I feel sorry for you that you chose to support the opposition and for pushing out a band that now solely cares about what music, at it’s core, should always be about… giving people their money’s worth with the music/lyrics and live show. 90% of the people that are pissed at me and that i am referring to in this blog (based off of the comments I’ve read) are younger kids. I am an adult and we see things very differently. I’m not looking to spend the rest of my career on the playground. It’s not that I don’t care, its that I do care. Thats the problem.” ~ Chris ‘Motionless’ Cerulli