I miss most of my past. Most of it's behind me, not all, but what isn't I miss and what is, I miss more.
I can not see the future, or even the present. I only peer backwards into my mind.
Sweet and sour memories that I will never, ever get back no matter how hard I try and HAVE tried.
I miss my past. I do I do I do.
"Tonight, is going to be a very dignified reading. I will not, rejoin or have rejoinders with the audience. I shall read you dignified poetry in a dignified way. We shall comport ourselves as ladies and gentlemen of culture. Thank you."
I cut myself yesterday.
Cutting fucking boxes of course, with my pocket knife, I was closing it, I think and my thumb when up to the release and past the release and right on to the fucking teeth near the bottom of the blade. It stung, like a pin prick at first or a needle. Fine.
But I realized shortly afterwards I sliced it hard and deep. It bled quite a bit. Immediately too. All over the boxes. The worst is it was so stiflingly hot and humid in that closed garage with no ventilation, and there was NOTHING to put on my hand at the ready. So I had to run upstairs and grab a cloth. It just wouldn't fucking stop. I eventually finished with the boxes, mad at myself more than anything.
It stopped after quite a while, but only if I didn't work my thumb at all. As in apply pressure to it, which you'd think would be easy. BUT IT'S MY FUCKING THUMB. You use it for most things. It's similar to a thing I tell myself, "You don't know how to bend, pick things up, and keep your back straight in a proper fashion until you throw your back out and you're FORCED to stay off it. Same with the thumb. You don't realize how much you use it, until it's unusable.
So I readied it with a band-aid, which didn't help, but the floodgates had subsided for the moment, and I went to the store, grabbed beer, more band-aids (I forgot the whole box I had in the bathroom of course) and liquid cement, for these exact situations! Stiches would've been overkill for sure, they would've just stuck a cold compress on it and made me wait I think. The cement is still in place for the most part. Which is good, but also, is it healing under there? I don't really know. I did drop some peroxide on it. I swore it looked like it was getting infected. All the skin around it was getting weird looking, so I put that on it. Thanks to my past self, for conditioning my future self to keeping things like hydrogen peroxide in all the bathrooms i've had the pleasure of gracing all these years.
Kudos to you, past self.
I'm just sitting here doing nothing. I'm just sitting here doing nothing. I am just sitting here doing not.
I, am just sitting here, doing nothing.
I've changed this past year. My level and ability to completely empathize has waned incredibly I think. There's a numbness to life sometimes. It's odd. I don't express myself as well as I'd hope to most days. It's an odd thing to describe.
Because on the other hand, I could hear the slight swell of a string section, and it can bring me to tears. The sound of a soothing voice saying something kind. Music. Music has made me cry more these past 12 months than ever. It never used to be like this. So I guess I hold it in? Then it all comes out. I guess. It's weird.
I'm not on any medication. I know that happens sometimes. Which is what scares me about medication. It can lower your IQ in mass quantities, meaning over prolonged periods of time that is. It can kill those parts of your brain as well, empathy, generally emoting when you do. At least I'm self aware though, that's a good thing.
The other saving grace as well that keeps me from believing I'm not totally broken, is my art. It's not so much emoting out loud or with my body, but I can properly emote on paper, writing songs, stories, these posts, and in playing music out. Writing songs is immensely therapeutic, but also detrimental and insane feeling when even that sometimes isn't working out. Sometimes I write the perfect song, sometimes I try, and it's all trash that comes out, or so I feel.
Trick question, it's all trash.
You, clutching your computer to your chest as you walk briskly to wherever it may be, with purpose. But with a hurried and anxious pace as well. You laugh easily, almost too easily. It's contagious. That sound. You're very guarded, quick to snap at somebody you won't let in when a shot is taken. You won't let anybody in. There's much more to you than meets the eye. I am so very curious.
There seems to be a deeper sadness inside. Something is up and I want in. You seem real. Deeper than the boring soul sucking nature of a lot of folks around. Not all, but most. They're all a bore. You seem to be experiencing some sort of pain you hide. I see through it though. I don't know what it is, but you're thinly veiled, it's a weak facade. It seems as though at the first moment of intimate conversation it could crumble and fall. Perhaps it's only my flawed curiosity. Very flawed and damaged. You're self conscious and defensive about it. But you also own it at the same time. It's a fine line you waltz.
But perhaps I'm only projecting all this on to you. I tend to do that. Everyone does that. Most people do that. It's infatuation. Before someone knows another, they imagine what that relationship might be like. Naturally, we make up everything as we truly don't know them inside. So we create a perfect world of sorts. We don't take into account ourselves and our own flaws and we downplay all our damaged selves and how it might never work out ever because of it. But on the other hand, we go ALL the way in that way too. From imagining a life together, to saying, "I'm too fucked up anyway for that to even work out." We would sell ourselves short before it even began, before we even try. I don't know which is worse.
On the other hand, you may be as boring as you seem some time.
When you're down and out, feeling melancholy. When you're in the middle of nowhere stuck, perhaps a flat. Perhaps she's left you for another at the beach out on the strip. When you had plans but they got busted up and now you're sitting alone in the dark on a Friday night and it's too late to go out and there's no point anyway. Or if you're broke. Or if your record or song or book or artwork or your style isn't flying the way you wanted. When nothing sells. When nothing's going your way. Listen to "Blaze Foley, Live at the Austin Outhouse" and you'll get along.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BBx8fRP_UxM&index=3&list=PLzE2joBt_ut4v80AQ92GWr6bjkQD--U1E
Two actually. I've finished one that is coming out within the next month or so depending on funds and while being daunted with the overwhelming task of proofing, a little editing and formatting, I tricked myself into writing a novel. It began as a short story, but after two sittings I realized it was quite a short story and it didn't seem close to the conclusion, but i could see myself finishing it. After a quick word count, I realized 40k was not out of the question.
In addition to the way in which it's written, it was conducive to my scatterbrained style and I finished. It's on deck to be formatted as I've proofed it and basically just need to format it. Come up with a cover and save up my pennies to release it as well. Some snags in the artwork for the first book are holding it all up. But it's my fault. I waited months to finish. But it'll all be out soon and out of my hands into the big nasty world of obscurity.
Podcast as well. Trying to stay busy and not at the same time. I have to save my dimes more than ever before. I'm so broke, but I've learned how to sustain now. I can walk to work, attempt to pay rent on time and I'm about to get rid of my storage if it means my end. Here's to August.
I AIN'T PAYING THAT STORAGE BILL NO MO!!!! I FUCKING SWEAR TO THIS GREAT BIG WORLD OF STORAGE UNIT GODS. I do swear. A lot.
Make me crazy. Make me feel like I've never been here before. Make me feel like I've never been loved, like I have never been IN love before. Make me realize I never knew what love was before this. Make me feel like the only person in the world. Make me feel love and only love. Make me feel like I dream about. Make me feel like I was wasting my time before this moment. Make me so crazy that I'll never lay eyes on another person ever again when we're together or apart. Make me feel like I will never want anyone else ever again. Kill me, murder me with your love.
Make me feel like this is the only place in the world I want to be and need to be and can be. Make me feel like if I were anywhere else I'd collapse on the floor and die. Make me feel like you, and I, are IT, and that's all there is or ever will be. Make me feel things I didn't know I could feel. Make me feel that when you go away, I don't exist. make me feel that when I go away, I don't exist. Make me feel nothing but you. Make me feel something.
Make me feel.
Again.
There is no "i" in "do".
Things are bleak again. Big surprise. But they're right on the cusp. I despise bi-weekly pay. It really fucks things up. I didn't think it would, but it does. Because I don't have a second source of income to supplement the off week. I have to live like a saint for 2 months straight to catch up let alone start saving. I can't do it. I'd go out of my mind. I need a few things every week to stay sane.
I need to buy alcohol, (I know, I know, stop it) I need food, I need, gas, and a solid $50 extra a month to buy stupid shit to further my personal soul-goals. Like investing in my books that'll be out soon and music and other art related projects. Gear. Not a lot, but you know. I want a few things I got rid of. i want speakers I can play music through. I have zero speakers right now. i don't even have a working pair of headphones. I have earbuds which are not going to last much longer. Do you know the feeling? I don't think you do. You must not.
I might have to sell my amp again for the second time to make rent. Either that or overdraft for the 3rd time in a month.
I also feel like there's nothing I can do well or at all right now except write. I'm no good and have no ambitions and feel pretty dead inside and have no drive other than to write. Even then as well. A lot of the time it's no good. I know it will pass. But I'm so aware of it it's painful. I'm waiting. I feel like I haven't gotten anything done or care to. I'm so tired. Let me sleep.
Won't give it up. I'm now inside and it's now hanging outside the window on the complete other side of the cabin. Perhaps it's out to get me. I never killed your friend pal. Fuck off.
He's certainly trying to get in. I don't know why. It's highly distracting. I was hoping by getting inside and switching gears to something else, I'd forget about it. More importantly, he'd forget about it and I'd return and he'd be gone to the next.
No such luck. The minute I laid back on to this bed he's sill out there. The COMPLETE opposite side of the cabin. Oh well. Here's to him.
Getting in or at least the perseverance.