about realizing you're a day off in terms of what the actual day of the week is, and finding out you're a day fast is knowing you've got that day back in your pocket.
Here's to industriousness.
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
11/30/12
11/29/12
That Instant
you realize you are going to go do something you've gotten good at but that you do not like to do, and it is no longer optional. The choice is gone. And all of your happy songs will have to be learned again and all of your happy places will have to be overtaken again. Let's make it a short trip. I just got back to loving myself, I'm not about to give that away for a forgiven debt.
Last times, sugar.
Last times, sugar.
11/27/12
Astral Pain, Curbing Self Absorption, and Re-engagement
A gorgeous thing happens when you wake up and step outside and the world has a luster to it that isn't glass eyed. The bricks are warm though the air is skin tight cold. The sun is not screaming, but humming. The clouds are waiting instead of watching and the trees are content to not say a word as you go about your day. And it's cool. The voices are not so loud and the stars at night are not calling you home. All they say as you hunt in the dark is "we're happy out here as long as you're happy down there, but feel free to visit when you're ready," and it's good. It's great. The weapons are collecting dust and the hands are busy again at other operations and no one else has to die and it's a great feeling. The jail yard feels bigger than it ever has and seeing your breath is so welcome a change you damn near want to cry because Summer hurt you so bad, and you've been waiting so long to see snow again and for a while there you didn't think you'd make it that long. A strange and gorgeous thing. The quietude. The death of everything and the ashes blowing through the grass. Everything slowing down to a speed your eyes can process again. Gorgeous. Everything returning to a temperature more fit for your fusion heart. The astral pain subsiding.
One of the immediate difficulties plaguing the writing has been an exorbitant amount of self absorption. Getting beyond it has been difficult. Spitting out all of the junk on top of the processes. Kicking out the bad and pointless information, the information occupying a lot of cycles and routines. Brain space and resources. Resources that can't be repurposed or freed up until the train is run through the tracks and their opened again. A necessary thing. There's a lot on the burners. In fact the kitchen was pretty much on fire. Nothing edible was made. Did manage to make some wicked cool... I don't know. Lost my train of thought. Started thinking about huffing paint again, but I'm not too thrilled with the results. At least, not thrilled enough to go out of my way. What was I talking about?
Oh yeah, so I've been fairly disappointed with all of the sentences starting with "I" and so many of the themes being things dear to my heart, but unable to touch the rest of the world my head lives in. It got boring. You wait and you wait and you wait for the bulb to go off and then you look at the picture and it's another damned self portrait. You keep calling up your imaginary friends and they answer the phone and you sit down to talk about what you and he talked about and then you hold it up when you're done and it's another god damned self portrait. I started asking myself how the hell it kept happening. What the hell was I doing wrong? The arrow finally pierced my thigh. Not really. I just talked and talked and talked until I had nothing left to talk about and I could remember again the things they said too.
They never left. I was so torn up and wrecked and lost all at once I ended up circling the woods for weeks before something looked familiar again. I'm reckoning loss again. Reckoning with. Minor and major losses of people. Losing people again. Dealing with dead channels that I thought would live forever and asking myself what I did wrong and realizing at this point the answer is nothing. Sometimes there's no explanation. I'm pretty sure I came to that conclusion before. Years ago. The conclusion about a general lack of causality in the humanverse. Sometimes there is no explanation and I was okay with it then. I'm learning to be okay with it now all over again. People out grow you. You out grow people. Sometimes friends stay and sometimes friends go, sometimes you get to stay in touch and sometimes you don't. Sometimes you dance. They never left.
Curbing self absorption. Curing self absorption, was a difficult task and not entirely done. I still have to get back inside the heads of the people and places populating my dreams. Pierce the fog of internal war. It's still there, but I have become so unbelievably conscious of it's necessity and it's force of presence that I can begin to work around and work through it. Begin to retool things that have sat in draft for months. That's important to me. It's important to them too. So many storylines continue on in the background and it's fantastic to be able to sit down and leave myself behind to engage them and when I can't do that the storylines continue to their conclusion and when I finally do look at them again everyone is gone and I can't remember what we were doing there in the first place or where they may have mentioned they were going next. However, I understand now
that I was standing far too close to the bars and the picket planks to enjoy the space I've earned. Far too close to the window and hating the feeling of my nose there pressed to see the AUs. I have to tell you that I love you so much, these days. I forget to do that too much. Too often. A return to the observational side of things and less the actor. Returning to the maps and the center of the yard where the fences are so far I can barely see them. It's terribly easy to fall into yourself when you can feel your hands burning inside the diamonds of that twisted wire.
I am re-engaging. Decoupled for so long. It's easy to believe that is all there is for you. Because it is. If you want more you have to wrestle it away from what has already been determined, if that makes sense. And I'm trying, have been, and finally succeeding a little bit. Trying not to over celebrate. I know the next turn is right around the corner and part of living with paranoid schizophrenia is guarding against yourself. I accept that. I don't particularly enjoy it. I definitely woke up the other day unable to speak because I screamed my lungs out as hard as they would go. That was a funny one to explain when I went to my temp job and rasped like a 90 year old chain smoker who couldn't break a decibel if his life depended on it. "I just want you to be okay." I just wanted you to stop asking about it. I think I'm raving a little bit so
I'll bring this thing to a close for now and shove off from here, wherever here is, later on. The astral pain has subsided. Self absorption has been curbed, but not cured. I am getting back in touch with the outer planes. I am re-engaging with life, though some parts of life will be or already have disengaged with me. Most importantly Winter is here. It feels like a lifetime went by in the months between this time last year and now. Twisting in the breeze.
///Lionrock - "The Guide" ... the nineties killed it for electronic music. in a good way.
One of the immediate difficulties plaguing the writing has been an exorbitant amount of self absorption. Getting beyond it has been difficult. Spitting out all of the junk on top of the processes. Kicking out the bad and pointless information, the information occupying a lot of cycles and routines. Brain space and resources. Resources that can't be repurposed or freed up until the train is run through the tracks and their opened again. A necessary thing. There's a lot on the burners. In fact the kitchen was pretty much on fire. Nothing edible was made. Did manage to make some wicked cool... I don't know. Lost my train of thought. Started thinking about huffing paint again, but I'm not too thrilled with the results. At least, not thrilled enough to go out of my way. What was I talking about?
Oh yeah, so I've been fairly disappointed with all of the sentences starting with "I" and so many of the themes being things dear to my heart, but unable to touch the rest of the world my head lives in. It got boring. You wait and you wait and you wait for the bulb to go off and then you look at the picture and it's another damned self portrait. You keep calling up your imaginary friends and they answer the phone and you sit down to talk about what you and he talked about and then you hold it up when you're done and it's another god damned self portrait. I started asking myself how the hell it kept happening. What the hell was I doing wrong? The arrow finally pierced my thigh. Not really. I just talked and talked and talked until I had nothing left to talk about and I could remember again the things they said too.
They never left. I was so torn up and wrecked and lost all at once I ended up circling the woods for weeks before something looked familiar again. I'm reckoning loss again. Reckoning with. Minor and major losses of people. Losing people again. Dealing with dead channels that I thought would live forever and asking myself what I did wrong and realizing at this point the answer is nothing. Sometimes there's no explanation. I'm pretty sure I came to that conclusion before. Years ago. The conclusion about a general lack of causality in the humanverse. Sometimes there is no explanation and I was okay with it then. I'm learning to be okay with it now all over again. People out grow you. You out grow people. Sometimes friends stay and sometimes friends go, sometimes you get to stay in touch and sometimes you don't. Sometimes you dance. They never left.
Curbing self absorption. Curing self absorption, was a difficult task and not entirely done. I still have to get back inside the heads of the people and places populating my dreams. Pierce the fog of internal war. It's still there, but I have become so unbelievably conscious of it's necessity and it's force of presence that I can begin to work around and work through it. Begin to retool things that have sat in draft for months. That's important to me. It's important to them too. So many storylines continue on in the background and it's fantastic to be able to sit down and leave myself behind to engage them and when I can't do that the storylines continue to their conclusion and when I finally do look at them again everyone is gone and I can't remember what we were doing there in the first place or where they may have mentioned they were going next. However, I understand now
that I was standing far too close to the bars and the picket planks to enjoy the space I've earned. Far too close to the window and hating the feeling of my nose there pressed to see the AUs. I have to tell you that I love you so much, these days. I forget to do that too much. Too often. A return to the observational side of things and less the actor. Returning to the maps and the center of the yard where the fences are so far I can barely see them. It's terribly easy to fall into yourself when you can feel your hands burning inside the diamonds of that twisted wire.
I am re-engaging. Decoupled for so long. It's easy to believe that is all there is for you. Because it is. If you want more you have to wrestle it away from what has already been determined, if that makes sense. And I'm trying, have been, and finally succeeding a little bit. Trying not to over celebrate. I know the next turn is right around the corner and part of living with paranoid schizophrenia is guarding against yourself. I accept that. I don't particularly enjoy it. I definitely woke up the other day unable to speak because I screamed my lungs out as hard as they would go. That was a funny one to explain when I went to my temp job and rasped like a 90 year old chain smoker who couldn't break a decibel if his life depended on it. "I just want you to be okay." I just wanted you to stop asking about it. I think I'm raving a little bit so
I'll bring this thing to a close for now and shove off from here, wherever here is, later on. The astral pain has subsided. Self absorption has been curbed, but not cured. I am getting back in touch with the outer planes. I am re-engaging with life, though some parts of life will be or already have disengaged with me. Most importantly Winter is here. It feels like a lifetime went by in the months between this time last year and now. Twisting in the breeze.
///Lionrock - "The Guide" ... the nineties killed it for electronic music. in a good way.
11/26/12
Find Yourself and Redesign Timetable
Well, I think I've finally done it. The act took a very long time. A very, very, long time, but I think I've found myself. I believe I've gotten enough of us back to the table to start working again on creative things. It has been a top priority, it feels like, for far too long. I've been so self absorbed, I have not been able to see past my own nose unless I was dead asleep and dreaming.
Speaking of which, I did have the most fantastic dream that fleshed out into several more characters with unique dialog of their own so far detailed I began to wonder, asleep, of their back stories because all of the interactions were so well and tightly detailed I felt, by four way conversation's end, that I knew them from other lives, even though the quality of the sleep itself lasted less than an hour.
I have finally found myself, although the child is AWOL. I am not happy about that. There is a certain whimsy I've been unable to recapture. Not so much unable as much as it has been a certain amount of flailing in the dark. Bless his screwed up soul. I need him back, both listening and contributing, if I ever intend to get better. That's what has been difficult to deal with the most.
Shooting for the end of December for the redesigns.
Speaking of which, I did have the most fantastic dream that fleshed out into several more characters with unique dialog of their own so far detailed I began to wonder, asleep, of their back stories because all of the interactions were so well and tightly detailed I felt, by four way conversation's end, that I knew them from other lives, even though the quality of the sleep itself lasted less than an hour.
I have finally found myself, although the child is AWOL. I am not happy about that. There is a certain whimsy I've been unable to recapture. Not so much unable as much as it has been a certain amount of flailing in the dark. Bless his screwed up soul. I need him back, both listening and contributing, if I ever intend to get better. That's what has been difficult to deal with the most.
Shooting for the end of December for the redesigns.
11/22/12
Diver
I'mhaving a conflict of personality that I can't put into words, but what else is new. Take the motorway. Take the high line. Get there faster. Gained ourselves the world and all that. Been gone for a minute.
I missed this. I missed you and I just talking things out. My heart break is deep running. I've been huffing again. Trying to deal with multiples of personality and failin. Failing on a grand scale. After the maths and all that. Sad on another scale. Purely disappointed. It's gotten gross. Grown gross.
On the cusp of making bad decision choices. HAHA. No there's nothing there. I haven't been faking it. Not at all. I've been genuine. I've been joying. My heart has still been breaking, though. Fragility. The man with the iron hands and the glass brain. It's difficult. The suppression. The temptation to cash it all in. To not bite the bait.
All I can promise any of us is that I will not turn in early. Did that ever mean something? It is so hard to quantify and I've always been so bad with math. I don't want a second chance or another run at it. If I had a second chance or a time machine I know I would fuck it up twice.
I've never been to Torrenby, but I hear it's nice this time of year.
I've been crying again. I wish I knew why, but I don't. It happens. There's no punch to be thrown. No real counter.Sometimes I just have to accept being broken and I'll never be okay with it.
I missed this. I missed you and I just talking things out. My heart break is deep running. I've been huffing again. Trying to deal with multiples of personality and failin. Failing on a grand scale. After the maths and all that. Sad on another scale. Purely disappointed. It's gotten gross. Grown gross.
On the cusp of making bad decision choices. HAHA. No there's nothing there. I haven't been faking it. Not at all. I've been genuine. I've been joying. My heart has still been breaking, though. Fragility. The man with the iron hands and the glass brain. It's difficult. The suppression. The temptation to cash it all in. To not bite the bait.
All I can promise any of us is that I will not turn in early. Did that ever mean something? It is so hard to quantify and I've always been so bad with math. I don't want a second chance or another run at it. If I had a second chance or a time machine I know I would fuck it up twice.
I've never been to Torrenby, but I hear it's nice this time of year.
I've been crying again. I wish I knew why, but I don't. It happens. There's no punch to be thrown. No real counter.Sometimes I just have to accept being broken and I'll never be okay with it.
11/3/12
Steady As She Goes
Remember what that used to mean? I do. It used to mean taking the highs and lows in stride, but not to so much the taking in stride as cutting straight though the thick of the wave and coming out the back side and surfing her straight into dusk. Straight into the fall and the winter of the upcoming crest. It used to mean a lot more than it did before it became a platitude. Not that it's a platitude now. I guess what I'm saying is that steady as she goes is a bad way to describe the circuit of this ship.
Right now, I would place it somewhere between an oxygen fire in the vacuum of space and a flat spin dizzying enough to make the sublime a Picasso'd afterthought. It's terrifying in the same way a car accident is serene in the seconds before contact, except those seconds are stretching out days instead of seconds, weeks instead of days.
Steady as she goes, though. All flame and wreck and how many souls can she bring down with her as she spirals into a sun?
It's the wanting that is tearing. Shearing bolts and bulkheads and turning bodies like soil and plow spades, succumb to forces and forced things. Do not kill. Do not see. Do not hear. The touch of force like a kiss from a stranger who knows your one sided name. And no why. No why ever offered. It's thrilling and numbing and begging.
Waiting for another break and it arrives unannounced and unheralded and reasons for people to question never come up, but choke up like a batter for an infield single and everyone sees it coming except the pitcher. It's been tough. Songs for getaway car single shot thirty minute production reels. Everyone needs commas. Everyone needs comas.
You want it both ways. I want it both ways. I want the privilege of mistake. I want the forgiveness and the forgiving to see me in the light of a human being flawed by default and on the same hand I want the respect and the conversation granted to the sound. I want what's coming to me and mine and I want to fight it at the same time. I want answers. Sometimes I can't sleep at night because I keep asking myself "why me?" I keep saying that over and over and it would be so convenient to point to some kind of god or chance or a version of determinism with some kind of optical illusion at it's end. The best I can point up is some kind of medicated psuedo goodness. Some kind of hard parsed commonality or functionality. Is that enough?
What ever is? Am I going to kill myself is a matter of convenience and circumstance. When I'm sure I'll be sure, Is all I can say I won't be able to write some kind of flowery death note. I hold my loved ones, and they do exist, no more hostage than anything or anyone else anyone or anything else can hold a thing or person dear. It burns me that things can be that simple. That simple and that hard. I guess that's what becomes what burns me so hard.
That a person can want all of the rights, all of the allowances, of personhood and still be counted as damaged and warrant of special circumstance and consideration. It boils down, a little bit, to I am just like you staring I am nothing like you dead in the face. Because I want with all of my heart to be just like you. And I know I'll never be. Do you know how special you are?
Do you know how special you are now?
How about now?
Okay, well, how about now?
///War - "Me and Baby Brother" everytime I hear this song I think of fifth grade and all the growing up I had to do and how I took my siblings for granted and how we stole from eachother constantly, but lately I think about all of our adventures and misadventures and I think if I ever have kids there will be a two head minimum because every dog may have its day, but what is a day without some belloved arse you'll be forever linked with to share it with.
///Skrillex - "Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites" ...for I am just like you...
Right now, I would place it somewhere between an oxygen fire in the vacuum of space and a flat spin dizzying enough to make the sublime a Picasso'd afterthought. It's terrifying in the same way a car accident is serene in the seconds before contact, except those seconds are stretching out days instead of seconds, weeks instead of days.
Steady as she goes, though. All flame and wreck and how many souls can she bring down with her as she spirals into a sun?
It's the wanting that is tearing. Shearing bolts and bulkheads and turning bodies like soil and plow spades, succumb to forces and forced things. Do not kill. Do not see. Do not hear. The touch of force like a kiss from a stranger who knows your one sided name. And no why. No why ever offered. It's thrilling and numbing and begging.
Waiting for another break and it arrives unannounced and unheralded and reasons for people to question never come up, but choke up like a batter for an infield single and everyone sees it coming except the pitcher. It's been tough. Songs for getaway car single shot thirty minute production reels. Everyone needs commas. Everyone needs comas.
You want it both ways. I want it both ways. I want the privilege of mistake. I want the forgiveness and the forgiving to see me in the light of a human being flawed by default and on the same hand I want the respect and the conversation granted to the sound. I want what's coming to me and mine and I want to fight it at the same time. I want answers. Sometimes I can't sleep at night because I keep asking myself "why me?" I keep saying that over and over and it would be so convenient to point to some kind of god or chance or a version of determinism with some kind of optical illusion at it's end. The best I can point up is some kind of medicated psuedo goodness. Some kind of hard parsed commonality or functionality. Is that enough?
What ever is? Am I going to kill myself is a matter of convenience and circumstance. When I'm sure I'll be sure, Is all I can say I won't be able to write some kind of flowery death note. I hold my loved ones, and they do exist, no more hostage than anything or anyone else anyone or anything else can hold a thing or person dear. It burns me that things can be that simple. That simple and that hard. I guess that's what becomes what burns me so hard.
That a person can want all of the rights, all of the allowances, of personhood and still be counted as damaged and warrant of special circumstance and consideration. It boils down, a little bit, to I am just like you staring I am nothing like you dead in the face. Because I want with all of my heart to be just like you. And I know I'll never be. Do you know how special you are?
Do you know how special you are now?
How about now?
Okay, well, how about now?
///War - "Me and Baby Brother" everytime I hear this song I think of fifth grade and all the growing up I had to do and how I took my siblings for granted and how we stole from eachother constantly, but lately I think about all of our adventures and misadventures and I think if I ever have kids there will be a two head minimum because every dog may have its day, but what is a day without some belloved arse you'll be forever linked with to share it with.
///Skrillex - "Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites" ...for I am just like you...
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