She.
There have been two women in my life, all of the others I've known have just been compared and measured by their standard. Two pivotal roles, two reasons for joy and so much anguish. One has only known this world for nine years, gives me so much pride, so much love, it hurts everyday to miss her so much. One has been with me since birth, compassionate, intelligent, and no one ever measures up. One is the reason to keep living, and one is mentally ill. The challenges to care for one, and to be a role model for the other are harder everyday. There are some amazing women in my life, each reaps rewards and challenges to know. There are only two that have permanent residency in my heart. My mother and my daughter, they set the bar so high for the rest of you. Freud would dissect me if he read this.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Today I woke up dead.
This opens with a warning, I will certainly be labeled as volatile, unstable and damaged once you read this. I'm keeping a promise to write how I feel. This is just how I feel right this second. If I could censor it and still make my point I would. I'm sorry.
Today I woke up dead. There was a calm in the air, a sense of justice. Past debts repaid on some cosmic scale. The dark vortex around my spirit had released it's captives, you were all once again free to go about your lives. Wonder how you all missed the signs, when I was telling you without encryption, your friend is not long for this world. I've always wondered how someone could justify feeling this way, but the effect my existence has on those that surround me, has such a negative impact, how can I justify putting them through any more pain? I try to live for positivity, I desire nothing more than to make you happy. The flame inside of me burns bright, but the direction it burns now, is just not right. I can have so much passion for this world, or I can sink into a bed of my own making.
I'm sorry I've fucked up your life, caused you so much strife. I can't change the things once done, but maybe I can change just one. I'm sorry I didn't let the drunk give me a ride. I'm sorry most of all that I'm even alive. Today I woke up dead.
This opens with a warning, I will certainly be labeled as volatile, unstable and damaged once you read this. I'm keeping a promise to write how I feel. This is just how I feel right this second. If I could censor it and still make my point I would. I'm sorry.
Today I woke up dead. There was a calm in the air, a sense of justice. Past debts repaid on some cosmic scale. The dark vortex around my spirit had released it's captives, you were all once again free to go about your lives. Wonder how you all missed the signs, when I was telling you without encryption, your friend is not long for this world. I've always wondered how someone could justify feeling this way, but the effect my existence has on those that surround me, has such a negative impact, how can I justify putting them through any more pain? I try to live for positivity, I desire nothing more than to make you happy. The flame inside of me burns bright, but the direction it burns now, is just not right. I can have so much passion for this world, or I can sink into a bed of my own making.
I'm sorry I've fucked up your life, caused you so much strife. I can't change the things once done, but maybe I can change just one. I'm sorry I didn't let the drunk give me a ride. I'm sorry most of all that I'm even alive. Today I woke up dead.
Quick!
Let's all take off our shoes and soak our feet in grey matter for a bit. My head is swimming with ideas. Quick someone hand me a paintbrush, a cello bow, copper wire, pint of jack daniels, two midgets, a clown nose, three unwashed potatoes, and a clove cigarette... We've got some art to make...
Marriage, it can be miserable after a few years, and yet if you spend long enough in one, you have no idea how to return to normal life. The reality is, it's been years since things ended,(no secret) but a lifetime of always being in a relationship, and monogamy, makes a healthy trip back to being single and independent a hard road to travel. Mix in a couple of amazing kids, that I don't get to see often, and enough head injuries to make me a really odd person to be around... You get one lonely man; the purest of intentions, and all the chivalry in the world, but people see me and they expect a bad boy, unless it's playtime, I'm just not that anymore. Quiet, shy unless properly medicated, which is rare these days.
This whole thing had a point, and I've strayed way off it... I've noticed I only write when I feel upset, which isn't that often, I just don't document the good times.
I find my life somewhere I never expected it to wind up, the stress and anxiety have crippled my coping skills. I seldom leave the house, I feel unmotivated, almost repulsed by the idea of being productive. I have plenty of projects to work on, but the desire to produce is simply not present.
There's never a single moment I feel comfortable, people are in my house around the clock, oddly, I'm always home, yet never get a moment alone; I'm lonely, yet need my privacy to dance around the house to depeche mode sometimes. Don't get me wrong here, I love the people, I just really need alone time.
I miss being social, I love what I do in life, I've had the pleasure of taking my favorite hobbies, and molding them into career opportunities. However, as I progress down this path, I find it much harder to sit and concentrate.
Just typing this out, makes the burden ease up ever so slightly. I have shows, albums, articles, shoots and video work, plenty to focus on, and I take pride in the work that gets produced, even with the digital work I take a very slow, hands-on approach, it gives a greater sense of accomplishment when the finished product has the desired effect.
Still way off original intent here, never really recovered after those first couple sentences... My bed is empty, heart is waiting, head is tired and unraveled. This is what selfish honesty looks like, typing for my sake, but maybe anyone reading this far can walk away with a lesson, or some cautionary wisdom. Life finds you in funny places, a few bad experiences caused me to knowingly choose art over love, that was a mistake. Only love, or the pain of the absence of it can produce notable music or art.
This whole thing had a point, and I've strayed way off it... I've noticed I only write when I feel upset, which isn't that often, I just don't document the good times.
I find my life somewhere I never expected it to wind up, the stress and anxiety have crippled my coping skills. I seldom leave the house, I feel unmotivated, almost repulsed by the idea of being productive. I have plenty of projects to work on, but the desire to produce is simply not present.
There's never a single moment I feel comfortable, people are in my house around the clock, oddly, I'm always home, yet never get a moment alone; I'm lonely, yet need my privacy to dance around the house to depeche mode sometimes. Don't get me wrong here, I love the people, I just really need alone time.
I miss being social, I love what I do in life, I've had the pleasure of taking my favorite hobbies, and molding them into career opportunities. However, as I progress down this path, I find it much harder to sit and concentrate.
Just typing this out, makes the burden ease up ever so slightly. I have shows, albums, articles, shoots and video work, plenty to focus on, and I take pride in the work that gets produced, even with the digital work I take a very slow, hands-on approach, it gives a greater sense of accomplishment when the finished product has the desired effect.
Still way off original intent here, never really recovered after those first couple sentences... My bed is empty, heart is waiting, head is tired and unraveled. This is what selfish honesty looks like, typing for my sake, but maybe anyone reading this far can walk away with a lesson, or some cautionary wisdom. Life finds you in funny places, a few bad experiences caused me to knowingly choose art over love, that was a mistake. Only love, or the pain of the absence of it can produce notable music or art.
If my memories betray me, I'll have nothing left.
The remembrance of yesterday, makes today worth the pain.
So many wonderful experiences, twisted their way here to this spot. A life once lived, but hopefully not forgot.
No one sees me here, they just read my thoughts. Some think they know me, but I just show pieces, unless I am sought.
I've lived my life, the past joy paid, with the present bought. As long as I can hold a shard of that, I want for naught. This pain in my heart, with memories wrought.
The remembrance of yesterday, makes today worth the pain.
So many wonderful experiences, twisted their way here to this spot. A life once lived, but hopefully not forgot.
No one sees me here, they just read my thoughts. Some think they know me, but I just show pieces, unless I am sought.
I've lived my life, the past joy paid, with the present bought. As long as I can hold a shard of that, I want for naught. This pain in my heart, with memories wrought.
In the back of my eyelids, the light forms scenes. With slumber met, this would equal dreams. Mine is to be no such luck, in a waking state I am stuck.
The scenes play out without much control, although I'm awake they choose how to unfold. The deprived mind derails, without sleep it never fails. Decompress, awake or not, the brain will rest, or begin to rot.
Traumas and heartache, worry for ones past. You can't change these things, but the memories are vast.
Until slumber once again holds me in it's arms outstretched. I shall sit here and watch the patterns, on my eyelids etched.
The scenes play out without much control, although I'm awake they choose how to unfold. The deprived mind derails, without sleep it never fails. Decompress, awake or not, the brain will rest, or begin to rot.
Traumas and heartache, worry for ones past. You can't change these things, but the memories are vast.
Until slumber once again holds me in it's arms outstretched. I shall sit here and watch the patterns, on my eyelids etched.
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