You'll Seldom hear me speak if politics, because in whole, I think the process is broken. I'm self-proclaimed anti-politics. I did vote for Obama, the first time, but for me it was more about the experience of voting than anything.
However, on the brink of this somewhat imaginary fiscal cliff everyone is suddenly worried about, all you can find on the television are round table discussions between people wearing expensive suits.
These reptiles are so removed from what the actual American population needs, that I have to walk away after a few topics.
Healthcare and services for the people-"let's cut funding to social security and Medicaid/Medicare." one of them admitted smugly that he has the same benefits as his brother that works on electric lines. Really? So you applied for free healthcare, why? Sell you're Armani and pay for a year of blue cross. Let someone else have those benefits you don't need. How'd he even qualify?
Gun control- "let's have everyone store their guns in a gun club, so they can just practice shooting there." ok, so when someone is breaking into my home, I can just hop in my car, drive down to the club and grab my gun, come back home and defend it. Great idea. How many weeks after opening this gun club is someone going to break-in and have everyone's guns? Just to file off the serial numbers and hand sell them to criminals. Genius.
Immigration - here's where I finally walked away. "immigration is a fairly simple problem to solve compared to these other issues." well we've only spent decades trying to figure out a fair and just way to control the flow of immigration and still be the great country with open arms that we're supposed to be. That should be simple to fix.... It's not hard at all to decide if a family that's lived here for thirty years should leave. It's not hard to figure out if someone truly wants to better their life by living here. You're not going to do the jobs, that you complain about them stealing. And you'd never work for the amount of money they bring home. Simple to fix.
Of course all of this was moments after a presidential speech, which they picked apart and reworded everything he said, to make him look horrible. It's not that I'm a huge fan, but he's trying, and these shows all have their own agenda, if he says something positive, they have to twist it, to make it look like he's picking fights. They completely misquoted him, twice, when he was admitting that both parties needed to change but that they were passionate because they cared for the country.
Now if I may rant for a moment... America has a money problem? Ok, here's where we start. Don't attack the middle and lower class. How about this:
Tax professional athletes, not in the minor sports, they don't make all that much. But football players bring home millions yearly. Tax them on a personal level or in a general way that spreads evenly. It's my belief they won't consider things like this because they believe America needs sports to boost morale. I'm not talking about cutting the sports, just having them help their country.
Have each Brad Pitt and Ridley Scott give 10% earnings to the country, to the debt. I like these people, Hollywood is important, but it's also got more money than it knows how to spend. A year of taxing films and actors, we'd be well on our way to erasing debt. One year of these people's lives. That's not a big sacrifice.
Or the rich can worry about hoarding, while other countries make plans to invade. One EMP and all of those 1's and 0's you have been hoarding in the bank. Vanish. We're all set back to 0.
Please excuse the rant, just listen to the country, the people, not these people that live in "their" America, which is nothing like ours. Yet, they sure are opinionated on how WE should suffer to fix it all.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
I write, as if someone were to actually read it. Really it's just digital trash, maybe more convenient than a bookcase of journals, but either way, someday it'll all be lost, forgotten. This may have some dark undertone, but I'm actually just laying here typing, because I can't sleep. Often, the best insights and revelations are discovered when I'm just typing without thinking ahead. Self-discovery is an important thing, so is honesty. I type things people don't know, things I can hardly accept myself. In my years on this earth, the only thing I can say with certainty, is there is no certain path. I do, however believe we are fated, pushed rather, to sway certain ways. Sometimes you can feel deep inside when you've found yourself in the wrong place. You'll never feel at home in that situation, you can carry on and try to ignore all of the things happening; internal and external, or you can try to make right what is wrong. Even within the rules of fate, there is much freedom to be had, it's just that certain parts of your life were meant to be. It doesn't mean every meal, and every day were predestined, merely that we have a place, a place that's home to us.
Home does not always mean a building, your comfort may be in the arms of a lover, writing music, painting, something that fills the light half of your heart and makes you feel complete. Some people feel like they grow out of these things, or something finds them separated from their love.
A mans memory is a funny thing. You can look back, and know certain parts of your life were perfect, you didn't know it then, but it's obvious now. A bittersweet thing, to remember a perfect night, you can recall the smells, thoughts and emotions, things you took for granted in the moment.
Some of us are stuck in those moments, ghosts in our own skin, a living memory, doomed to question how we could have changed things, the great If. We may be blinding ourselves to some great life, because we don't dwell in the present.
At any given time, the soul, the mind can leave the body, if one is longing for something enough, they are there, not here. It may be in the present, like longing for a loved one, that's far away. Or it may be in the past, wanting for a moment that has already faded. Some people live in a world of regret, their great If, is something they never ventured. Fear is a funny beast, much like societies and modern ideas of moral upholding. A heart wants what it wants, no man, no law, no belief can change it. That basic understanding has slowly shaped our country over the past 60 years, but it's always something thought of in shame, years of hiding or lying to avoid backlash... I'm getting off track here, the main point is society always thinks something is wrong, until enough people want it, then it is societies view. Let's get back on topic, and let's cut the niceties.
Where is my heart? My mind? My soul? Well if you're internalizing those questions, be wary, it takes a brutal honesty to find the answers. But I'm asking about myself, and they're not easy answers. The biggest piece of my heart, which I will never have returned belongs to my wonderful children, a joy only a parent can know, and a sadness only the estranged can know. Small, fragile pieces of it are left in distant evenings spent with those I've loved. I could recall for you in detail specific moments, I could recount exactly who I should be with, I could make this a proclamation of love, but aside from the fact that it is (somewhat) unrequited now, that's not really what the point is. I have loved, I have lost. At least I loved, and can remember those stolen kisses, sweaty palms, because you just had to at least hold her hand... Memories that fade.
My heart is in music, in art, and if you ask me why, I'd have a two-fold answer. Firstly, I've loved everything about music and art since childhood, and I'd be driven mad if I couldn't express it in some form. The worst years of my life were when I stifled my artistic side. Secondly, I have to. Music is the great bandage, the perfect distraction, that holds what's left of this heart together. I fill every void with artistic expression, which doesn't hold well, it's imperfect, yet it's the only thing that keeps it beating.
I have more points to make here, but I want to sidestep, momentarily, just to speak about our wandering spirits. Our hearts, minds, souls, really comprise of mostly similar things, and one could argue that the heart doesn't love the mind does, but the heart will ache, the soul and the mind become restless. These terms, could be intertwined or disagreed upon, but the fact is, no matter your belief, scholar, poet or spiritualist, we all recognize the being, our consciousness, no matter where it comes from, personally I believe it healthy to accept all three. Getting off the beaten path once again... If someone were reading this, I'd want to show them something. They'd learn a lesson here: how to bring your spirit back to here, back to now. Sometimes it's fleeting, for the concerns of the day, or the memory that hurts really wants our attention. But if you close your eyes, and breath, I won't go through an entire session here, meditation, self-hypnosis, anxiety control, reality testing... They all teach similar processes, the end result is to realign your spirit and your flesh. To be here now. You have to, and most can feel it when they are restless, call your spirit back. You've spread it thin, and left bits of it in silly places, small concerns and regrets, places you fractured yourself, and left a part of you there. It happens daily, just drifting thoughts place us elsewhere, not a single soul is exactly where they want to be all the time. But if we call it back, release those tensions, fears, regrets, and even for now, lost love, longing... Bring it back to you, feel the warmth around you, as you bring yourself back, you'll notice small pains in the body, and minor things like that, possibly unpleasant background noise. Why do you notice them? Because you're here now, you were ignoring those pains, those car horns, but they're part of your now. Revel in the moment, the completeness of the situation, in fact, put this down and quit reading, just tk enjoy the senses.
It can be fleeting, can't it? One stray thought and we're releasing energy that belongs here and now. The trick is to call yourself back daily, and for extended amounts of time. Soon, you'll be in the moment more often, rather than spread across space and time. This is a step to becoming lucid, a lucid dreamer has to recognize now, when they are awake, to recognize now, and the inconsistencies of the dream world when asleep. I'll write a lot about lucid dreaming on one of these adventures, it is after-all my nickname and my sons namesake. Just know that(off topic), lucid dreaming is one of the most rewarding things a person can learn, and if we don't question our surrounding when we're awake, why would we when we're asleep?
It's reality testing, but it also calls us to the moment, somewhere most of us rarely exist in. I tell my brother to "count the yellow cars" which means make some silly list of things and count them daily, this forces you to interact with the world. One day you'll be counting a car and watch it fly away... You're not awake.
If I were to babble much more about this, I'd get into "totems" reality testing objects. At first you'll have light-switches, watches, cell phones, paper... Things that do not function in a dream world; next you'll probably, I you become an avid lucid dreamer, have a personal item, a "totem" a physical object like a coin to test reality... The words won't sit still or it will defy gravity. Mine, became a permanent fixture... My tattoos signal when I'm awake or asleep, if they won't sit still then I'm not awake. When I first chose to make this my totem, I became lucid and took all the ink, swirled it down my arm, out my fingertip and into the air, swirling it a liquid sphere, quite an experience. My next tattoo session, I'm getting in bold text, "wake up" tattooed on my left finger. I'll check it daily, to make sure it says wake up, if it doesn't, then it's time to wake up... Mentally, not physically. You'll get there, then you'll understand.
This was another rant that really went three directions, but that's what happens with thought. Go flip the light-switch, or check what time it is. Be awake, even if you're asleep, and be here and now.
Home does not always mean a building, your comfort may be in the arms of a lover, writing music, painting, something that fills the light half of your heart and makes you feel complete. Some people feel like they grow out of these things, or something finds them separated from their love.
A mans memory is a funny thing. You can look back, and know certain parts of your life were perfect, you didn't know it then, but it's obvious now. A bittersweet thing, to remember a perfect night, you can recall the smells, thoughts and emotions, things you took for granted in the moment.
Some of us are stuck in those moments, ghosts in our own skin, a living memory, doomed to question how we could have changed things, the great If. We may be blinding ourselves to some great life, because we don't dwell in the present.
At any given time, the soul, the mind can leave the body, if one is longing for something enough, they are there, not here. It may be in the present, like longing for a loved one, that's far away. Or it may be in the past, wanting for a moment that has already faded. Some people live in a world of regret, their great If, is something they never ventured. Fear is a funny beast, much like societies and modern ideas of moral upholding. A heart wants what it wants, no man, no law, no belief can change it. That basic understanding has slowly shaped our country over the past 60 years, but it's always something thought of in shame, years of hiding or lying to avoid backlash... I'm getting off track here, the main point is society always thinks something is wrong, until enough people want it, then it is societies view. Let's get back on topic, and let's cut the niceties.
Where is my heart? My mind? My soul? Well if you're internalizing those questions, be wary, it takes a brutal honesty to find the answers. But I'm asking about myself, and they're not easy answers. The biggest piece of my heart, which I will never have returned belongs to my wonderful children, a joy only a parent can know, and a sadness only the estranged can know. Small, fragile pieces of it are left in distant evenings spent with those I've loved. I could recall for you in detail specific moments, I could recount exactly who I should be with, I could make this a proclamation of love, but aside from the fact that it is (somewhat) unrequited now, that's not really what the point is. I have loved, I have lost. At least I loved, and can remember those stolen kisses, sweaty palms, because you just had to at least hold her hand... Memories that fade.
My heart is in music, in art, and if you ask me why, I'd have a two-fold answer. Firstly, I've loved everything about music and art since childhood, and I'd be driven mad if I couldn't express it in some form. The worst years of my life were when I stifled my artistic side. Secondly, I have to. Music is the great bandage, the perfect distraction, that holds what's left of this heart together. I fill every void with artistic expression, which doesn't hold well, it's imperfect, yet it's the only thing that keeps it beating.
I have more points to make here, but I want to sidestep, momentarily, just to speak about our wandering spirits. Our hearts, minds, souls, really comprise of mostly similar things, and one could argue that the heart doesn't love the mind does, but the heart will ache, the soul and the mind become restless. These terms, could be intertwined or disagreed upon, but the fact is, no matter your belief, scholar, poet or spiritualist, we all recognize the being, our consciousness, no matter where it comes from, personally I believe it healthy to accept all three. Getting off the beaten path once again... If someone were reading this, I'd want to show them something. They'd learn a lesson here: how to bring your spirit back to here, back to now. Sometimes it's fleeting, for the concerns of the day, or the memory that hurts really wants our attention. But if you close your eyes, and breath, I won't go through an entire session here, meditation, self-hypnosis, anxiety control, reality testing... They all teach similar processes, the end result is to realign your spirit and your flesh. To be here now. You have to, and most can feel it when they are restless, call your spirit back. You've spread it thin, and left bits of it in silly places, small concerns and regrets, places you fractured yourself, and left a part of you there. It happens daily, just drifting thoughts place us elsewhere, not a single soul is exactly where they want to be all the time. But if we call it back, release those tensions, fears, regrets, and even for now, lost love, longing... Bring it back to you, feel the warmth around you, as you bring yourself back, you'll notice small pains in the body, and minor things like that, possibly unpleasant background noise. Why do you notice them? Because you're here now, you were ignoring those pains, those car horns, but they're part of your now. Revel in the moment, the completeness of the situation, in fact, put this down and quit reading, just tk enjoy the senses.
It can be fleeting, can't it? One stray thought and we're releasing energy that belongs here and now. The trick is to call yourself back daily, and for extended amounts of time. Soon, you'll be in the moment more often, rather than spread across space and time. This is a step to becoming lucid, a lucid dreamer has to recognize now, when they are awake, to recognize now, and the inconsistencies of the dream world when asleep. I'll write a lot about lucid dreaming on one of these adventures, it is after-all my nickname and my sons namesake. Just know that(off topic), lucid dreaming is one of the most rewarding things a person can learn, and if we don't question our surrounding when we're awake, why would we when we're asleep?
It's reality testing, but it also calls us to the moment, somewhere most of us rarely exist in. I tell my brother to "count the yellow cars" which means make some silly list of things and count them daily, this forces you to interact with the world. One day you'll be counting a car and watch it fly away... You're not awake.
If I were to babble much more about this, I'd get into "totems" reality testing objects. At first you'll have light-switches, watches, cell phones, paper... Things that do not function in a dream world; next you'll probably, I you become an avid lucid dreamer, have a personal item, a "totem" a physical object like a coin to test reality... The words won't sit still or it will defy gravity. Mine, became a permanent fixture... My tattoos signal when I'm awake or asleep, if they won't sit still then I'm not awake. When I first chose to make this my totem, I became lucid and took all the ink, swirled it down my arm, out my fingertip and into the air, swirling it a liquid sphere, quite an experience. My next tattoo session, I'm getting in bold text, "wake up" tattooed on my left finger. I'll check it daily, to make sure it says wake up, if it doesn't, then it's time to wake up... Mentally, not physically. You'll get there, then you'll understand.
This was another rant that really went three directions, but that's what happens with thought. Go flip the light-switch, or check what time it is. Be awake, even if you're asleep, and be here and now.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
I've felt suicidal lately. Why talk about it openly? Because I don't want to feel this way, talking about it alone, makes it less likely to happen.
I'm really sick, mentally and physically just unraveled. I'm usually a positive person, but even in my darkest days, I usually knew the path out. It was always obvious where I fit, and what I needed to do to get there. It's not that way right now, I can't see any obvious direction but down, the calling I usually feel is hushed, and the world, for the first time really feels hollow, lonely, and just a place I'm not sure I want to occupy. All of the morals, and goodness in people seems vacant, society as a whole seems lost, and shallow. It's not a world I'm proud to be a member of. This isn't a jab at any specific person or people, in fact I dearly love so many people that may read this, and you're wonderful, but in my head, you're just memories, there is no tangible good that I can place my hands on.
I'm used to clinical depression, as much as anyone can be, it just feels different this time, I dug myself into a hole, and I don't remember which way is up. If I could more eloquently phrase my words, if I could better express this emotion... But it jumbles out like some cliché, depressed crap that seems to pollute the Internet in every corner. Maybe that's the problem, we've become jaded to hearing each others woes, and it's become hard to truly sympathize with our fellow man.
I want to manage to express this, because it's foreign to me to feel this bad. It's not my goal to get feedback, or sympathy, just to express this and get it out there, and maybe in the process, expel it from myself, or at least begin the process.
Let's start here, just some of the facts, things weighing on me that could be culminating to form this dark cloud, though I couldn't easily point to any one thing and say,"that's the problem", because while there is a lot of negative forces working against me, I feel like it's more the fact that I don't remember why I should feel better. To what end? When I get better, what is waiting there? What life am I trying to preserve, or strive for?
Despite the fact that these separate things may or may not equate to this feeling, I want to get it all out there, in the harsh, unforgiving truth, the reality of what has happened.
My family has been clinging together, for support, and to live the way we should. Our mother has mental illness, as do I for that matter. We chose, for her good, to help her retire and move her close to family, with promises of a better life. I sit now, in a small dwelling, in a small corner room, surrounded by things I couldn't fit in my usual "studio" space. I awoke to ants today, because I fell asleep with an empty glass that had soda in it last night.
Every source of water here is messed up, washing machine is completely broken and everything else leaks. There are several other problem just with the living situation, but I am thankful there is a roof over my head.
To really dig into the root would be to discuss mental illness, and the corrosive effect it has, and the mind deteriorates so does everything surrounding it. Just two years ago, we wanted for nothing and celebrated life everyday, and oh how things have changed.
My mental illness, the best any healthcare professional can surmise, stems from several near fatal head injuries, and possibly some inherited family issues. So to speak it in their jargon: acute anxiety with agoraphobia, clinical depression, severe insomnia, possibly post-traumatic stress disorder. To state it plainly: daily anxiety attacks, I can't leave my home, I don't fully know whats wrong with my head, so they just throw medicine at it, yet think I'm a junkie half the time because I look the way I do. My brain, will not shut off on it's own. Over-critical thought, jumbled ideas that run in circles, which causes anxiety and insomnia. So, well... I'm fucked up. I feel judged constantly, which just adds to the depression. Family, I'm sorry that I drink sometimes, I'm sorry I haven't quit, and I'm mainly sorry that I don't really want to quit. It's always caused problems, but I've been much more responsible, and try to keep myself in line, I even try to make a conscious choice that if I know I'm going to drink, I don't mix it with my medication. Aside from drinking some, I live a pretty normal and moral life.
We can't discuss the families decline without addressing my mothers mental illness as well. I don't enjoy making these things public, but I cannot bare to hold them in any longer. My mother is a gracious, kind and gentle person, an intelligent nurse that, at least nine months of the year, is a pretty stable person. Yet, she will not stay on her medication, which has been an issue for more than thirty years. We have to take our mother to a psychiatric unit, where she stays for up to a week, every eight months. Right now, I am tasked with dealing out her medications twice a day, in hopes that she will stay on them and get better. In thirty years here's a list of medical terms that have been thrown at us, as doctors never agree what or how to treat it, starting from my first memories: manic depressive, bi-polar, graves disease, hyper/hypo-thyroid, dementia, psychosis, vitamin deficient, schizophrenic, depressed, and the list would dwindle down to mixtures of those . I can't stress enough, I love her and it breaks me, every time we have to commit her. These "episodes" range greatly in form, but cause money issues, and a general corrosion of quality of life for everyone involved. We have stunted our lives, frozen in time it feels, trying to deal with this, and hating the idea of many of the "solutions" we are presented with.
So, there is a very sick woman, just down the hall, very confused, debt like we never thought possible.
Now, I keep saying we, and while I understand, sympathize and even envy, the we I've known for several years is about to dwindle by one. In a few weeks my brother and his fiancee are getting an apartment a few towns away. I am happy for them and the choice to make a life together. However, I don't yet see how this will change my life, and my mothers. Can I help and handle her illness, should I? Or should I seek my life, and worry about what's wrong with my world and take steps to fix it? Can the two happen at once? Can I care for her, and start preparing to enter some new life? Or do I have to get away, to better myself? I feel unfair and selfish when I dream of something more. I feel shame that I could move on.
This issue alone, encapsulates enough I could write a book, on the worries, and odd childhood.
Between mental illness, past addiction issues, and some less than proper choices in my love life, I can build a tree of regret. These would be the roots and the dry, barren branches would be the minor issues that were born of just a few key problems.
I miss my children, I can't use anything but the less than adequate word unfair, for what has happened. I miss them every second of everyday, and my heart will never be whole if they can't see me more. It's a situation I feel powerless in. I am an awesome father, and I was doing everything I could, they were happy, life was good. Without divulging or saying anything that could be misconstrued as trash talk; my heart feels a weight, a yearning to be with my children, and there is nothing on earth that can patch that hole.
This is where I stop typing, to wipe the tears streaming down my face.
I was fucking up my life, starting about five years back, missing my kids, and unhappy I'd make bad decisions, or I'd blackout drinking. I hurt the ones I loved, pushed some away for good because they couldn't bare to see the destructive path I was on. I could be handed the world, and I would find a way to fuck up every good thing in my life. Bands, friends, love, family. I was unhappy and didn't even know it until I decided, after a few traumatic events, I broke down and rewired. I quit drinking completely for several months, became celibate, and got a psychiatrist. I didn't know I was depressed until the first time I felt it ease up. I got serious about music, and photography, but then I still fucked up, not as often or severe, but I still lost things I cherished. I've found myself in this current state of suspended animation; there is no forwards, and there is no turning back. I spend a great deal of my day laying in a bed, twitching for hours. Not to sleep, just sick, pure and simple, stuck on a broken record of regret and shame. That's where I am now, a single small light in the corner of the room. I type to keep my hands busy, while my legs twitch uncontrollably. I ignore the pain in my chest, and the labored breathing, the tightness in my muscles, the numbness in my hands and feet. The frequent shooting pains in my head and neck, stiff, clenched jaw. I count the hours until I can take medicine, for a minor, brief distraction and calm... If I feel it today.
Like so many things I write, they start with a direction and just unravel.
I WANT to live, but I have to remember why.
I'm noticing an alarming trend, musicians getting severely depressed within days of releasing material. I think that we pour so much into it, channel our emotions, use it as a coping mechanism, or just distraction. And once it's finished and out of our hands, everything comes crashing in. The realities we were able to suppress, to voice in music, is suddenly very real, and our way of coping has left. What we offer you as entertainment, sometimes it's our cautionary tale, one we can't ourselves heed.
I'm really sick, mentally and physically just unraveled. I'm usually a positive person, but even in my darkest days, I usually knew the path out. It was always obvious where I fit, and what I needed to do to get there. It's not that way right now, I can't see any obvious direction but down, the calling I usually feel is hushed, and the world, for the first time really feels hollow, lonely, and just a place I'm not sure I want to occupy. All of the morals, and goodness in people seems vacant, society as a whole seems lost, and shallow. It's not a world I'm proud to be a member of. This isn't a jab at any specific person or people, in fact I dearly love so many people that may read this, and you're wonderful, but in my head, you're just memories, there is no tangible good that I can place my hands on.
I'm used to clinical depression, as much as anyone can be, it just feels different this time, I dug myself into a hole, and I don't remember which way is up. If I could more eloquently phrase my words, if I could better express this emotion... But it jumbles out like some cliché, depressed crap that seems to pollute the Internet in every corner. Maybe that's the problem, we've become jaded to hearing each others woes, and it's become hard to truly sympathize with our fellow man.
I want to manage to express this, because it's foreign to me to feel this bad. It's not my goal to get feedback, or sympathy, just to express this and get it out there, and maybe in the process, expel it from myself, or at least begin the process.
Let's start here, just some of the facts, things weighing on me that could be culminating to form this dark cloud, though I couldn't easily point to any one thing and say,"that's the problem", because while there is a lot of negative forces working against me, I feel like it's more the fact that I don't remember why I should feel better. To what end? When I get better, what is waiting there? What life am I trying to preserve, or strive for?
Despite the fact that these separate things may or may not equate to this feeling, I want to get it all out there, in the harsh, unforgiving truth, the reality of what has happened.
My family has been clinging together, for support, and to live the way we should. Our mother has mental illness, as do I for that matter. We chose, for her good, to help her retire and move her close to family, with promises of a better life. I sit now, in a small dwelling, in a small corner room, surrounded by things I couldn't fit in my usual "studio" space. I awoke to ants today, because I fell asleep with an empty glass that had soda in it last night.
Every source of water here is messed up, washing machine is completely broken and everything else leaks. There are several other problem just with the living situation, but I am thankful there is a roof over my head.
To really dig into the root would be to discuss mental illness, and the corrosive effect it has, and the mind deteriorates so does everything surrounding it. Just two years ago, we wanted for nothing and celebrated life everyday, and oh how things have changed.
My mental illness, the best any healthcare professional can surmise, stems from several near fatal head injuries, and possibly some inherited family issues. So to speak it in their jargon: acute anxiety with agoraphobia, clinical depression, severe insomnia, possibly post-traumatic stress disorder. To state it plainly: daily anxiety attacks, I can't leave my home, I don't fully know whats wrong with my head, so they just throw medicine at it, yet think I'm a junkie half the time because I look the way I do. My brain, will not shut off on it's own. Over-critical thought, jumbled ideas that run in circles, which causes anxiety and insomnia. So, well... I'm fucked up. I feel judged constantly, which just adds to the depression. Family, I'm sorry that I drink sometimes, I'm sorry I haven't quit, and I'm mainly sorry that I don't really want to quit. It's always caused problems, but I've been much more responsible, and try to keep myself in line, I even try to make a conscious choice that if I know I'm going to drink, I don't mix it with my medication. Aside from drinking some, I live a pretty normal and moral life.
We can't discuss the families decline without addressing my mothers mental illness as well. I don't enjoy making these things public, but I cannot bare to hold them in any longer. My mother is a gracious, kind and gentle person, an intelligent nurse that, at least nine months of the year, is a pretty stable person. Yet, she will not stay on her medication, which has been an issue for more than thirty years. We have to take our mother to a psychiatric unit, where she stays for up to a week, every eight months. Right now, I am tasked with dealing out her medications twice a day, in hopes that she will stay on them and get better. In thirty years here's a list of medical terms that have been thrown at us, as doctors never agree what or how to treat it, starting from my first memories: manic depressive, bi-polar, graves disease, hyper/hypo-thyroid, dementia, psychosis, vitamin deficient, schizophrenic, depressed, and the list would dwindle down to mixtures of those . I can't stress enough, I love her and it breaks me, every time we have to commit her. These "episodes" range greatly in form, but cause money issues, and a general corrosion of quality of life for everyone involved. We have stunted our lives, frozen in time it feels, trying to deal with this, and hating the idea of many of the "solutions" we are presented with.
So, there is a very sick woman, just down the hall, very confused, debt like we never thought possible.
Now, I keep saying we, and while I understand, sympathize and even envy, the we I've known for several years is about to dwindle by one. In a few weeks my brother and his fiancee are getting an apartment a few towns away. I am happy for them and the choice to make a life together. However, I don't yet see how this will change my life, and my mothers. Can I help and handle her illness, should I? Or should I seek my life, and worry about what's wrong with my world and take steps to fix it? Can the two happen at once? Can I care for her, and start preparing to enter some new life? Or do I have to get away, to better myself? I feel unfair and selfish when I dream of something more. I feel shame that I could move on.
This issue alone, encapsulates enough I could write a book, on the worries, and odd childhood.
Between mental illness, past addiction issues, and some less than proper choices in my love life, I can build a tree of regret. These would be the roots and the dry, barren branches would be the minor issues that were born of just a few key problems.
I miss my children, I can't use anything but the less than adequate word unfair, for what has happened. I miss them every second of everyday, and my heart will never be whole if they can't see me more. It's a situation I feel powerless in. I am an awesome father, and I was doing everything I could, they were happy, life was good. Without divulging or saying anything that could be misconstrued as trash talk; my heart feels a weight, a yearning to be with my children, and there is nothing on earth that can patch that hole.
This is where I stop typing, to wipe the tears streaming down my face.
I was fucking up my life, starting about five years back, missing my kids, and unhappy I'd make bad decisions, or I'd blackout drinking. I hurt the ones I loved, pushed some away for good because they couldn't bare to see the destructive path I was on. I could be handed the world, and I would find a way to fuck up every good thing in my life. Bands, friends, love, family. I was unhappy and didn't even know it until I decided, after a few traumatic events, I broke down and rewired. I quit drinking completely for several months, became celibate, and got a psychiatrist. I didn't know I was depressed until the first time I felt it ease up. I got serious about music, and photography, but then I still fucked up, not as often or severe, but I still lost things I cherished. I've found myself in this current state of suspended animation; there is no forwards, and there is no turning back. I spend a great deal of my day laying in a bed, twitching for hours. Not to sleep, just sick, pure and simple, stuck on a broken record of regret and shame. That's where I am now, a single small light in the corner of the room. I type to keep my hands busy, while my legs twitch uncontrollably. I ignore the pain in my chest, and the labored breathing, the tightness in my muscles, the numbness in my hands and feet. The frequent shooting pains in my head and neck, stiff, clenched jaw. I count the hours until I can take medicine, for a minor, brief distraction and calm... If I feel it today.
Like so many things I write, they start with a direction and just unravel.
I WANT to live, but I have to remember why.
I'm noticing an alarming trend, musicians getting severely depressed within days of releasing material. I think that we pour so much into it, channel our emotions, use it as a coping mechanism, or just distraction. And once it's finished and out of our hands, everything comes crashing in. The realities we were able to suppress, to voice in music, is suddenly very real, and our way of coping has left. What we offer you as entertainment, sometimes it's our cautionary tale, one we can't ourselves heed.
Past life fascination. People get caught up in their past lives, and unlocking the mysteries. Personally right now, I'm more caught up in the recognition of past lives, I've lived in this lifetime. I've been at least twenty different people to countless lives that I became close with. There's obvious things: father, musician, artist, photographer, sideshow freak, lover, skater, stoner, guy with the goatee/tattoos/dreads/piercings, and a million other vague descriptives. Then there are the chapters and layers of life, at points I was very different things to different people, and they had very different, though not fully developed understanding of who I was(am).
This is, of course true of anyone, but why don't we think it's odd when we change so completely? You can wake up one day with a new name, a new set of friends and a new purpose. Isn't it at least slightly sad that we left the old life behind though? I enjoyed some of those lives, I miss them, and I cannot, no matter how much I try, ever reclaim them. What if I'm not happy with this chapter? When can I start the next?
This is, of course true of anyone, but why don't we think it's odd when we change so completely? You can wake up one day with a new name, a new set of friends and a new purpose. Isn't it at least slightly sad that we left the old life behind though? I enjoyed some of those lives, I miss them, and I cannot, no matter how much I try, ever reclaim them. What if I'm not happy with this chapter? When can I start the next?
Saturday, December 8, 2012
It's funny that I'm an optimist, trapped in such a negative situation, that optimism isn't working.
My anti-social behavior is worsening, because I can't get my license back right this moment, one person is too ill, and may be more anti-social than I am, and the other just doesn't invite me to do anything anymore.
My conversations online whittle down to nothing, because I guess no one wants to hear the honesty of what I'm going through. So, I write music, try to hold my head up and pretend things will get better.
The reality is, with the current situation I may have a matter of weeks to find a place to crash, because the money for bills is gone.
"can I get my medicine refilled?" I asked, "when I get paid."
A. That leaves me without medicine for at least a week.
B. Your mental illness has caused you to no call no show for two weeks... There's not going to be a paycheck, or a job for that matter.
Yes I'm an adult, and need to get my shit together, but how do I magically go get my license back, take my meds so I can get a job, to pay for meds I have no money for? It's a cycle that's been going on for too long, I have to break out of it and figure something out. Yes, this is just me ranting at myself, it just saves me from saying it to others, because it scares them away.
My anti-social behavior is worsening, because I can't get my license back right this moment, one person is too ill, and may be more anti-social than I am, and the other just doesn't invite me to do anything anymore.
My conversations online whittle down to nothing, because I guess no one wants to hear the honesty of what I'm going through. So, I write music, try to hold my head up and pretend things will get better.
The reality is, with the current situation I may have a matter of weeks to find a place to crash, because the money for bills is gone.
"can I get my medicine refilled?" I asked, "when I get paid."
A. That leaves me without medicine for at least a week.
B. Your mental illness has caused you to no call no show for two weeks... There's not going to be a paycheck, or a job for that matter.
Yes I'm an adult, and need to get my shit together, but how do I magically go get my license back, take my meds so I can get a job, to pay for meds I have no money for? It's a cycle that's been going on for too long, I have to break out of it and figure something out. Yes, this is just me ranting at myself, it just saves me from saying it to others, because it scares them away.
Things get messed up so easily. For years I've been stuck between two cities. Springfield, where I've lived for a couple decades, and New Orleans which I usually visit every year.
Now, I have literally found myself stuck between the two cities... A 7 hour trip to either one from where I now rest my head.
There's a plan forming, to help get things settled here, and if I've not made a life in Dallas that I can't justify leaving behind; I move to New Orleans and live the life I feel I'm supposed to live. I'll be half-homeless, and I'll have to store my belongings somewhere until it's stable, but I'm willing to sacrifice a lot to find myself where I'm supposed to be in life.
Now, I have literally found myself stuck between the two cities... A 7 hour trip to either one from where I now rest my head.
There's a plan forming, to help get things settled here, and if I've not made a life in Dallas that I can't justify leaving behind; I move to New Orleans and live the life I feel I'm supposed to live. I'll be half-homeless, and I'll have to store my belongings somewhere until it's stable, but I'm willing to sacrifice a lot to find myself where I'm supposed to be in life.
Friday, November 30, 2012
An empty room answers.
When do we know that we've hit bottom?
How low can things get in the world before it's ok to give up?
Do you want to climb out this time? Or just stay here, there's some comfort in misery, and it's such a long way back up.
When do people start to care? It's not a cry for help, it's a scream from the bottom of a very deep well. It may be faint, but you hear it. Does anyone reach down anymore? I know I have to save myself, but I'm not sure what I'm saving for... What's even up there worth the climb? If the world keeps spinning, barely notices I've been removed... Why bother?
It's dark, and quiet. Somehow it's sad that I'm not the sickest person here. It's infectious, the darkness in a soul can spread and latch on to others. I may not even be here if misery didn't love company. Even insanity can't properly be gauged without a test group. A comparison to healthy living... The sterile, white, plastic life you see on television. Well, I'd like to try my lines again. Can I get another take? I'd certainly leave this scene on the cutting room floor. There were some great moments, but no one realizes it until it's over. Happiness is in the rear-view, so what lies ahead?
A lifetime of fucking things up, fixed, in one determined flash.
It replays in my head, like some 8mm projection against the wall. There are light leaks and dust, but it's still there, preserved in memory.
When do I lay back, let the waves envelop? Let depression and sickness win? I don't have the strength to try again, and if there's nothing left, why am I here?
An empty room answers.
How low can things get in the world before it's ok to give up?
Do you want to climb out this time? Or just stay here, there's some comfort in misery, and it's such a long way back up.
When do people start to care? It's not a cry for help, it's a scream from the bottom of a very deep well. It may be faint, but you hear it. Does anyone reach down anymore? I know I have to save myself, but I'm not sure what I'm saving for... What's even up there worth the climb? If the world keeps spinning, barely notices I've been removed... Why bother?
It's dark, and quiet. Somehow it's sad that I'm not the sickest person here. It's infectious, the darkness in a soul can spread and latch on to others. I may not even be here if misery didn't love company. Even insanity can't properly be gauged without a test group. A comparison to healthy living... The sterile, white, plastic life you see on television. Well, I'd like to try my lines again. Can I get another take? I'd certainly leave this scene on the cutting room floor. There were some great moments, but no one realizes it until it's over. Happiness is in the rear-view, so what lies ahead?
A lifetime of fucking things up, fixed, in one determined flash.
It replays in my head, like some 8mm projection against the wall. There are light leaks and dust, but it's still there, preserved in memory.
When do I lay back, let the waves envelop? Let depression and sickness win? I don't have the strength to try again, and if there's nothing left, why am I here?
An empty room answers.
Hurry and shop. Why won't this light change? We need to get this over with quickly. 140 characters or less.
Breath. Be here, be still. Let calmness wash over you, let it fill you with it's light. Don't rush, enjoy the ride. The world will still be spinning, no matter how much you worry.
Life will happen, with or without you, so you choose: participate or always spread your thoughts so thin, that no moment is ever genuine.
Breath. Be here, be still. Let calmness wash over you, let it fill you with it's light. Don't rush, enjoy the ride. The world will still be spinning, no matter how much you worry.
Life will happen, with or without you, so you choose: participate or always spread your thoughts so thin, that no moment is ever genuine.
The need for approval. The dependence on habitual behavior, even when the habit is stripped away. We're all creatures of habit, and day to day life is a circle of similar circumstances. Stepping outside of this circle is usually reserved for a "vacation" a special event that allows us to be comfortable in something new.
I cuss. I masterbate. I look at pornography. I drink alcohol. I consume tobacco. I eat to fill a void in my life, a void that can't be filled. I buy in to the idea that society has placed, that I should feel shame for all of these things.
I'm afraid. My anxiety has taken over and paralyzed my life. I'm lonely. Bored with routine. I can be pompous, arrogant and jealous. I dwell on the negative, which usually causes me to overlook the positive. I'm severely anti-social, unless I drink or take medication. I've almost died mixing the two. I am lazy, I procrastinate and blame it on things that would become better if I didn't. I'm an insomniac, though my medication causes me to sleep to much. I waste entire days, weeks... Passing time for something that's not coming.
I dwell on the negative, so how do I fix this? I create positive, tackle issues and accept that some are just flaws, I can try to overcome them, but shouldn't hate myself if I can't. I'm lonely, God, I'm lonely.
I treat others with respect, I try to be selfless when it counts. I try to recognize weakness and evolve. I cherish knowledge, music and art. I'm emotional, but that's a good thing, men can act like robots, even though they care, they're just scared to seem anything other than tough. I love, I laugh. Engaging conversation is addicting. I question the very fabric of existence. I dream, and I dream. I'm a recovering narcissist, that causes me to he too hard on myself. I don't like me, even though I try to be a really good person. I show my flaws, I don't misrepresent who I really am. People over-think me, I'm simple in all of my intricacies. I could be just as comfortable talking about existentialism, lucid dreams, or hearing fart jokes. I don't like bullies, especially mental bullies, or ones that squish my head. People shouldn't force what should come natural. Not everyone is famous, and they should stop trying to be... The world needs janitors, thinkers and line cooks all the same.
I'm ashamed of how shallow our world has become, beauty above brains, conformity, dependence on technology, addiction to cell phones and celebrities. Fuck twitter. I have always been a self-confessed electronics junkie, but I don't hold that with the same pride I used to. I like the ability and convenience to express myself in the most natural and accessible way possible, but similarities in society have led to rooms full of people talking to people that are not present. Look up, see where you are, or where you could be. Even though I'm writing this, I hope you're not reading it, instead I hope you're jumping in puddles, reading a book under a tree, falling in love. This is my therapy, it doesn't require an audience, if you've read this far, you may have missed out on something great, or you may have learned something. Put your phones in your pocket, talk to the person next to you, be in the moment, everything else can wait, in fact everything else can just vanish, and we can all share this moment... And this one.
I cuss. I masterbate. I look at pornography. I drink alcohol. I consume tobacco. I eat to fill a void in my life, a void that can't be filled. I buy in to the idea that society has placed, that I should feel shame for all of these things.
I'm afraid. My anxiety has taken over and paralyzed my life. I'm lonely. Bored with routine. I can be pompous, arrogant and jealous. I dwell on the negative, which usually causes me to overlook the positive. I'm severely anti-social, unless I drink or take medication. I've almost died mixing the two. I am lazy, I procrastinate and blame it on things that would become better if I didn't. I'm an insomniac, though my medication causes me to sleep to much. I waste entire days, weeks... Passing time for something that's not coming.
I dwell on the negative, so how do I fix this? I create positive, tackle issues and accept that some are just flaws, I can try to overcome them, but shouldn't hate myself if I can't. I'm lonely, God, I'm lonely.
I treat others with respect, I try to be selfless when it counts. I try to recognize weakness and evolve. I cherish knowledge, music and art. I'm emotional, but that's a good thing, men can act like robots, even though they care, they're just scared to seem anything other than tough. I love, I laugh. Engaging conversation is addicting. I question the very fabric of existence. I dream, and I dream. I'm a recovering narcissist, that causes me to he too hard on myself. I don't like me, even though I try to be a really good person. I show my flaws, I don't misrepresent who I really am. People over-think me, I'm simple in all of my intricacies. I could be just as comfortable talking about existentialism, lucid dreams, or hearing fart jokes. I don't like bullies, especially mental bullies, or ones that squish my head. People shouldn't force what should come natural. Not everyone is famous, and they should stop trying to be... The world needs janitors, thinkers and line cooks all the same.
I'm ashamed of how shallow our world has become, beauty above brains, conformity, dependence on technology, addiction to cell phones and celebrities. Fuck twitter. I have always been a self-confessed electronics junkie, but I don't hold that with the same pride I used to. I like the ability and convenience to express myself in the most natural and accessible way possible, but similarities in society have led to rooms full of people talking to people that are not present. Look up, see where you are, or where you could be. Even though I'm writing this, I hope you're not reading it, instead I hope you're jumping in puddles, reading a book under a tree, falling in love. This is my therapy, it doesn't require an audience, if you've read this far, you may have missed out on something great, or you may have learned something. Put your phones in your pocket, talk to the person next to you, be in the moment, everything else can wait, in fact everything else can just vanish, and we can all share this moment... And this one.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
A plague upon our house.
We can move, we can rebuild, but it's always there.
I do believe it's spread to me, I just internalize everything. But she has to break completely, and all we can do is watch.
Heaven must hold a special place for those that know so much suffering in this life. What cruel deity would allow so much pain and ruin? Little cracks, over time... 33 years of life, and most spent in the presence of illness. It chips away, until it has consumed it's vessel.
How do you justify madness?
I can't even relate what I feel correctly. This is the third time I've written this, and it's either too vague or to exposing.
Why must my family feel shame? The only options presented in recent years are extreme, and unthinkable. We've already sacrificed our personal lives, what else will it take?
We can move, we can rebuild, but it's always there.
I do believe it's spread to me, I just internalize everything. But she has to break completely, and all we can do is watch.
Heaven must hold a special place for those that know so much suffering in this life. What cruel deity would allow so much pain and ruin? Little cracks, over time... 33 years of life, and most spent in the presence of illness. It chips away, until it has consumed it's vessel.
How do you justify madness?
I can't even relate what I feel correctly. This is the third time I've written this, and it's either too vague or to exposing.
Why must my family feel shame? The only options presented in recent years are extreme, and unthinkable. We've already sacrificed our personal lives, what else will it take?
Monday, November 5, 2012
The world has grown cold once again
And with it your heart will too begin
I feel you pull away
I'm in pain
Though neither of us are to blame
The snow touches your face
You break my heart everyday
The snow touches your heart
Somehow we've grown apart
It's falling fast now
(failing fast)
And oh so cold
(you've grown cold)
Patches of white start to form
(you're empty heart beats no more)
The trees have died, leaves have fallen
(our love has died, left forgotten)
Autumn dead, winter we now know
(warm red will spread, and melt below)
Soon to leave here, miles to go
(to leave you here, in the snow)
And with it your heart will too begin
I feel you pull away
I'm in pain
Though neither of us are to blame
The snow touches your face
You break my heart everyday
The snow touches your heart
Somehow we've grown apart
It's falling fast now
(failing fast)
And oh so cold
(you've grown cold)
Patches of white start to form
(you're empty heart beats no more)
The trees have died, leaves have fallen
(our love has died, left forgotten)
Autumn dead, winter we now know
(warm red will spread, and melt below)
Soon to leave here, miles to go
(to leave you here, in the snow)
There are only two pure things in this world. Even those can birth misery and shame, but as a side effect or wrong choice, not of themselves.
The love a parent has the privilege of knowing, and art. Being a father taught me more, in a short amount of time, than anything else ever has, or will. The span of a child will test you, from crying for no reason, terrible twos, to apathetic teenagers, you will love them even in the most trying times.
Being an artist, shows you how huge the world can be, and how tiny it really is all at once, yet it allows you to make it bigger, by creating something that didn't exist before you started. It's never mastered, if you're content with where you are, then you've lost the joy of a challenge. If you look at where you are, and it's where you wanted to be a year ago, then you're a success; however, even in that moment, you're planning where you'll be in a year. You find yourself amongst the greatest people on earth, and you're drawn to one another to gather and share the wonder of creativity and imagination. Dreamers have the distinct honor of seeing that things can and will get better.
Shame. You don't get to be where I am in life without the burden of shame, and yet the point of it all is to shed the ideals of a past generation, and move forward as a person freed of the distraction of societies view. The more one is scrutinized, the less they (should) care. Shame builds cities, and societies, it guides the hands of the weak, to obey something they see as stronger than them. I can't go to the grocery store without being judged, which is two-fold in itself... I'm aware I don't look like you, I'm aware you may not accept that. It is not my problem, it is my right, to be who I want to be. People are usually kind and curious, but some get angry the second they see you. That's not my problem, I am kind and well-spoken in public, it becomes my problem when they choose to become irrational, and it's ultimately their social taboo, their unkindness that causes bad situations. I can accept whispers, glances, and a bit of ridicule, but move on, accept that you can't change me or my mind... Believe me I was the first in line to judge me, so you can't, in five seconds make a better judgment call on how I should live my life, because I'm the one stuck with it everyday. So, I try to be respectfully shameless, I am strange, but I respect that it was my choice to become what I am, and you may not accept it so easily.
Love. In the past few years I've learned not to externalize my belief in love. The way I feel for you, is never going to be the way you feel for me. A decision is made here: to either show my love, no matter how it's received, it should never factor on how the person will receive it, but that you gave it. Which leads to a lot of hurt, until you let go, and feel love, without our tendency to want a return on that love. It's completely up to the other person, to accept, reject, or return that notion. The second option is to quietly love, harder still to capture and accept... To know that you may not have the ability to improve someone's life, with your companionship, but to still see that their life grows in a positive direction, even if you are having to sit back quietly and watch, and nurture. To allow them the freedom to make the choice to not be with you, but to still wish them the best possible life.
Jealousy leads to the ugliest side we can show of ourselves. It's not ones actions, but how we react to those actions, that determine what you will have gained from knowing that person. We are all unique, and cannot please everyone, all the time, not even ourselves. When jealousy is introduced into a situation where someone is attempting to better themselves, no one gains anything. It's easy to be jealous of something; it's mature to commend it, appreciate it... And then if it's something you want to attain that badly, find your healthy way of attaining it. Do not take it from them, because they got it first... Earn it, only then will you appreciate it.
In situations with loved ones, double-back to the idea of putting love out there, no matter what is returned and feelings of jealousy will dissolve; be patient.
If I could stress nothing else in life, I'd say have patience. Given my anxiety, I have to wait, and spend entire days, not feeling well. But to accept this, and allow this time to pass, you grow a new understanding of being patient. Everyone is always somewhere else in their head, being a photographer and performer, I had a special relationship with seeing how people are either never in the moment, or oblivious to the great things right in front of them. It's easy to lose grip on something magical, but that's what makes it worth holding onto in the first place. Being behind a lens, it's easy to be so caught up in capturing a moment, that you lose it entirely on a personal level. You go to a concert and film with your phone, then share it on your social network of choice, all to prove you were somewhere amazing, yet you're tied to this tiny glowing screen while something amazing is happening right in front of you. Thats a bit askew of the original point, but I didn't have the patience to finish that thought I suppose.
Overall quality of life really breaks down to these separate ideas and how you choose to handle them. I'm a huge supporter of living life to the fullest, but I also know that some days it just rains. We can dance in the rain, and embrace the chaos surrounding us, or we can break down in our lack of control over our world. I stopped typing a moment ago because the pain in my chest is so severe I couldn't handle it, but I know it's just anxiety, and it too will pass. In stopping, it worsened, while if I just type and forget about everything else, I'll find myself transported to a better place.
And who am I to give insight to anyone? I'm trapped in a dark room with chest pains currently... But I won't always be. Most won't get anything from what I type, instead they will either learn the hard and painful way, or be reflecting on how they arrived at a similar outlook. Just remember that change and growth are always possible, you'll want to forget this in the darkest hours, but those are when you should be clinging to it the tightest. Always love, because hate is just a waste of time. And when people hate you for feeling that way, let them, or they're wasting your time. Find passion, if it's on a microphone, a pen, or a brush... Find something to take you on a journey, always learn from it, and always share it.
The love a parent has the privilege of knowing, and art. Being a father taught me more, in a short amount of time, than anything else ever has, or will. The span of a child will test you, from crying for no reason, terrible twos, to apathetic teenagers, you will love them even in the most trying times.
Being an artist, shows you how huge the world can be, and how tiny it really is all at once, yet it allows you to make it bigger, by creating something that didn't exist before you started. It's never mastered, if you're content with where you are, then you've lost the joy of a challenge. If you look at where you are, and it's where you wanted to be a year ago, then you're a success; however, even in that moment, you're planning where you'll be in a year. You find yourself amongst the greatest people on earth, and you're drawn to one another to gather and share the wonder of creativity and imagination. Dreamers have the distinct honor of seeing that things can and will get better.
Shame. You don't get to be where I am in life without the burden of shame, and yet the point of it all is to shed the ideals of a past generation, and move forward as a person freed of the distraction of societies view. The more one is scrutinized, the less they (should) care. Shame builds cities, and societies, it guides the hands of the weak, to obey something they see as stronger than them. I can't go to the grocery store without being judged, which is two-fold in itself... I'm aware I don't look like you, I'm aware you may not accept that. It is not my problem, it is my right, to be who I want to be. People are usually kind and curious, but some get angry the second they see you. That's not my problem, I am kind and well-spoken in public, it becomes my problem when they choose to become irrational, and it's ultimately their social taboo, their unkindness that causes bad situations. I can accept whispers, glances, and a bit of ridicule, but move on, accept that you can't change me or my mind... Believe me I was the first in line to judge me, so you can't, in five seconds make a better judgment call on how I should live my life, because I'm the one stuck with it everyday. So, I try to be respectfully shameless, I am strange, but I respect that it was my choice to become what I am, and you may not accept it so easily.
Love. In the past few years I've learned not to externalize my belief in love. The way I feel for you, is never going to be the way you feel for me. A decision is made here: to either show my love, no matter how it's received, it should never factor on how the person will receive it, but that you gave it. Which leads to a lot of hurt, until you let go, and feel love, without our tendency to want a return on that love. It's completely up to the other person, to accept, reject, or return that notion. The second option is to quietly love, harder still to capture and accept... To know that you may not have the ability to improve someone's life, with your companionship, but to still see that their life grows in a positive direction, even if you are having to sit back quietly and watch, and nurture. To allow them the freedom to make the choice to not be with you, but to still wish them the best possible life.
Jealousy leads to the ugliest side we can show of ourselves. It's not ones actions, but how we react to those actions, that determine what you will have gained from knowing that person. We are all unique, and cannot please everyone, all the time, not even ourselves. When jealousy is introduced into a situation where someone is attempting to better themselves, no one gains anything. It's easy to be jealous of something; it's mature to commend it, appreciate it... And then if it's something you want to attain that badly, find your healthy way of attaining it. Do not take it from them, because they got it first... Earn it, only then will you appreciate it.
In situations with loved ones, double-back to the idea of putting love out there, no matter what is returned and feelings of jealousy will dissolve; be patient.
If I could stress nothing else in life, I'd say have patience. Given my anxiety, I have to wait, and spend entire days, not feeling well. But to accept this, and allow this time to pass, you grow a new understanding of being patient. Everyone is always somewhere else in their head, being a photographer and performer, I had a special relationship with seeing how people are either never in the moment, or oblivious to the great things right in front of them. It's easy to lose grip on something magical, but that's what makes it worth holding onto in the first place. Being behind a lens, it's easy to be so caught up in capturing a moment, that you lose it entirely on a personal level. You go to a concert and film with your phone, then share it on your social network of choice, all to prove you were somewhere amazing, yet you're tied to this tiny glowing screen while something amazing is happening right in front of you. Thats a bit askew of the original point, but I didn't have the patience to finish that thought I suppose.
Overall quality of life really breaks down to these separate ideas and how you choose to handle them. I'm a huge supporter of living life to the fullest, but I also know that some days it just rains. We can dance in the rain, and embrace the chaos surrounding us, or we can break down in our lack of control over our world. I stopped typing a moment ago because the pain in my chest is so severe I couldn't handle it, but I know it's just anxiety, and it too will pass. In stopping, it worsened, while if I just type and forget about everything else, I'll find myself transported to a better place.
And who am I to give insight to anyone? I'm trapped in a dark room with chest pains currently... But I won't always be. Most won't get anything from what I type, instead they will either learn the hard and painful way, or be reflecting on how they arrived at a similar outlook. Just remember that change and growth are always possible, you'll want to forget this in the darkest hours, but those are when you should be clinging to it the tightest. Always love, because hate is just a waste of time. And when people hate you for feeling that way, let them, or they're wasting your time. Find passion, if it's on a microphone, a pen, or a brush... Find something to take you on a journey, always learn from it, and always share it.
He suddenly realized, he'd been asleep a very long time.
"Wake up." His natural internal dialog barked in response. It wasn't going to be so simple, a pinch or reality test would not suffice he quickly realized. The truth of it was, he'd been asleep so long that this was reality, he wasn't asleep anymore, he had become the dream character.
Now one would stop and think; "logically, I just resume my actions, and eventually I will return to my waking life." What if things had grown so abstract however, that you were forced to question the very fabric of what you had just a moment before, accepted as reality? When reality stops being real, what are we left with?
"Wake up." He once again told himself, force of habit, not really putting power behind the idea. A small shift in the periphery of his vision, a glitch he thought; something he could expose to escape. Further investigation actually led him to notice what once seemed solid and logical... All around him, was now fluid-like, and resisted to sit still. The familiarity of it all washed over him, how nonsensical things he had accepted yesterday were so obviously mental faculty, his mind was working overtime, to make the world he now inhabited. "Wait!", he thought,"How long have I been asleep? Has time passed differently because my mind can move faster than reality allows?" Which, sadly led to more questions, each more profound and slightly more horrific in nature. His chest tightened, as the air thickened and the light in the room, dimmed. Everything grew a bit smaller as he asked: "Have the relationships I've grown so accustomed to even been real?" Suddenly when he thought of her, her face was blurry in his mind. "This is natural." he took a deep breath, the room seemed to sense a shift as light grew a bit warmer. "I'm only struggling with this, because I'm over-thinking it... Of course I know her face." To reassure himself, he reached in his pocket, he withdrew his phone. You can always rely on technology, to remember things you may struggle with... Right? It felt empty in his hand, almost as if it's capacity to hold information was determined by it's physical weight. Then he noticed something that disturbed him. "This isn't my model of phone, is it? This is what I was using a few years ago. How would this even get in my pocket?"
Suddenly his reliance on technology shifted, "Of course I can't depend on this... If it's in my dream it's part of me, just a symbol; an idea of what was in my pocket." His realization however did not hasten his resolve to continue forward. He opened the device, which now did actually seem like his phone, the time was wrong... "Or have I lost this much familiarity with the outside world?" He pushed on, forgiving the odd time display. There, finally a picture of her, just as he remembers her. Encoded in 1's and 0's an answer to his base question. "Of course she's real, and here is solid proof!" His deliberate verbal confirmation did little to ease what he knew however... Even as he quickly shut the screen off, the manner in which it lagged simply did not feel mechanical. The image almost bled to the corner as he shoved it back in his pocket. "Pockets, a mans portable identity. Pockets, what else do we have? As he rummaged he could almost feel keys, and change, though as he grasped the pockets seemed much larger than he'd anticipated. Everything seemed to slip through his fingers, a recycling of what he expected to feel, cold, almost familiar objects, but not what he was looking for... "Wait... What am I looking for?" the room grew dim, once again in response to his emotion. A sinking feeling of lost washed over him. He stumbled a few steps, meaningless really, and thought: "My wallet! Back pocket. Always there, always help define." Even as ge reached back, and submerged his hand once again, his eyes gazed at the painting on the wall.
His face was wet. Had he just fallen? The rain was slowing as he gained his composure. The street was silent, the sky a dull gray, an endless cloud of moisture. Reflections of the lights danced on the street. "Wait, what street is this?" The street lights seemed to flicker the answer. "Oh of course! I use this road almost everyday, so familiar I hardly even give it a thought... Right there is.... Well, it doesn't matter, I know where I am." He thought it odd that he was walking, when he usually drove. Given the time of day, maybe he'd a couple too many and decided not to drive. "Only a couple blocks that way and I'll be home." He sped up his pace, with confidence, the last few hours may have been confusing, but it didn't matter now.
Faint car horns and muffled engine sounds reflected off the cold, slick pavement. Such a funny time of day, it can almost be difficult to know whether the suns rising, or just set.
He dropped the pencil on table as his body shook. "Damn, dozing off again, I need to get this done..." As he reached to scoop the pencil before it reached the edge, he felt an urgency, but for what again? Something he needed to finish... Or remember?
He looked at his scribbles on the paper, an obvious draft, half pictures and jotted words. He appreciated how under the incandescent yellowish light, the shades and shapes almost formed a layer above the paper, rather than resting on it. He adjusted his glasses, that seemed to help focus. It was her picture, a crude version of the one in his phone, scribbled off to the left, a simple, "wake up."
He sat up in bed quickly, and gasped, the air hot on his face. "What's wrong?" Asked a detached voice, coming from beside him. "Oh God, of course! Brilliant" He thought, a small grin draped across his cheeks. He muttered a simple,"Nothing babe, just a screwed up dream." He turned half-way to press against her, he reached for her hand. Nothing, a cold pillow sat beside him, a hint of her fragrance lingered.
Wake up.
"Wake up." His natural internal dialog barked in response. It wasn't going to be so simple, a pinch or reality test would not suffice he quickly realized. The truth of it was, he'd been asleep so long that this was reality, he wasn't asleep anymore, he had become the dream character.
Now one would stop and think; "logically, I just resume my actions, and eventually I will return to my waking life." What if things had grown so abstract however, that you were forced to question the very fabric of what you had just a moment before, accepted as reality? When reality stops being real, what are we left with?
"Wake up." He once again told himself, force of habit, not really putting power behind the idea. A small shift in the periphery of his vision, a glitch he thought; something he could expose to escape. Further investigation actually led him to notice what once seemed solid and logical... All around him, was now fluid-like, and resisted to sit still. The familiarity of it all washed over him, how nonsensical things he had accepted yesterday were so obviously mental faculty, his mind was working overtime, to make the world he now inhabited. "Wait!", he thought,"How long have I been asleep? Has time passed differently because my mind can move faster than reality allows?" Which, sadly led to more questions, each more profound and slightly more horrific in nature. His chest tightened, as the air thickened and the light in the room, dimmed. Everything grew a bit smaller as he asked: "Have the relationships I've grown so accustomed to even been real?" Suddenly when he thought of her, her face was blurry in his mind. "This is natural." he took a deep breath, the room seemed to sense a shift as light grew a bit warmer. "I'm only struggling with this, because I'm over-thinking it... Of course I know her face." To reassure himself, he reached in his pocket, he withdrew his phone. You can always rely on technology, to remember things you may struggle with... Right? It felt empty in his hand, almost as if it's capacity to hold information was determined by it's physical weight. Then he noticed something that disturbed him. "This isn't my model of phone, is it? This is what I was using a few years ago. How would this even get in my pocket?"
Suddenly his reliance on technology shifted, "Of course I can't depend on this... If it's in my dream it's part of me, just a symbol; an idea of what was in my pocket." His realization however did not hasten his resolve to continue forward. He opened the device, which now did actually seem like his phone, the time was wrong... "Or have I lost this much familiarity with the outside world?" He pushed on, forgiving the odd time display. There, finally a picture of her, just as he remembers her. Encoded in 1's and 0's an answer to his base question. "Of course she's real, and here is solid proof!" His deliberate verbal confirmation did little to ease what he knew however... Even as he quickly shut the screen off, the manner in which it lagged simply did not feel mechanical. The image almost bled to the corner as he shoved it back in his pocket. "Pockets, a mans portable identity. Pockets, what else do we have? As he rummaged he could almost feel keys, and change, though as he grasped the pockets seemed much larger than he'd anticipated. Everything seemed to slip through his fingers, a recycling of what he expected to feel, cold, almost familiar objects, but not what he was looking for... "Wait... What am I looking for?" the room grew dim, once again in response to his emotion. A sinking feeling of lost washed over him. He stumbled a few steps, meaningless really, and thought: "My wallet! Back pocket. Always there, always help define." Even as ge reached back, and submerged his hand once again, his eyes gazed at the painting on the wall.
His face was wet. Had he just fallen? The rain was slowing as he gained his composure. The street was silent, the sky a dull gray, an endless cloud of moisture. Reflections of the lights danced on the street. "Wait, what street is this?" The street lights seemed to flicker the answer. "Oh of course! I use this road almost everyday, so familiar I hardly even give it a thought... Right there is.... Well, it doesn't matter, I know where I am." He thought it odd that he was walking, when he usually drove. Given the time of day, maybe he'd a couple too many and decided not to drive. "Only a couple blocks that way and I'll be home." He sped up his pace, with confidence, the last few hours may have been confusing, but it didn't matter now.
Faint car horns and muffled engine sounds reflected off the cold, slick pavement. Such a funny time of day, it can almost be difficult to know whether the suns rising, or just set.
He dropped the pencil on table as his body shook. "Damn, dozing off again, I need to get this done..." As he reached to scoop the pencil before it reached the edge, he felt an urgency, but for what again? Something he needed to finish... Or remember?
He looked at his scribbles on the paper, an obvious draft, half pictures and jotted words. He appreciated how under the incandescent yellowish light, the shades and shapes almost formed a layer above the paper, rather than resting on it. He adjusted his glasses, that seemed to help focus. It was her picture, a crude version of the one in his phone, scribbled off to the left, a simple, "wake up."
He sat up in bed quickly, and gasped, the air hot on his face. "What's wrong?" Asked a detached voice, coming from beside him. "Oh God, of course! Brilliant" He thought, a small grin draped across his cheeks. He muttered a simple,"Nothing babe, just a screwed up dream." He turned half-way to press against her, he reached for her hand. Nothing, a cold pillow sat beside him, a hint of her fragrance lingered.
Wake up.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Reconciliation (333)
I hear a voice, to me it beckons
To be with it, in mere seconds
(I'd slip away)
I'd slip away, into the void
To be reborn, or be destroyed
Sweet insanity, fed by the lonely
From all around me screams, cries of the only
Forgotten ones, fade away
Have I become one? Doomed to stay
My soul laid bare, exposed for all
Pick it clean, with gnashing teeth
(send me home)
Stench of regret, I've grown so wary
(on wings of pain)
Send me home, on wings of pain
-xXRx 333ch2
To be with it, in mere seconds
(I'd slip away)
I'd slip away, into the void
To be reborn, or be destroyed
Sweet insanity, fed by the lonely
From all around me screams, cries of the only
Forgotten ones, fade away
Have I become one? Doomed to stay
My soul laid bare, exposed for all
Pick it clean, with gnashing teeth
(send me home)
Stench of regret, I've grown so wary
(on wings of pain)
Send me home, on wings of pain
-xXRx 333ch2
Wings of Pain(The Fourth Seal)
Lain proof on heavens gate
Single tear shed for a saint
A final cry for the sane
Before darkness' plane
Once again transcends
Envelopes all in the shroud
And with it ends
Foolish thoughts of the proud
The holy mother, swaddle in her bosom
And to my brother, leave the wisdom
Cradled in lunacy, disease of the weak
A mind impure, unable to think
The sickness spreads, Down the tree
My open arms, Unto thee
The fruit of the vine
Ripe with rot
Descendants of mine
Surely will not
Bear this burden, feel this loss
Lift their curse, carry their cross
If I'm the last, its not in vein
It dies with me, the final stain
Lineage lifted from sorrow
If sickness dwells not in the morrow.
If the blood carries the curse
Then bleed me dry
Lose me In broken verse
On wings of pain I'll fly
Rhythm to life.
Life has always had a flow, a direction, I could expect patterns to emerge between positive and negative occurrences. This made negativity much easier to deal with, as it fit the pattern and had an expected time to emerge.
But just as we learn these things, they evolve; mutate outside a given path, so the expected can no longer be found. While there was some a a b a type of flow before, negativity abounds, no matter how much I shake it. It's not the world that's lost sync I believe, it is me, fallen out of my life's cycle, and I'm punished for not being where I'm meant to fit. The hard part is finding a way back, when I'm so removed from where I believe I'm supposed to be, that I'm not sure how to step back into the correct path.
Now this also begs the question: if I believe this, and therefore somewhat expect negativity, am I putting that out there and receiving it, because I expect to? I believe simply stating the above would show otherwise, as deep in my heart, I want for good, so I'm not predominantly expecting negativity, as much as I'm not surprised when it arrives.
You would, however expect this foresight to soften the blow, instead it just seems to make the air thicker. I'm drowning, caught underwater, and can't find traction to pull up for air.
Yes, this permeates negative thinking, it's just hard to ignore, when I'm actually an optimist, my glass was half full, until it fell off the table and shattered.
But just as we learn these things, they evolve; mutate outside a given path, so the expected can no longer be found. While there was some a a b a type of flow before, negativity abounds, no matter how much I shake it. It's not the world that's lost sync I believe, it is me, fallen out of my life's cycle, and I'm punished for not being where I'm meant to fit. The hard part is finding a way back, when I'm so removed from where I believe I'm supposed to be, that I'm not sure how to step back into the correct path.
Now this also begs the question: if I believe this, and therefore somewhat expect negativity, am I putting that out there and receiving it, because I expect to? I believe simply stating the above would show otherwise, as deep in my heart, I want for good, so I'm not predominantly expecting negativity, as much as I'm not surprised when it arrives.
You would, however expect this foresight to soften the blow, instead it just seems to make the air thicker. I'm drowning, caught underwater, and can't find traction to pull up for air.
Yes, this permeates negative thinking, it's just hard to ignore, when I'm actually an optimist, my glass was half full, until it fell off the table and shattered.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
The rambling slows
I've grown quiet, too quiet... But we both realize one real truth. No one cares anymore, I don't write, because no one reads. This was intended to be a deeper layer than most get from what they know of me and my other projects.
In just a few months time, I've burrowed into severely anti-social state. I don't even get on Facebook lately, because I don't see a purpose. It's funny to see people buried in their phones, constantly proving their self worth and keeping tabs on their "friends".
This is pretty directionless, like I've felt... Stepped away ling enough to realize some things, that made me feel like so much is just so shallow, I'll continue to do what I do, and be myself, but for now I'm doing it because I need to, not to make a deadline or please anyone, maybe that makes it genuine, maybe that makes me a dick.
There are at least 20 people out there that were told: "if you don't hear from me, I'm sick, send me a message and I'll reply, it'll help me, and you'll understand I'm not distant because I don't care" now, in the throes of sickness, what am I supposed to assume, when I don't get messages, it hurts less to stop checking at a point. My life at any given moment can be a great success or failure, usually it's both at once in bittersweet ways I can't even begin to explain. I always lose someone, or something to gain or to be creative, expression and loss go hand in hand. One again I've written in circles without a defined point, I just feel the weight of the world tonight, and it's crushing me.
In just a few months time, I've burrowed into severely anti-social state. I don't even get on Facebook lately, because I don't see a purpose. It's funny to see people buried in their phones, constantly proving their self worth and keeping tabs on their "friends".
This is pretty directionless, like I've felt... Stepped away ling enough to realize some things, that made me feel like so much is just so shallow, I'll continue to do what I do, and be myself, but for now I'm doing it because I need to, not to make a deadline or please anyone, maybe that makes it genuine, maybe that makes me a dick.
There are at least 20 people out there that were told: "if you don't hear from me, I'm sick, send me a message and I'll reply, it'll help me, and you'll understand I'm not distant because I don't care" now, in the throes of sickness, what am I supposed to assume, when I don't get messages, it hurts less to stop checking at a point. My life at any given moment can be a great success or failure, usually it's both at once in bittersweet ways I can't even begin to explain. I always lose someone, or something to gain or to be creative, expression and loss go hand in hand. One again I've written in circles without a defined point, I just feel the weight of the world tonight, and it's crushing me.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Everyone adheres to this internal, fictional moral code that they've formed from life experience; the way their parents raised them, personal experiences that molded an idea of right and wrong, religious and society views. Yet, all I see are very imperfect, judgmental, creatures in my midst. I am no exception, less maybe the fact that unlike most, I scrutinize and amplify my faults internally, making them worse in my mind, rather than lying to justify them.
I wish there was someone I could talk to, someone that cared the least bit. I set myself apart, removed myself from the world, and did it with the idea that people were better off without me. While I may hold some candle of that belief, it removes very little of the sting that is loneliness. I can yell from the top of my lungs, until I am out of breath... No one will come running. I've trapped myself in this very small enclosure, and I just realized there's no point in writing this, it falls on deaf ears. I'll just close my eyes, and wish for something real.
I wish there was someone I could talk to, someone that cared the least bit. I set myself apart, removed myself from the world, and did it with the idea that people were better off without me. While I may hold some candle of that belief, it removes very little of the sting that is loneliness. I can yell from the top of my lungs, until I am out of breath... No one will come running. I've trapped myself in this very small enclosure, and I just realized there's no point in writing this, it falls on deaf ears. I'll just close my eyes, and wish for something real.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
I do the same thing most people do, just to carry on day to day. I look at life through a distorted lens, hoping if I try hard enough everything will be ok. It's not though, is it?
Some people are upset I've grown distant. The reality of how I life is bleak, so I try to severe any negative impact it could cause others. The majority of day day takes place in a very small room, and most of that time is spent on a small bed. I leave this room for maybe 4 hours a day, to eat, bathe and watch television. I leave the house approximately two or three times a month. One of those is to see a doctor for anxiety treatment. Thoughts of suicide were constant until just recently.
How honest should I be here? There are things I could say that will upset people, surely something I've said already has. I've been a prisoner to my own mind so long, that it is hurting my health, and as I only go to a psychiatrist and have no regular medical doctor, I can only guess what those health factors are.
Very recently life changes have caused me to worsen, I used to attempt social contact, but now feel like there is nothing in my immediate power that I can do to change my life.
I'm not asking for help, and I'm not wanting pity, it's why I don't talk about my life, or focus so hard on the things I can try to do, for a positive outcome. Music has been the one thing that's kept me breathing, but right now with no other stimulus I feel like I'm running out of steam musically as well. My phone doesn't work here, at all... If I were to leave the house for several hours, it might start working... Well, I'm typing this stream of thought, and realized halfway through that... That's not even true now, the service is off. It's hard to realize when I'm sitting here typing on it, but the wifi works, just no cell service, rather backwards from most people.
Those near me, have grown wary, and rightfully so, if I'm a lost cause, I don't want it to effect them either. It went from a scary situation, for reasons I don't even feel like ranting about right now, to a dead end. I can waste away, and it'll have less impact now, so I have been. The problem with pulling out of a depression like this, is the harsh reality you have to face in order to do so, and I've dug myself into such a small hole, the anxiety starts when I simply wake up, or leave my room. I'm typing this to spread knowledge and come to terms with my own mental illness. If you know someone with severe anxiety, visit them, take them somewhere. It may feel awkward and forced at first, but it may just save their life. I realize how completely crazy it is for me to just sit here, hour after hour... I feel guilt, I'm hurting others by my non-actions. I'm made to feel like a drug addict for taking anxiety medication, it barely gets me out of my room, much less seldom out the door. I have except for a couple of instances stopped smoking(clove cigarettes) and stopped drinking. Not for any healthy or moral purpose, but more because I have no easy access, so it's easier to not entertain thoughts of habits. The drinking got bad, and messed up a lot in my life, yet it helped with anxiety, at whatever immeasurable cost. It's not like I'll never have a drink again, but I'm aware now of how out of control things were at times, so I've got a better respect for mediation.
Let me get back to something I touched on earlier, there are a few things I have left to say.... If you love or respect someone that suffers with anxiety, and you sit and watch, or drop out of their lives for months, it feeds their tendency to withdraw. A year ago I was making great steps to some sort of normal life, just as quickly that all changed.
Now, my own harsh truths. Debt, which grows somehow, even in my absence from life or services that would cause debt. Loss, my close family won't speak to me, and I can barely speak back. On average I may accomplish two small conversations a day. Loss of my children, my rights are now being taken away, in a perverse action, without any regard for the finality and subsequent devastation it will cause in my life, and my children's. I've done nothing wrong, I've done nothing. I can sit here and cry, and feel wronged, but it won't change the outcome. This single loss, threatens my existence, I don't know a simpler way to state that. I have tried to do what I thought was right in the past, and my actions and non-actions have left me with a pain I cannot handle. I feeling of emptiness, out of a love for the children that were so suddenly torn from my life. Welcome to the breakdown, I've pretty much ditched any plausible moral I may have been extending, for a gut-wrenching realization, that I am losing everything, and have no way to stop it.
Fuck this.
As some sort of P.S. To the dark direction that accidentally took(darker than intended).... I will say a special thanks to those that take my words, my so-called friends, that copy what I say, and give it to my ex-wife. I won't delete or even complain. I say what I say openly, and it's not wrong to do so. I use no names, and it effects only me.
So, just to clarify: when I speak of touring, or things I've bought to use on tour.... To date I've spent $5 this year, for an app. Touring will consist of living on the generosity of friends, and whatever promoters can manage. The hope, is that I'll break even city to city, to get transport and a meal. A clean floor is about all I need for sleep, and anyone that's known me on tour can confirm that. Why tour then? In my case, to share the music I've written to keep my mind busy. A deeper reason, is in hopes of saving my life, shredding a weight that makes it hard to breath, forcing myself into uncomfortable situations, in hopes that after a few days, I'll snap back into reality.
Any other provisions have been supplied either through kindness or in trade for work. So while you quote me, and make me feel like the worst father ever, now you know the situation it's born from, and several of you knew me, when I had the kids, and they were my morning and night, my everything. EVERYTHING I do, is to try and fill a void from losing them.
Some people are upset I've grown distant. The reality of how I life is bleak, so I try to severe any negative impact it could cause others. The majority of day day takes place in a very small room, and most of that time is spent on a small bed. I leave this room for maybe 4 hours a day, to eat, bathe and watch television. I leave the house approximately two or three times a month. One of those is to see a doctor for anxiety treatment. Thoughts of suicide were constant until just recently.
How honest should I be here? There are things I could say that will upset people, surely something I've said already has. I've been a prisoner to my own mind so long, that it is hurting my health, and as I only go to a psychiatrist and have no regular medical doctor, I can only guess what those health factors are.
Very recently life changes have caused me to worsen, I used to attempt social contact, but now feel like there is nothing in my immediate power that I can do to change my life.
I'm not asking for help, and I'm not wanting pity, it's why I don't talk about my life, or focus so hard on the things I can try to do, for a positive outcome. Music has been the one thing that's kept me breathing, but right now with no other stimulus I feel like I'm running out of steam musically as well. My phone doesn't work here, at all... If I were to leave the house for several hours, it might start working... Well, I'm typing this stream of thought, and realized halfway through that... That's not even true now, the service is off. It's hard to realize when I'm sitting here typing on it, but the wifi works, just no cell service, rather backwards from most people.
Those near me, have grown wary, and rightfully so, if I'm a lost cause, I don't want it to effect them either. It went from a scary situation, for reasons I don't even feel like ranting about right now, to a dead end. I can waste away, and it'll have less impact now, so I have been. The problem with pulling out of a depression like this, is the harsh reality you have to face in order to do so, and I've dug myself into such a small hole, the anxiety starts when I simply wake up, or leave my room. I'm typing this to spread knowledge and come to terms with my own mental illness. If you know someone with severe anxiety, visit them, take them somewhere. It may feel awkward and forced at first, but it may just save their life. I realize how completely crazy it is for me to just sit here, hour after hour... I feel guilt, I'm hurting others by my non-actions. I'm made to feel like a drug addict for taking anxiety medication, it barely gets me out of my room, much less seldom out the door. I have except for a couple of instances stopped smoking(clove cigarettes) and stopped drinking. Not for any healthy or moral purpose, but more because I have no easy access, so it's easier to not entertain thoughts of habits. The drinking got bad, and messed up a lot in my life, yet it helped with anxiety, at whatever immeasurable cost. It's not like I'll never have a drink again, but I'm aware now of how out of control things were at times, so I've got a better respect for mediation.
Let me get back to something I touched on earlier, there are a few things I have left to say.... If you love or respect someone that suffers with anxiety, and you sit and watch, or drop out of their lives for months, it feeds their tendency to withdraw. A year ago I was making great steps to some sort of normal life, just as quickly that all changed.
Now, my own harsh truths. Debt, which grows somehow, even in my absence from life or services that would cause debt. Loss, my close family won't speak to me, and I can barely speak back. On average I may accomplish two small conversations a day. Loss of my children, my rights are now being taken away, in a perverse action, without any regard for the finality and subsequent devastation it will cause in my life, and my children's. I've done nothing wrong, I've done nothing. I can sit here and cry, and feel wronged, but it won't change the outcome. This single loss, threatens my existence, I don't know a simpler way to state that. I have tried to do what I thought was right in the past, and my actions and non-actions have left me with a pain I cannot handle. I feeling of emptiness, out of a love for the children that were so suddenly torn from my life. Welcome to the breakdown, I've pretty much ditched any plausible moral I may have been extending, for a gut-wrenching realization, that I am losing everything, and have no way to stop it.
Fuck this.
As some sort of P.S. To the dark direction that accidentally took(darker than intended).... I will say a special thanks to those that take my words, my so-called friends, that copy what I say, and give it to my ex-wife. I won't delete or even complain. I say what I say openly, and it's not wrong to do so. I use no names, and it effects only me.
So, just to clarify: when I speak of touring, or things I've bought to use on tour.... To date I've spent $5 this year, for an app. Touring will consist of living on the generosity of friends, and whatever promoters can manage. The hope, is that I'll break even city to city, to get transport and a meal. A clean floor is about all I need for sleep, and anyone that's known me on tour can confirm that. Why tour then? In my case, to share the music I've written to keep my mind busy. A deeper reason, is in hopes of saving my life, shredding a weight that makes it hard to breath, forcing myself into uncomfortable situations, in hopes that after a few days, I'll snap back into reality.
Any other provisions have been supplied either through kindness or in trade for work. So while you quote me, and make me feel like the worst father ever, now you know the situation it's born from, and several of you knew me, when I had the kids, and they were my morning and night, my everything. EVERYTHING I do, is to try and fill a void from losing them.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Appearances, are utterly exhausting. Let's paint a picture of who we wish we were, so we can spend our entire lives lying to ourselves, and everyone else in the process. Reshape the truth until we can sleep at night, and justify our primal misdeeds with some counter-productive excuse. We are consumers, first and foremost, we will feed some craving every few minutes(I'm being sparing here). Even if it's an act to deny another craving, we are still at the root, proving how weak we really are. Fragile little pockets of meat, fumbling through what we call life... In search of sex, money and sex. We clutter our lives with objects, that either fulfill some hole inside us, or(in our mind) make us more appealing to others. I'm no exception, that's why I say we. I simply accept, and try to minimize the damage. I'll drag myself to the bottom, and not think twice, but if I realize gravity on my way down, it makes the ground a little softer. Although, there is a certain sickness that comes with the knowledge of ruin.
I'll make my art, music, photography, film, anything I can get my hands on. I'll tell myself that there's some point to it, a reason, some justification other than the reality. I'm wasting time... I'm wasting time on purpose. There's this pull in us all, but it's never finished. Tomorrow doesn't come, because today won't fucking end. The accomplishments, love, respect... It lives in tomorrow, just one more day. I'm sure everything I've built around me will suddenly make sense, everyone will congratulate me, and life will be amazing... Tomorrow.
It's 8:30 in the a.m. My legs won't stop convulsing, my jaw is set and sore. My head hurts and all I can do to ignore it all is type on this tiny screen. This just reminds me my eyes are sore and I can't sleep. Sleeping medication has failed me again, already my body has adjusted and defied this months up-dosage... Double the milligrams, it worked for ten days. Now the hours melt together, as I waste away. When you peel away all the pretty wrapping, what's left is raw. Take a look at what your day consists of... Now even if it's busy and full of responsibility... What are you thinking about the whole time? Not the medial tasks themselves. It's sex, food, sleep, drugs... Certainly not the nine to five, or the minivan full of groceries. All we want is to eat, sleep and fuck, and feel good while we do it. Somehow it's less pathetic if the skin surrounding your genitals belongs to someone else, instead of your own fist. It doesn't really matter though, we tolerate others so we experience those fleeting embraces, even the tantric can't justify all the mundane chatter and showmanship it takes to keep someone "happy". It's exhausting, the only brain that can keep up the pace is the one in your own skull, it's the only one that matters, everything else doesn't exist. Yes, when I die the world will stop spinning, you will all vanish. Why? Because my existence is the only one I've ever known, it's the only proof I have of reality. Sad as that may be, the only laws, morals or behavior are weighed on my own hefty, yet completely pointless ideals. Who cares what I think? I don't even like me, why should I sell myself on you? There's nothing special, and I'm the first in line to tune me out.... But damn, I can't. Even with sleep, or television, no matter how much I tune out, I'm still there. A day without me would be a great vacation. I am my only company, and I've grown all too sick of myself.
It's almost sad that these words, will last longer than I do, the Internet with it's unfathomable data, and my stain will always be stuck in some recess of it. Just because we wiped it off under the table, doesn't mean it ceases to exist.
Is your life neat and clean? Are you shaven and showered? Ready for the day? Are your clothes neatly washed and folded? Step back for a minute, look... There's a dead fly on the window seal. Maybe, a big maybe, you keep up appearances, but something is rotten. Something sits and festers. If not, welcome to the most bland and unintelligible life possible. Chaos... We are spinning on a rock, and can't even properly define how, or why we are. I'm not wearing pants right now, I haven't slept, so I'm just realizing I need to shave... Again. Life is dirty, we are comprised of completely different molecules than we were as children... That skin has died and fallen off. We aren't even what we were, so why are we so busy defining what we aren't? Yes, this is spinning in circles, wasting time. My brain is chasing it's tail. I've made a point just to defeat it, checkmate. Appearances, are utterly exhausting.
I'll make my art, music, photography, film, anything I can get my hands on. I'll tell myself that there's some point to it, a reason, some justification other than the reality. I'm wasting time... I'm wasting time on purpose. There's this pull in us all, but it's never finished. Tomorrow doesn't come, because today won't fucking end. The accomplishments, love, respect... It lives in tomorrow, just one more day. I'm sure everything I've built around me will suddenly make sense, everyone will congratulate me, and life will be amazing... Tomorrow.
It's 8:30 in the a.m. My legs won't stop convulsing, my jaw is set and sore. My head hurts and all I can do to ignore it all is type on this tiny screen. This just reminds me my eyes are sore and I can't sleep. Sleeping medication has failed me again, already my body has adjusted and defied this months up-dosage... Double the milligrams, it worked for ten days. Now the hours melt together, as I waste away. When you peel away all the pretty wrapping, what's left is raw. Take a look at what your day consists of... Now even if it's busy and full of responsibility... What are you thinking about the whole time? Not the medial tasks themselves. It's sex, food, sleep, drugs... Certainly not the nine to five, or the minivan full of groceries. All we want is to eat, sleep and fuck, and feel good while we do it. Somehow it's less pathetic if the skin surrounding your genitals belongs to someone else, instead of your own fist. It doesn't really matter though, we tolerate others so we experience those fleeting embraces, even the tantric can't justify all the mundane chatter and showmanship it takes to keep someone "happy". It's exhausting, the only brain that can keep up the pace is the one in your own skull, it's the only one that matters, everything else doesn't exist. Yes, when I die the world will stop spinning, you will all vanish. Why? Because my existence is the only one I've ever known, it's the only proof I have of reality. Sad as that may be, the only laws, morals or behavior are weighed on my own hefty, yet completely pointless ideals. Who cares what I think? I don't even like me, why should I sell myself on you? There's nothing special, and I'm the first in line to tune me out.... But damn, I can't. Even with sleep, or television, no matter how much I tune out, I'm still there. A day without me would be a great vacation. I am my only company, and I've grown all too sick of myself.
It's almost sad that these words, will last longer than I do, the Internet with it's unfathomable data, and my stain will always be stuck in some recess of it. Just because we wiped it off under the table, doesn't mean it ceases to exist.
Is your life neat and clean? Are you shaven and showered? Ready for the day? Are your clothes neatly washed and folded? Step back for a minute, look... There's a dead fly on the window seal. Maybe, a big maybe, you keep up appearances, but something is rotten. Something sits and festers. If not, welcome to the most bland and unintelligible life possible. Chaos... We are spinning on a rock, and can't even properly define how, or why we are. I'm not wearing pants right now, I haven't slept, so I'm just realizing I need to shave... Again. Life is dirty, we are comprised of completely different molecules than we were as children... That skin has died and fallen off. We aren't even what we were, so why are we so busy defining what we aren't? Yes, this is spinning in circles, wasting time. My brain is chasing it's tail. I've made a point just to defeat it, checkmate. Appearances, are utterly exhausting.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
What would be more respected? The good deed, or the thought that was planted to arrive there? Somewhere between the thought and the action was a process of bravery, courage and selflessness. Yet, whatever planted that thought probably planted it in the heads of a whole garden of people doing good deeds.
FYI
I am not Lucinda darkly. I often tell people to search my full moniker, lucid s darqly, if they want to know me well. I'm not a fictional character in an erotic/goth novel,(though that might be preferred).
So google has decided to offer this fictional character as an alternative to me, the names only vaguely similar. Please note I only mentioned "that" name once, if I were to type it over and over it'd appear as more hits in a search, for instance if I were to type:
Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly.
It might hit more often in searches, though I'm barely erotic, goth or fictional. I am part all three. I doubt I'll be a series, though there is another named Lucid, and he's much more interesting than I. #mykidsareawesome
So google has decided to offer this fictional character as an alternative to me, the names only vaguely similar. Please note I only mentioned "that" name once, if I were to type it over and over it'd appear as more hits in a search, for instance if I were to type:
Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly, Lucid S Darqly.
It might hit more often in searches, though I'm barely erotic, goth or fictional. I am part all three. I doubt I'll be a series, though there is another named Lucid, and he's much more interesting than I. #mykidsareawesome
Why is everyone else' bass so annoying? I like to listen to loud music sometimes. Knowing full well that others can hear it, yet I think, "maybe they'll hear something of interest, or be curious who I am"... They don't. They aren't.
My bass is just as annoying.
Which leads to the next couple realizations:
Few songs can be identified by their bass-lines.
Bassists are repetitive, not meant to be rude, it is part of the rhythm section.
Hearing loud music from someone else, makes me want to crank mine up to drown theirs... But why if it's so annoying, do I want it nearer? A simple answer would be taste and control.
My bass is just as annoying.
Which leads to the next couple realizations:
Few songs can be identified by their bass-lines.
Bassists are repetitive, not meant to be rude, it is part of the rhythm section.
Hearing loud music from someone else, makes me want to crank mine up to drown theirs... But why if it's so annoying, do I want it nearer? A simple answer would be taste and control.
By what assumption that because we are not friends, we must be enemies?
My heart hurt, with the realization that I have all but ceased to exist. I am not seen or heard, except on these pages, and these pages are certainly not me.
My moods dictate what I write, only in these sad, lonely states do I have time to write. So you may never know the true me, because the happiness is shared with the few that know my flesh and blood. Seldom do they see my bad days, for they are spent in solitude. However, they always see my good days, for only through them are they possible.
My heart hurt, with the realization that I have all but ceased to exist. I am not seen or heard, except on these pages, and these pages are certainly not me.
My moods dictate what I write, only in these sad, lonely states do I have time to write. So you may never know the true me, because the happiness is shared with the few that know my flesh and blood. Seldom do they see my bad days, for they are spent in solitude. However, they always see my good days, for only through them are they possible.
It takes two to fight, yet I wrestle with my conscience every day.
Even in my solitude I can remember how bad it feels to grow wary of another's company.
To be lonely, you just realize how much you don't like yourself.
What good are realizations without anyone to share them with?
If I cannot be comfortable with myself, why should I expect anyone else to settle?
Reading quotes always inspire me to be quotable. I was reading of integrity, I don't know where the urge to write of loneliness came from... Well, actually I do, it because you weren't here reading of integrity as well.
Am I the only person that writes quotes? Usually they are extracted from a larger thought, but I find the quotes tend to cut through the pleasantries.
Even in my solitude I can remember how bad it feels to grow wary of another's company.
To be lonely, you just realize how much you don't like yourself.
What good are realizations without anyone to share them with?
If I cannot be comfortable with myself, why should I expect anyone else to settle?
Reading quotes always inspire me to be quotable. I was reading of integrity, I don't know where the urge to write of loneliness came from... Well, actually I do, it because you weren't here reading of integrity as well.
Am I the only person that writes quotes? Usually they are extracted from a larger thought, but I find the quotes tend to cut through the pleasantries.
Watching scientists on television. Considering the fact that one or several of them will discover things that will harm us. Someone discovered the atom bomb...
We can define where we are, based on the history of discovery. I live in the united states. Texas, I can further narrow this down to an exact street, address, or even further a specific spot in a room, my latitude and longitude... Etc. But what says I'm here? Columbus discovered America... Texas was decided borders bought and sold,won in wars, refined over time. This property was bought and developed and now exists as a home. What was it before, this space still existed. I existed, in some capacity, we all do, we have and we will. In fact my words on this screen are a piece of me. They will exist, and carry on me. The mere realization of the internet, and it's vast amount of storage, the freedom of knowledge, has changed the capacity, speed and efficiency of the human. Freedom of information has evolved us. Here I am, once again vaguely typing thought process, barely touching on five subjects all at once, the way our brain thinks, until focused. So I'll focus. I'll double back and address each idea I started to form, before getting side tracked to a different idea. Of course, this isn't the me that typed those things, no... I'm future me. I've had time to mull over each topic. The reality of each subject has changed in my reality, thus changing my thoughts on them. I will now type how I feel about them now. Not how past me thought of them, but a (hopefully) evolved, better educated formation of those thoughts. I wish the process itself could be shown, the filter that decides what word to type, if I hadn't put a comma there, you would not read a pause. If I wrote this without spaces it would appeartobemeaningless, even though there is order, without that space, even words lose their meaning.
And now, 24 hours later... Even further into thought, I'd rather post this in its incomplete form than double-back right this moment. But certainly I'm questioning things I'll inspect in further detail. Yet, certainly someone else has already brought up these topics.
We can define where we are, based on the history of discovery. I live in the united states. Texas, I can further narrow this down to an exact street, address, or even further a specific spot in a room, my latitude and longitude... Etc. But what says I'm here? Columbus discovered America... Texas was decided borders bought and sold,won in wars, refined over time. This property was bought and developed and now exists as a home. What was it before, this space still existed. I existed, in some capacity, we all do, we have and we will. In fact my words on this screen are a piece of me. They will exist, and carry on me. The mere realization of the internet, and it's vast amount of storage, the freedom of knowledge, has changed the capacity, speed and efficiency of the human. Freedom of information has evolved us. Here I am, once again vaguely typing thought process, barely touching on five subjects all at once, the way our brain thinks, until focused. So I'll focus. I'll double back and address each idea I started to form, before getting side tracked to a different idea. Of course, this isn't the me that typed those things, no... I'm future me. I've had time to mull over each topic. The reality of each subject has changed in my reality, thus changing my thoughts on them. I will now type how I feel about them now. Not how past me thought of them, but a (hopefully) evolved, better educated formation of those thoughts. I wish the process itself could be shown, the filter that decides what word to type, if I hadn't put a comma there, you would not read a pause. If I wrote this without spaces it would appeartobemeaningless, even though there is order, without that space, even words lose their meaning.
And now, 24 hours later... Even further into thought, I'd rather post this in its incomplete form than double-back right this moment. But certainly I'm questioning things I'll inspect in further detail. Yet, certainly someone else has already brought up these topics.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
"Let's just do it, let's just kill ourselves." she says from the bathroom, the bathtub. It echoes in your head, before a response can be processed..."let's get high one last time and drown, it'll be easy, and we'll be together."
That was years ago, I'm still on this plane, so is she, though hundreds of miles separate us.
Death? It sounds so scary, so final. Once you've died a few times, you get the hang of it. Death and sex are the only things that drive someone. In the greater sense, everything is death and sex. Generally speaking, you're seeking one and trying to avoid the other. Some of us have crossed circuits and they flip. But then intellect mixed with tried and true habitual behavior, makes this easy to understand. Even orgasm, is "little death" translated.
Build your society, deity, work, exercise, social behavior is starting to be lost on me all together.
This is unfinished. I'm tired of typing after three somewhat identical pieces for one morning.
That was years ago, I'm still on this plane, so is she, though hundreds of miles separate us.
Death? It sounds so scary, so final. Once you've died a few times, you get the hang of it. Death and sex are the only things that drive someone. In the greater sense, everything is death and sex. Generally speaking, you're seeking one and trying to avoid the other. Some of us have crossed circuits and they flip. But then intellect mixed with tried and true habitual behavior, makes this easy to understand. Even orgasm, is "little death" translated.
Build your society, deity, work, exercise, social behavior is starting to be lost on me all together.
This is unfinished. I'm tired of typing after three somewhat identical pieces for one morning.
Definition by excess, impulse, consumption. A clove in the hand, it's embers fade as I type, a break... To drag slowly, a French inhale, as much a habit as the device itself. Maybe for you it's coffee, sex, food, television, drugs, or alcohol. You can have your nine-to-five, but even on breaks, at work, you are addicted to them. I say them, because it's not one of those things. A mixture, sometimes one just delays the need or accents another. You're thinking about yours right now, but then... You were fifteen minutes ago as well. Unless you're a very slow reader, I'd clock that before you started reading this. You're mouth is watering now though, because whatever they are that define you, even if you have stayed away for years... You're mouth still moistens when you think about them. All are sexually driven creatures, to state it bluntly, these others are sub-definitions, a habit can outlive sexuality, certainly. Even the successful rehabilitation, is just learning what else you can train yourself to do. Exercise, thrill seek... Any extreme, is a diversion from something else, usually the polar opposite, but not always. What is it that quickens your breath? Causes blood flow to increase? What are you missing right now? You can tell me... I have plenty, collected for years, and as I outgrew them, something always had to fill the void. Children, life's one great distraction... To care for and carry on thy seed. Yet, what happens to the soul ripped away from parenthood? A void that needs filling, that can never be met. You can try to get the gods attention, but no matter what you burn through... There's a hollow. Mine has whittled to a simple life of depravation, I try to neither indulge the impulses, or give in to the depression. What kind of human allows ink filled needles to pierce them thousands of times? Hooks in the back or cheeks to be pulled from? Trading in, selling out, settling down. Orange bottles fill that drawer, never thrown away so month by month an account can be shown. I crave hooks, hard sex, and depressants. In fact, I can't sleep without medication, and usually an orgasm. Pornography though blasphemed has certainly made avoiding the strongest of all urges; flesh, the ultimate goal behind your fast cars, and high heels. Lip-stick, Armani, just sex, in pursuit form. Those two minutes after an orgasm, especially for us men... The only time we think clearly, often, shame or regret fill those two minutes, a scramble to cloth ones self, the shame/sin of nudity, or the realization that you lost control.
Now where are we? My clove went out several minutes ago, my palms are already sweating, I don't even want to smoke. It wastes time, which is it's actual purpose, just distraction. Before the day is done, I'll have watched tv, masterbated, eaten, taken medication to calm, and then to sleep. I'll chew on my lip rings, shake my legs nervously. Anxiety, nerves... Huge issues for me. What am I anticipating? What am I expecting? It never comes, it'll be the same strain tomorrow, just to get to the next day, they pass and nothing happens, nothing substantial . Life-altering wow moment where the wait goes away. We're all waiting for it... No matter how well you distract yourself. The ID inside us, primal self, knows it needs something. You can pray away your semen stained sheets, and cover up your bruises, while you wait, disguise habits, while you wait. In every pleasurable moment I've been in, I've known there would be another, or that it was nowhere near as good as one from the past. Meditate and exercise, pray to the fallen, worship whatever deity that helps you waste time. Even if that deity is self. Waste time, or wait. I'm typing while my heart hurts, literally.... This has become my time, typing rapid thoughts, flashes if life I know we've all lived. But I grow tired of typing. What impulse to feed next?
Now where are we? My clove went out several minutes ago, my palms are already sweating, I don't even want to smoke. It wastes time, which is it's actual purpose, just distraction. Before the day is done, I'll have watched tv, masterbated, eaten, taken medication to calm, and then to sleep. I'll chew on my lip rings, shake my legs nervously. Anxiety, nerves... Huge issues for me. What am I anticipating? What am I expecting? It never comes, it'll be the same strain tomorrow, just to get to the next day, they pass and nothing happens, nothing substantial . Life-altering wow moment where the wait goes away. We're all waiting for it... No matter how well you distract yourself. The ID inside us, primal self, knows it needs something. You can pray away your semen stained sheets, and cover up your bruises, while you wait, disguise habits, while you wait. In every pleasurable moment I've been in, I've known there would be another, or that it was nowhere near as good as one from the past. Meditate and exercise, pray to the fallen, worship whatever deity that helps you waste time. Even if that deity is self. Waste time, or wait. I'm typing while my heart hurts, literally.... This has become my time, typing rapid thoughts, flashes if life I know we've all lived. But I grow tired of typing. What impulse to feed next?
The gravity.
It's how you know you've almost succeeded, yet fell short of the intended goal. It pulls so hard that you can't stand up anymore, you try, no matter how peaceful you feel, for some reason you struggle. I imagine the last thing you'd feel, consciously anyways, would be falling, through the floor, a slight spinning but not lot being drunk, just heavy. Why do we struggle? It was the state you were entering, on purpose. Just fall asleep, go in slumber, to stay forever in rest. No, we struggle, "if I can just stand up, I'll be ok. Go to the bathroom or outside for a minute, and take a few breaths." somehow, we manage to overcome the earths pull, to become biped once more. I, personally have had to spend a few minutes trying to exit a field. Somehow the gravity waited just long enough to let me talk my way out of being surrounded by cops. Hands on batons, asking if I was ok. Six by my count, but I wasn't looking behind myself. They were surrounding me, asking if I was going to hurt myself. No, I already had, now just go away before it kicks. They must have been busy, usually someone like me... I'm a prize, "we got one of the tattooed freaks off the streets." but no, they left. As I turned, to walk home, assuming I was lucky to not have new bracelets around my wrists. The kick, the ground, stomach, can't do a push up, from the back my neck was too heavy. From what I'd assume to be about six minutes I finally stood... Used gravities pull against it, leveraging just enough, to fall gracefully forward and catch myself before dropping, two and a half blocks. Swaying all over the road, no one was watching. By the time I had reached my door, I had driven off the beast I had called upon myself. It ravages, I have a specific blend, but everyone is different, mine is one of a few choice benzodiazepine, and some sangria. Taken in a small moderate dose, it blends to a delightful, relaxed state. In larger amounts, however it makes you very drowsy. In instances I've used other alcohols, the only worth mentioning is absinthe, it could get you there quickly as well. Never again whiskey, not for the intention, black out or violent, before even getting the desired state. Add some sleeping pills, you can feel yourself start to empty. It never comes. One of these days gravity will win, and I'll stay down. Until then, it's just something I hold inside, waiting. A few more sips, a couple more milligrams. I'm nothing more than a cautionary tale, waiting to be told. A shell waiting to be shed. Let me free from this coil, so I can wait to be joined, someday, by those I miss. This life, already lost it's purpose.
It's how you know you've almost succeeded, yet fell short of the intended goal. It pulls so hard that you can't stand up anymore, you try, no matter how peaceful you feel, for some reason you struggle. I imagine the last thing you'd feel, consciously anyways, would be falling, through the floor, a slight spinning but not lot being drunk, just heavy. Why do we struggle? It was the state you were entering, on purpose. Just fall asleep, go in slumber, to stay forever in rest. No, we struggle, "if I can just stand up, I'll be ok. Go to the bathroom or outside for a minute, and take a few breaths." somehow, we manage to overcome the earths pull, to become biped once more. I, personally have had to spend a few minutes trying to exit a field. Somehow the gravity waited just long enough to let me talk my way out of being surrounded by cops. Hands on batons, asking if I was ok. Six by my count, but I wasn't looking behind myself. They were surrounding me, asking if I was going to hurt myself. No, I already had, now just go away before it kicks. They must have been busy, usually someone like me... I'm a prize, "we got one of the tattooed freaks off the streets." but no, they left. As I turned, to walk home, assuming I was lucky to not have new bracelets around my wrists. The kick, the ground, stomach, can't do a push up, from the back my neck was too heavy. From what I'd assume to be about six minutes I finally stood... Used gravities pull against it, leveraging just enough, to fall gracefully forward and catch myself before dropping, two and a half blocks. Swaying all over the road, no one was watching. By the time I had reached my door, I had driven off the beast I had called upon myself. It ravages, I have a specific blend, but everyone is different, mine is one of a few choice benzodiazepine, and some sangria. Taken in a small moderate dose, it blends to a delightful, relaxed state. In larger amounts, however it makes you very drowsy. In instances I've used other alcohols, the only worth mentioning is absinthe, it could get you there quickly as well. Never again whiskey, not for the intention, black out or violent, before even getting the desired state. Add some sleeping pills, you can feel yourself start to empty. It never comes. One of these days gravity will win, and I'll stay down. Until then, it's just something I hold inside, waiting. A few more sips, a couple more milligrams. I'm nothing more than a cautionary tale, waiting to be told. A shell waiting to be shed. Let me free from this coil, so I can wait to be joined, someday, by those I miss. This life, already lost it's purpose.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
The moments that made life worth living. (in no particular order.)
Memories can be made any moment, of any day, though it seems nearly every moment worth remembering, was shared with someone else. You might be in here somewhere, not by name. Just memories. I won't bother putting ex, as a prefix to anything, because in the memory, it wasn't over.
The exact moment I became a father(my sons birth)
The day my daughter was born
My two weddings to the same girl(despite all the pain, there were some good years)
A late night talk, on a bench in a cemetery.
Unrequited love, every single, bitter-sweet one.
When we jumped off a balcony, ran, drunk, ditched all of the pretty girls, just to hang out and talk. Broke my foot jumping off there.
Every trip to incredible pizza with my kids and girlfriend.
When you gave me mouth to mouth, and saved my life, even though I don't remember it, I'm alive because of it.
When I sent a txt, that just said"tell me it'll be ok", and you replied"it'll be ok". You too saved my life.
Doing kind and selfless acts for others, even when they didn't understand. I've spent my adult life, trying to be what everyone should try to be. I hope at some point I did something for you.
When we sat and recorded together, and made something beautiful.
Long walks, with cameras in hand, snapping everything, discovering entire new ideas.
Every minute of every hour, spent on all the stages across the country. With everyone, yes even him. Those nights are all magical, even the loading, and complaining, getting sick, drunken behavior(whether yours, mine or someone else) we would always laugh, and share a one of a kind experience, no matter where we were.
Very recently, and very bittersweet, meeting family I'd never met, my cousins children. They look like her, and they are the same age as my kids, they're amazing, and they make me miss all three of you.
Going to see "it's a wonderful life" with you, holding your hand.
Walking halfway across town with you, to walk you home. Finally getting to know you.
Every intelligent, heart-felt conversation, whether we agreed or disagreed, it was enlightening.
Spending three days with you, on tour, aside from the amazing moments. Secretly falling in love with you in the process. I never told you.
That really brings up a lot of memories. I fall in love too easy, and I wait too long to say it, or I don't even do anything about it. If you thought I was falling for you, I probably was. No matter how innocent.
The first time I saw my daughter walk.
Watching the sun rise that morning in New Orleans, surrounded by my favorite people.
The tattoos above my knees, and the layers of meaning. Especially you.
Making breakfast for my kids, every time, no matter how tired, I had a smile on my face.
That first landed kickflip.
When I realized with both music and photography, I was being taken seriously. My passions, became my life.
Sitting on the balcony, watching the rain with you.
The pride I felt, with every major accomplishment. Not a single one was done alone. I have all of you to thank, for helping make those milestones happen.
The first bandaid I put on my sons scraped knee, even though he was crying, it made me remember when I was in the same position, and how I felt like my parents could fix anything.
The first time my daughter caught a snowflake.
Choosing art over love.
The day last year, that I hit bottom, for probably the third time in two years, but this time, I came to a decision, I forgave you for what you did, I let those weights go, because I couldn't carry my life forward, holding on to old pain. That said, the below section... I don't hold these in anger anymore, they still happened.
The moments that made life very hard to live.
The day Colby took his life.
The day Amy died.
When I found out Andy died of cancer.
When my daughter, wrapped her arms around my leg, and said,"it'll be ok daddy, don't cry."
When I awoke in the hospital, and saw my hands covered in blood.
The night I blacked your eye, maybe I don't remember, but our bond as brothers was never the same.
The night I called you, and tried to commit suicide.
When I thought I could trust four strangers, because you said I could. The brick, the hospital, the next month of recovery.
Every wasted day, spent in fear, self loathing, or anxiety.
The day you said you hate me. You very much meant it.
Watching your heart break, slowly, and not being able to stop it. You're better than that.
Leaving all of my friends behind.
Leaving you behind. My entire family shamed me that day.
The result of that test you took. And knowing I can't be upset about it.
Valentines day, at least four of them, that hurt very badly.
Deciding to call you, to take care of the kids, so I could help get my mother the treatment she needed. That day you took them, put a dark cloud over me, that never passed.
Anytime things got so mundane that I disrespected you.
Holding my son, in the snow, waiting for the ambulance.
When I realized I had failed, despite all good intention, I had wasted years of my life.
When I realized the love wasn't there anymore. It wasn't anyone's fault, we just grew apart.
Not answering your calls, staring at the name, crying.
When I knew you liked me, but decided not to do anything about it, because I was moving, and didn't want to break your heart.
Being so alone, and feeling like it'll never change.
Seeing people get what they deserve, no matter how bad they are, or how long it took. It always comes, and it's never good seeing someone hurt, even if it was karma.
Every stupid, cocky, intoxicated night, I'd act like an ass, and wake full of shame.
The things I can't change about myself, the things that lead me to self-hate. No amount of willpower or responsibility can change most of them.
My addictions, past, present, future. We're all addicted to something in every part of our life, usually to multiple things. Realizing I can't change that, is worse than the addiction itself.
The dissolving of every music project, it never gets easy to know you'll never share that stage again.
Wishing you would die. No matter what someone does, that is a wish wasted on hate.
When my own dr gave up on me, I was old enough to know better. Yet young enough to be very hurt and confused.
When we let the sickness go too far, our denial changed our lives forever, and bound us to something we have to live with. I regret what I was about to type here.
Choosing art over love.
Setting this list down, and realizing, I can't change, or add to, a single thing on it. That is the point of memories, they are the past. There is so much longing, so much regret. Time has faded our bonds, whether unkind words, misunderstanding, death, or merely hundreds of miles. I can't change, fix, make up for, continue, or properly tell you how I feel. A literal pull is on my heart, because it's not in my chest, it's with you.
This list will be added to over time, but that's all of the goods, bads, and the rollercoaster I can handle right now.
I love and respect you.
Memories can be made any moment, of any day, though it seems nearly every moment worth remembering, was shared with someone else. You might be in here somewhere, not by name. Just memories. I won't bother putting ex, as a prefix to anything, because in the memory, it wasn't over.
The exact moment I became a father(my sons birth)
The day my daughter was born
My two weddings to the same girl(despite all the pain, there were some good years)
A late night talk, on a bench in a cemetery.
Unrequited love, every single, bitter-sweet one.
When we jumped off a balcony, ran, drunk, ditched all of the pretty girls, just to hang out and talk. Broke my foot jumping off there.
Every trip to incredible pizza with my kids and girlfriend.
When you gave me mouth to mouth, and saved my life, even though I don't remember it, I'm alive because of it.
When I sent a txt, that just said"tell me it'll be ok", and you replied"it'll be ok". You too saved my life.
Doing kind and selfless acts for others, even when they didn't understand. I've spent my adult life, trying to be what everyone should try to be. I hope at some point I did something for you.
When we sat and recorded together, and made something beautiful.
Long walks, with cameras in hand, snapping everything, discovering entire new ideas.
Every minute of every hour, spent on all the stages across the country. With everyone, yes even him. Those nights are all magical, even the loading, and complaining, getting sick, drunken behavior(whether yours, mine or someone else) we would always laugh, and share a one of a kind experience, no matter where we were.
Very recently, and very bittersweet, meeting family I'd never met, my cousins children. They look like her, and they are the same age as my kids, they're amazing, and they make me miss all three of you.
Going to see "it's a wonderful life" with you, holding your hand.
Walking halfway across town with you, to walk you home. Finally getting to know you.
Every intelligent, heart-felt conversation, whether we agreed or disagreed, it was enlightening.
Spending three days with you, on tour, aside from the amazing moments. Secretly falling in love with you in the process. I never told you.
That really brings up a lot of memories. I fall in love too easy, and I wait too long to say it, or I don't even do anything about it. If you thought I was falling for you, I probably was. No matter how innocent.
The first time I saw my daughter walk.
Watching the sun rise that morning in New Orleans, surrounded by my favorite people.
The tattoos above my knees, and the layers of meaning. Especially you.
Making breakfast for my kids, every time, no matter how tired, I had a smile on my face.
That first landed kickflip.
When I realized with both music and photography, I was being taken seriously. My passions, became my life.
Sitting on the balcony, watching the rain with you.
The pride I felt, with every major accomplishment. Not a single one was done alone. I have all of you to thank, for helping make those milestones happen.
The first bandaid I put on my sons scraped knee, even though he was crying, it made me remember when I was in the same position, and how I felt like my parents could fix anything.
The first time my daughter caught a snowflake.
Choosing art over love.
The day last year, that I hit bottom, for probably the third time in two years, but this time, I came to a decision, I forgave you for what you did, I let those weights go, because I couldn't carry my life forward, holding on to old pain. That said, the below section... I don't hold these in anger anymore, they still happened.
The moments that made life very hard to live.
The day Colby took his life.
The day Amy died.
When I found out Andy died of cancer.
When my daughter, wrapped her arms around my leg, and said,"it'll be ok daddy, don't cry."
When I awoke in the hospital, and saw my hands covered in blood.
The night I blacked your eye, maybe I don't remember, but our bond as brothers was never the same.
The night I called you, and tried to commit suicide.
When I thought I could trust four strangers, because you said I could. The brick, the hospital, the next month of recovery.
Every wasted day, spent in fear, self loathing, or anxiety.
The day you said you hate me. You very much meant it.
Watching your heart break, slowly, and not being able to stop it. You're better than that.
Leaving all of my friends behind.
Leaving you behind. My entire family shamed me that day.
The result of that test you took. And knowing I can't be upset about it.
Valentines day, at least four of them, that hurt very badly.
Deciding to call you, to take care of the kids, so I could help get my mother the treatment she needed. That day you took them, put a dark cloud over me, that never passed.
Anytime things got so mundane that I disrespected you.
Holding my son, in the snow, waiting for the ambulance.
When I realized I had failed, despite all good intention, I had wasted years of my life.
When I realized the love wasn't there anymore. It wasn't anyone's fault, we just grew apart.
Not answering your calls, staring at the name, crying.
When I knew you liked me, but decided not to do anything about it, because I was moving, and didn't want to break your heart.
Being so alone, and feeling like it'll never change.
Seeing people get what they deserve, no matter how bad they are, or how long it took. It always comes, and it's never good seeing someone hurt, even if it was karma.
Every stupid, cocky, intoxicated night, I'd act like an ass, and wake full of shame.
The things I can't change about myself, the things that lead me to self-hate. No amount of willpower or responsibility can change most of them.
My addictions, past, present, future. We're all addicted to something in every part of our life, usually to multiple things. Realizing I can't change that, is worse than the addiction itself.
The dissolving of every music project, it never gets easy to know you'll never share that stage again.
Wishing you would die. No matter what someone does, that is a wish wasted on hate.
When my own dr gave up on me, I was old enough to know better. Yet young enough to be very hurt and confused.
When we let the sickness go too far, our denial changed our lives forever, and bound us to something we have to live with. I regret what I was about to type here.
Choosing art over love.
Setting this list down, and realizing, I can't change, or add to, a single thing on it. That is the point of memories, they are the past. There is so much longing, so much regret. Time has faded our bonds, whether unkind words, misunderstanding, death, or merely hundreds of miles. I can't change, fix, make up for, continue, or properly tell you how I feel. A literal pull is on my heart, because it's not in my chest, it's with you.
This list will be added to over time, but that's all of the goods, bads, and the rollercoaster I can handle right now.
I love and respect you.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
I need to open my mouth, to scream until whatever god in the heavens hears and understands how I feel inside.
Hollow, I carry on my daily tasks, slowly scratching my name in this stain of existence. I'm forgetting to feed my soul, to allow margin for error. To live. Cutting away with precision at these projects, I neglect the person behind the machines.
Wire-fed and tied, consumption in 1,s and 0's. Bled out to a new code, life-blood for bytes.
Sickness abounds everywhere I look, and I can't point a finger because I am bred from the same DNA. I can't slow down what time has in store, merely watch the cycles unfold.
My struggle to stay social is measured in milligrams. My lack of conformity is a sad joke I played on myself.
I can't complain, as life tosses me plenty of opportunities... Just none for happiness.
Lonely is a shitty place to live. It withers the mind, and changes everything about a person. It's not necessarily companionship I seek, just not this void. People manifest when something is needed, and just as quickly vanish from sight.
Don't assume this is about you. Seems I have to write that in everything I voice. Maybe this time you should... How much do any of you know about what's happening in my life right now? Outside these 4 walls, maybe three people understand what's wrong.
I can't explain it without sounding depressed. I just wanted to type it out for my own benefit.
Things are not ok, and all appearances will say otherwise, bit the cold in my home gets stronger with each days passage.
Hollow, I carry on my daily tasks, slowly scratching my name in this stain of existence. I'm forgetting to feed my soul, to allow margin for error. To live. Cutting away with precision at these projects, I neglect the person behind the machines.
Wire-fed and tied, consumption in 1,s and 0's. Bled out to a new code, life-blood for bytes.
Sickness abounds everywhere I look, and I can't point a finger because I am bred from the same DNA. I can't slow down what time has in store, merely watch the cycles unfold.
My struggle to stay social is measured in milligrams. My lack of conformity is a sad joke I played on myself.
I can't complain, as life tosses me plenty of opportunities... Just none for happiness.
Lonely is a shitty place to live. It withers the mind, and changes everything about a person. It's not necessarily companionship I seek, just not this void. People manifest when something is needed, and just as quickly vanish from sight.
Don't assume this is about you. Seems I have to write that in everything I voice. Maybe this time you should... How much do any of you know about what's happening in my life right now? Outside these 4 walls, maybe three people understand what's wrong.
I can't explain it without sounding depressed. I just wanted to type it out for my own benefit.
Things are not ok, and all appearances will say otherwise, bit the cold in my home gets stronger with each days passage.
Monday, February 27, 2012
Night terrors, sleep paralysis and what it tells us.
Walking alone down a long, dimly lit corridor, old paintings hang on the walls, the floors are scattered with paper and debris. I turn to focus on one wall, instead of finding a painting, I see a television hung sideways instead. The world quickly shifts and I realize it's not the television that's sideways, it's me. My eyes are open and I'm looking across the living room, at the tv which is turned off. I'm on the couch, moaning quietly. In my head, I'm screaming, flailing trying to wake my body, but barely a twitch comes in response to the waking world. I spend a couple more hours in and out of dreams and paralysis, sometimes purposefully forcing my way back into dreamscape out of aggravation with my lifeless body.
This is very common for some, sleep paralysis, sometimes night terrors, the two are intertwined. As horrific as the above scenario may seem, it's common place in my life. I'm an insomniac, quite severe actually, when left to my own tendencies, I can stay awake for three or four days, which has a horrible toll in the body and mind. I take medication, to help me sleep, which works well, though it increases my paralysis, trying to keep me asleep.
The situation in the couch told me a great deal, and finally answered some questions. As scary as it sounded, it was just very uneasy, shaking and vertigo, and frustration with not being able to speak. Every other time I've had paralysis, it was also defined as a night terror. Science defines it as bringing back dream fragments into our world, because we are still asleep, but our eyes are open. The dreamer is paralyzed, something the body does to protect us, otherwise we'd sleep walk or roll out of bed all the time. Then according to science we re-situate these dream fragments to fit what our eyes see, causing it to look like things are standing in our room late at night.
There's the science of it. Here's the reality for anyone I know that's ever had a night terror. You may not even think you're asleep, much less had time to enter REM( the point at which science says we dream, three hours into a sleep cycle) suddenly something is sitting on your chest, or something is in the corner speaking in an unknown tongue, your frozen, can't scream, can't make it go away. There are several points I'll make here, as I've had ample time to study them, but they'll come in no particular order.
I'll start with a question I posed myself: why if these are dream fragments, are they always incredibly evil? Why do they feel external? My mind could not Imagine some o the things I've seen... Literally, I couldn't grasp it, yet according to science my mind created it. Another question begging to be answered: I'm a very active lucid dreamer, if I know this is partial dreamscape, why can't I control it? 90% of the time if I'm having a lucid dream, I can shift the world or control any dream character, so why do these fragments taunt me?
As of last night, I have had paralysis, without the night terror. I won't say it was fun, but it wasn't pure evil either, and there was a degree of control to it, despite my body being shut off. Only upon further, similar experiences can I begin to answer questions about this, I assume it'll become another dream trigger, if my eyes open and I can't wake, I'll close them and become lucid. The opposite usually works for people who don't experience lucid dreams often. If you're having a nightmare, blink quickly, soon your real eyes will open and you'll be awake.
I am going to start studying night terrors, I have read several books that had a few chapters but nothing devoted to the subject. As I believe in a mixture of science, spirituality and psychology, I'd like to find non-scientific material approaching the subject. These "dreams" do not feel like they are part of me, although they are often the post result of a nightmare, that much isn't even the case always. Sometimes I am having a perfectly peaceful, normal dream, then suddenly thrust into this horrific scene in my room. It can hurt, the weight on your chest, aching. One thing that caught my attention, they do not respond like normal dream characters, and will defy commands, that any lucid scene would change, however sometimes they respond to spiritual commands, prayer, Christian techniques, the belief that letting an entity know it has no dominion and cannot hurt you. They sometimes respond to this, possibly get more aggressive or dissipate.
There is a lot more here I could talk about, and I'll probably do a part 2, as I encounter and study more. I'm interested by the less looming paralysis, as it could be a useful tool, rather than a bad experience.
Just know, if you are haunted by these type of dreams or phenomena, you are not alone, I have them often, and I've read many case studies. Right now I'm going to search for more solid written material. Sweet dreams.
Walking alone down a long, dimly lit corridor, old paintings hang on the walls, the floors are scattered with paper and debris. I turn to focus on one wall, instead of finding a painting, I see a television hung sideways instead. The world quickly shifts and I realize it's not the television that's sideways, it's me. My eyes are open and I'm looking across the living room, at the tv which is turned off. I'm on the couch, moaning quietly. In my head, I'm screaming, flailing trying to wake my body, but barely a twitch comes in response to the waking world. I spend a couple more hours in and out of dreams and paralysis, sometimes purposefully forcing my way back into dreamscape out of aggravation with my lifeless body.
This is very common for some, sleep paralysis, sometimes night terrors, the two are intertwined. As horrific as the above scenario may seem, it's common place in my life. I'm an insomniac, quite severe actually, when left to my own tendencies, I can stay awake for three or four days, which has a horrible toll in the body and mind. I take medication, to help me sleep, which works well, though it increases my paralysis, trying to keep me asleep.
The situation in the couch told me a great deal, and finally answered some questions. As scary as it sounded, it was just very uneasy, shaking and vertigo, and frustration with not being able to speak. Every other time I've had paralysis, it was also defined as a night terror. Science defines it as bringing back dream fragments into our world, because we are still asleep, but our eyes are open. The dreamer is paralyzed, something the body does to protect us, otherwise we'd sleep walk or roll out of bed all the time. Then according to science we re-situate these dream fragments to fit what our eyes see, causing it to look like things are standing in our room late at night.
There's the science of it. Here's the reality for anyone I know that's ever had a night terror. You may not even think you're asleep, much less had time to enter REM( the point at which science says we dream, three hours into a sleep cycle) suddenly something is sitting on your chest, or something is in the corner speaking in an unknown tongue, your frozen, can't scream, can't make it go away. There are several points I'll make here, as I've had ample time to study them, but they'll come in no particular order.
I'll start with a question I posed myself: why if these are dream fragments, are they always incredibly evil? Why do they feel external? My mind could not Imagine some o the things I've seen... Literally, I couldn't grasp it, yet according to science my mind created it. Another question begging to be answered: I'm a very active lucid dreamer, if I know this is partial dreamscape, why can't I control it? 90% of the time if I'm having a lucid dream, I can shift the world or control any dream character, so why do these fragments taunt me?
As of last night, I have had paralysis, without the night terror. I won't say it was fun, but it wasn't pure evil either, and there was a degree of control to it, despite my body being shut off. Only upon further, similar experiences can I begin to answer questions about this, I assume it'll become another dream trigger, if my eyes open and I can't wake, I'll close them and become lucid. The opposite usually works for people who don't experience lucid dreams often. If you're having a nightmare, blink quickly, soon your real eyes will open and you'll be awake.
I am going to start studying night terrors, I have read several books that had a few chapters but nothing devoted to the subject. As I believe in a mixture of science, spirituality and psychology, I'd like to find non-scientific material approaching the subject. These "dreams" do not feel like they are part of me, although they are often the post result of a nightmare, that much isn't even the case always. Sometimes I am having a perfectly peaceful, normal dream, then suddenly thrust into this horrific scene in my room. It can hurt, the weight on your chest, aching. One thing that caught my attention, they do not respond like normal dream characters, and will defy commands, that any lucid scene would change, however sometimes they respond to spiritual commands, prayer, Christian techniques, the belief that letting an entity know it has no dominion and cannot hurt you. They sometimes respond to this, possibly get more aggressive or dissipate.
There is a lot more here I could talk about, and I'll probably do a part 2, as I encounter and study more. I'm interested by the less looming paralysis, as it could be a useful tool, rather than a bad experience.
Just know, if you are haunted by these type of dreams or phenomena, you are not alone, I have them often, and I've read many case studies. Right now I'm going to search for more solid written material. Sweet dreams.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
In life the pain you'll regret, as much as the love you'll forget. Mark my words, pain you'll hate, and love you'll know. In time they both feed what we learn to grow.
To not know ruin, is to not accept love... Never speak of the above. I share with you, what you'll not accept, but in dark times learn to regret. The knowledge of, can bear fruit. More oft' than not, a sad pursuit.
The heart breaks, to feel it amend. The discontent, above we send.
On wings of angel we doth sow, our prayers to God for him to know.
May they be answered, may they be not. A thing of beauty; love, even wrong for naught.
To not know ruin, is to not accept love... Never speak of the above. I share with you, what you'll not accept, but in dark times learn to regret. The knowledge of, can bear fruit. More oft' than not, a sad pursuit.
The heart breaks, to feel it amend. The discontent, above we send.
On wings of angel we doth sow, our prayers to God for him to know.
May they be answered, may they be not. A thing of beauty; love, even wrong for naught.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
90% of this feels quoted, but if it is, I'm unaware of the source. Surely inspired by others, but thoughts that ring true in my personal life.
Why is the hardest thing to recall in life the warmth of a touch? Is it because of how fleeting it seems, or because we take it for granted?
Life happens while we wait for it to start.
The greatest memories we possess are never ones we spent alone. Yet how often do we bother recalling them until the company is gone?
I am wasting my days, precious time, swaddled in regret, or hopeful for something I screw up. Right now is happening and what am I doing about it? I'm typing things that others may heed a glint of wisdom from, yet I have better ways to be living my life, if this were the last thing I ever bothered writing down, I'd have lived a worthwhile existence.
Why is the hardest thing to recall in life the warmth of a touch? Is it because of how fleeting it seems, or because we take it for granted?
Life happens while we wait for it to start.
The greatest memories we possess are never ones we spent alone. Yet how often do we bother recalling them until the company is gone?
I am wasting my days, precious time, swaddled in regret, or hopeful for something I screw up. Right now is happening and what am I doing about it? I'm typing things that others may heed a glint of wisdom from, yet I have better ways to be living my life, if this were the last thing I ever bothered writing down, I'd have lived a worthwhile existence.
Monday, February 13, 2012
I almost forgot.
It's easy to lose track of ideas, especially ones that can change you're life. I'm going back to the love no matter what happens state of mind. I keep feeling like I'm about to get hurt.
If I'm truly offering my love no matter what, then I don't really have a reason to feel hurt by anything.
Can you tell it's feb? I keep talking about emotions and touchy feely stuff... Back to work boy.
If I'm truly offering my love no matter what, then I don't really have a reason to feel hurt by anything.
Can you tell it's feb? I keep talking about emotions and touchy feely stuff... Back to work boy.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
I usually pre-type this stuff.
To avoid spelling errors, to stay on point, and well to avoid regret. I usually re-read it before I post unless it's silly. This isn't silly, and it's about regret, so I'm typing it straight to the blog, so I don't change my mind, or water anything down.
I liked myself better when you were around. That's sounds crazy and backwards, but it's true, and the only part of this whole thing I decided in advance. The more it bounced through my head all morning the more true it became.
Fucked up fate kept me from changing both our lives forever, and what will be a tiny memory for you someday of "that guy", will for me be the one thing I get to grasp onto, for a life I almost got to live.
Yeah, this already sounds crazy and too extreme, just damnit... That was so fucked up, and in good conscience no one can be upset about it. Because it all leads to something wonderful soon. Just not for me. I'm the memory, not the man.
I think I'll cut this short and maybe retain whatever bit of dignity I have in this situation. (I started to re-read it to add on, but a promise is a promise) *send button*
I liked myself better when you were around. That's sounds crazy and backwards, but it's true, and the only part of this whole thing I decided in advance. The more it bounced through my head all morning the more true it became.
Fucked up fate kept me from changing both our lives forever, and what will be a tiny memory for you someday of "that guy", will for me be the one thing I get to grasp onto, for a life I almost got to live.
Yeah, this already sounds crazy and too extreme, just damnit... That was so fucked up, and in good conscience no one can be upset about it. Because it all leads to something wonderful soon. Just not for me. I'm the memory, not the man.
I think I'll cut this short and maybe retain whatever bit of dignity I have in this situation. (I started to re-read it to add on, but a promise is a promise) *send button*
Friday, February 10, 2012
There is another face I dare not show
Another side of me you shall not know
This dark half held deep inside
For once it opens I'll be split wide
There's simply a side of me that you cannot heal
No passage of time can unwind what I feel
Unending waves of turmoil abound
my dark passenger makes no sound
It lies inside me scratching it way out
With deafening scream, a silent shout
Another side of me you shall not know
This dark half held deep inside
For once it opens I'll be split wide
There's simply a side of me that you cannot heal
No passage of time can unwind what I feel
Unending waves of turmoil abound
my dark passenger makes no sound
It lies inside me scratching it way out
With deafening scream, a silent shout
Humanity
It sounds shallow but honestly, one reason I've never committed myself to a psych ward, is because I don't want my piercings closing.
I eat like you, and I shit like you. But our commonality ends soon after that. I simply am not like other humans. I talk differently, act differently, and obvious look quite different. I began separating my physical appearance on purpose, then it took a life of it's own.
It must be an illness, right? I do have mental disorders, that mostly stem from my brains inability to slow down.
I can't sleep, and have severe anxiety, because my mind will not shut off. Which causes physical problems as well. Is intellect an illness? The world has grown dumb around me, and I have to question if it's just me that's wrong.
It's been 24 hrs since I wrote that first part. Unsure of whether to share it. I share everything. That's why I'm writing this now, I hurt, and if you think you know why, you don't. The person that hurt me, doesn't know, and it's not their fault. They will also never read this, or get a chance to know me this well. I will close myself off to them, rather than allow further insult. It's a shame because they could have been special. Instead, of course they are like everyone else. I forgive them, I release my hurt on this page, and I move on. I've barely opened my heart up and felt hurt twice in two weeks. Maybe it's a mistake.
I know there are a few possible eyes skimming this right now, and one pair that's afraid it's about them, it's not. I love you, and even with the hurt, through the hurt... I'll not give up on you.
Back to the rather ambiguous topic. People are shit, the world has grown mean, I feel misanthropic, except I open myself to anyone that cares. So in some aspect I'm the exact opposite. I have faith in mankind, I just keep being let down.
All of this human emotion, sadness, it's hurting my work, although I know in a few days it'll stoke the flames, right now it hurts. I don't want to close myself off again, but I don't wan to feel like this all the time either. A few deep breaths and compose myself. I don't feel lime I need to dwell anymore so I'm closing this up here.
I eat like you, and I shit like you. But our commonality ends soon after that. I simply am not like other humans. I talk differently, act differently, and obvious look quite different. I began separating my physical appearance on purpose, then it took a life of it's own.
It must be an illness, right? I do have mental disorders, that mostly stem from my brains inability to slow down.
I can't sleep, and have severe anxiety, because my mind will not shut off. Which causes physical problems as well. Is intellect an illness? The world has grown dumb around me, and I have to question if it's just me that's wrong.
It's been 24 hrs since I wrote that first part. Unsure of whether to share it. I share everything. That's why I'm writing this now, I hurt, and if you think you know why, you don't. The person that hurt me, doesn't know, and it's not their fault. They will also never read this, or get a chance to know me this well. I will close myself off to them, rather than allow further insult. It's a shame because they could have been special. Instead, of course they are like everyone else. I forgive them, I release my hurt on this page, and I move on. I've barely opened my heart up and felt hurt twice in two weeks. Maybe it's a mistake.
I know there are a few possible eyes skimming this right now, and one pair that's afraid it's about them, it's not. I love you, and even with the hurt, through the hurt... I'll not give up on you.
Back to the rather ambiguous topic. People are shit, the world has grown mean, I feel misanthropic, except I open myself to anyone that cares. So in some aspect I'm the exact opposite. I have faith in mankind, I just keep being let down.
All of this human emotion, sadness, it's hurting my work, although I know in a few days it'll stoke the flames, right now it hurts. I don't want to close myself off again, but I don't wan to feel like this all the time either. A few deep breaths and compose myself. I don't feel lime I need to dwell anymore so I'm closing this up here.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
This sucks, because I can't sleep.
But I'm posting it anyways.
Strip everything away except the fear.
Dissolve the pain that comes with time.
I held you once, now not so near.
Erase this verse, forget this rhyme.
I'd give it all away for one so dear.
Commit myself unto this earth my final crime.
Excluded from your life, yet so close.
To let you live in peace, a path I chose.
Gave up everything, filled with regret.
I want it back now, unhedge my bet.
I could have begged, I could have cried.
It makes no difference in my mind.
Stayed strong, pretended to be fine.
Really weak, unfolded with time.
Those final memories, choked back with tears.
I life unknown for many years.
A path un-chose now has been closed off
The picture painted is never gone
Strip everything away except the fear.
Dissolve the pain that comes with time.
I held you once, now not so near.
Erase this verse, forget this rhyme.
I'd give it all away for one so dear.
Commit myself unto this earth my final crime.
Excluded from your life, yet so close.
To let you live in peace, a path I chose.
Gave up everything, filled with regret.
I want it back now, unhedge my bet.
I could have begged, I could have cried.
It makes no difference in my mind.
Stayed strong, pretended to be fine.
Really weak, unfolded with time.
Those final memories, choked back with tears.
I life unknown for many years.
A path un-chose now has been closed off
The picture painted is never gone
In reply part blah blah blah
Ok these are coming in as typed now. I'd rather save some of this than have it trampled by time.
I'd rather focus on the abandon than the greed.
-Greed makes us weak. The illusion of power, leads to our demise. You can't fall if you're already on the floor. True evolution, supersedes greed, in search if wisdom instead. Write that on a fucking fortune cookie. Lucky numbers: 22 79 333 7734
I'd rather focus on the abandon than the greed.
-Greed makes us weak. The illusion of power, leads to our demise. You can't fall if you're already on the floor. True evolution, supersedes greed, in search if wisdom instead. Write that on a fucking fortune cookie. Lucky numbers: 22 79 333 7734
And two
My old friend
Look down the barrel
Tell me what you see
The last thing you focus on.
Before you leave.
Pull the trigger, save us time.
A life lived in hatred is better gone
An insect, on it's knees.
Pray forgiveness
Then just bleed
Cock the hammer
Let it be
Empty the chamber
Set us free
No more drama no more need
The stain erased with one deed
Disappear now from this coil
Embrace your hate in the soil
Embrace the soil
Same old trend
I have no quarrel
Just let it be
The reason that I wrote this song
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Bite the barrel, taste the rust.
Look down the barrel
Tell me what you see
The last thing you focus on.
Before you leave.
Pull the trigger, save us time.
A life lived in hatred is better gone
An insect, on it's knees.
Pray forgiveness
Then just bleed
Cock the hammer
Let it be
Empty the chamber
Set us free
No more drama no more need
The stain erased with one deed
Disappear now from this coil
Embrace your hate in the soil
Embrace the soil
Same old trend
I have no quarrel
Just let it be
The reason that I wrote this song
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Bite the barrel, taste the rust.
This has been written three ways, two of which I care to share.
Look down the barrel my old friend
Focus on this last thing before the end
I've wasted so much energy on your hate
Take a breath smell the metal I can wait
Put your hands up to your face
Pray one last time for saving grace
You're negativity hurt them all
Now on your knees they see you crawl
Open wide now please close your eyes
Recant the deeds that led to your demise
Swallow hard now my old friend
Off to hell now you'll descend
The barrel empties in your head
From this simple bit of lead
I've dug this grave with my own hands
Burrow deep now into the sands
Each pile of dirt is better than
What lies before me once a man
Mistake this not for my revenge
Not a selfish act for my own end
On this day so many lives are freed
All their pain is gone while you just bleed
Such a sad and senseless deed
Upon their fears you would feed
But now we've made it to the end
Close your eyes now my old friend
This won't play out in this life
The memory however long since died
Focus on this last thing before the end
I've wasted so much energy on your hate
Take a breath smell the metal I can wait
Put your hands up to your face
Pray one last time for saving grace
You're negativity hurt them all
Now on your knees they see you crawl
Open wide now please close your eyes
Recant the deeds that led to your demise
Swallow hard now my old friend
Off to hell now you'll descend
The barrel empties in your head
From this simple bit of lead
I've dug this grave with my own hands
Burrow deep now into the sands
Each pile of dirt is better than
What lies before me once a man
Mistake this not for my revenge
Not a selfish act for my own end
On this day so many lives are freed
All their pain is gone while you just bleed
Such a sad and senseless deed
Upon their fears you would feed
But now we've made it to the end
Close your eyes now my old friend
This won't play out in this life
The memory however long since died
More stuff, now with cheese.
Secret contact from old souls
Uncharted life's taking tole
Regret buried in cryptic passage
Barely recognized in its message
Longing to unwind days since past
Unable to accept fates current path
Laid out a final chapter to remember
The reality of mistakes to render.
Uncharted life's taking tole
Regret buried in cryptic passage
Barely recognized in its message
Longing to unwind days since past
Unable to accept fates current path
Laid out a final chapter to remember
The reality of mistakes to render.
In reply, part 2
Here it comes again, can you feel it? the Silence that envelopes everything. Preparing for the waves of crashing hush. The good periods are too quickly swallowed, bittersweet and then they're gone.
----------------------
Through half closed eyes I yearn for king nemo, to navigate my pillow to his land of slumber. Steal this day from me, and trade it instead for tomorrows sanity.
-I want to sleep... But I'm staring at the tickling cock on the wall, counting the hours until it's time to record, and then spend time with someone for their birthday. Time waits for no man, no rest for the wicked, third clever quote for the sake of rule of three's.
-it's not digital, the old kind. With the big thing, and the little thing, that points at the things. You know.
-Just hit the point where everything balances. Deprivation is fun for the next 20 minutes. Somehow I'm having three conversations at once... Two of which are related to hot beef.
------------------------
----------------------
Through half closed eyes I yearn for king nemo, to navigate my pillow to his land of slumber. Steal this day from me, and trade it instead for tomorrows sanity.
-I want to sleep... But I'm staring at the tickling cock on the wall, counting the hours until it's time to record, and then spend time with someone for their birthday. Time waits for no man, no rest for the wicked, third clever quote for the sake of rule of three's.
-it's not digital, the old kind. With the big thing, and the little thing, that points at the things. You know.
-Just hit the point where everything balances. Deprivation is fun for the next 20 minutes. Somehow I'm having three conversations at once... Two of which are related to hot beef.
------------------------
In reply.
IThese are merely rapid fire answers to some of the questions asked recently:
It was merely the idea of romance this time, not even the actual state, that left everything broken. The mere idea that it could exist, changed me inside, I'll not turn back to save the hurt. Instead move forward with a wary vigilance. I didn't even know it was seeking me, until it was found, but gone too soon. Dissociative could describe my last year and a half. The heart stored high on a shelf out of reach, collecting dust. Someone had to climb up there, take a peek, and accidentally opened the crack, that had long since sealed. It now seeps precious fluid, even as the wandering eyes have long since passed. Now it wants again. How do we feed something, that we want to deny?
---------------------
That's not immunity, you are the sickness. Rot-guts and fresh wounds, we are the patient 0's.
---------------------
Holy crap that really is a Hebrew duck! Is that even kosher?
---------------------
If knowledge is power, and time is money; I want to be the most powerful man in the world, unfortunately I don't have the time.
----------------------
It was merely the idea of romance this time, not even the actual state, that left everything broken. The mere idea that it could exist, changed me inside, I'll not turn back to save the hurt. Instead move forward with a wary vigilance. I didn't even know it was seeking me, until it was found, but gone too soon. Dissociative could describe my last year and a half. The heart stored high on a shelf out of reach, collecting dust. Someone had to climb up there, take a peek, and accidentally opened the crack, that had long since sealed. It now seeps precious fluid, even as the wandering eyes have long since passed. Now it wants again. How do we feed something, that we want to deny?
---------------------
That's not immunity, you are the sickness. Rot-guts and fresh wounds, we are the patient 0's.
---------------------
Holy crap that really is a Hebrew duck! Is that even kosher?
---------------------
If knowledge is power, and time is money; I want to be the most powerful man in the world, unfortunately I don't have the time.
----------------------
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