i'm a train that's running too fast,
and too old and too rusted to slow down.
someday, i'll barrel over the edge of a cliff,
and whether or not I ever hit the bottom is a question for
lonely falling trees to ask, and lonely fallen trees to answer.
"things conclude"
One of (several of actually) my best friends is someone I've never met in my life. And I realize that for all of our lengthy talks and discussions, I don't know this person. All I know is what I think of him. My drunkenness is telling me that this realization is a finality. I reaaally hope it's not. Recently my house became somewhat overrun by pantry moths. It was revolting and for a while I would kill them on sight. I've since become a little more patient, and they in turn have decreased their numbers. Just a few minutes ago one was flying by my desk. I could've smashed it several times instead I waited and finally caught it, and walked elsewhere in the house to let it go. I did so, and saw that one of it's antennae had been bent, and instead of flying around it just sort of walked a bit. I blew on it a bit hoping to jar it into flight, but it wouldn't go. And I think that's a pretty solid metaphor for how I seem to affect the world around me. Either violent temper, or good intentions which ultimately mean nothing because you end up with a broken antennae and you've lost your flight. And then the violent temper once more. I probably need help
haven't added anything to this blog in a lonnnng time. cue one fucked up dream.
I dreamt I was back working at Food Basics, it's been.. 3 years? Since I've worked there, but it frequently comes up in my weirder dreams. I can't recall exactly any details, but it was a very stern and unwelcoming environment. Completely non sequiter. Ok. The next memory I have is of waking up (in the dream), at the house I grew up in, in the basement. It was weird-dream equivalent to 3am, though because I now sleep at about 3am, it's incorrect. If I slept at 11pm, and woke up at 3am, that's how this felt. I walked into the living room and saw the phone was busy, someone was holding on the line. I picked up, hit the button to accept the call, and tried saying hello but was bombarded by a chorus of atleast 4 people, men and women, saying in unison with urgency:
"Can we have another number?! Can we have another number?!"
over and over, reminded me so much of the job I'm currently on stress leave from (debt collection company). I walked upstairs, drank a gallon of water, and then woke up for real. And still that phrase is ringing in my head, creeping the hell out of me.
Ugh.
Recap :
-on stress leave from the debt collection gig (hoping to get on EI because I'm so broke)
-veering off the deepend into pure alcoholism
-finished recording a demo EP, but shortly after doing so, decided it was garbage and now I'm at a stalemate
-strongly considering selling my music gear, i'm not sure why i feel like doing this
And one thing which is too big for a bullet point; I'm dating the girl that caused me to make this blog once again. It's going really well so far, we aren't arguing quite as much, and when we do it's more easily resolved. She wrote me a song a few months ago and just now showed it to me. Not gonna lie, it brought the watery-eyes. So that's pretty great. I wasn't crazy about the idea of us having a relationship again but she's hurting too. So for now, <3. Shields are still up for now though. I've already started a blog, where could I possibly go from here if the worst was to happen? Hah. Okay vox. I've written.
had a really fucked up dream.
was frustrated by lack of pay / recognition / appreciation, relating to my job I think in the dream, but in general it was the feeling i had. That I was doing better than was reflected by the world and by what I got back. So some people from my office said Ok alex, we're transferring you, and led me along a path through some increasingly sterile and metal hallways, to an elevator, and led me to it. Along the whole way I kept opening doors and waiting for them to go ahead of me, as I do anywhere with people, but they insisted I go on ahead. at the elevator, same thing. I got in, and saw that it was just big enough for me. Very cramped. I turned around to the door as it slid shut, and I felt the elevator descend for quite a long time. At first I didnt think anything but the longer it crept down, the more worried I got, the more I felt like I was in a dumbwaiter. Im very claustrophobic in real life. A little while after these thoughts the elevator came to a stop. The doors didnt open, and the panel of buttons was all for show. I was entombed, so I woke up. Not sure if doing so really changes anything though.
I know it all comes and goes, but for now until it changes, I'm done with people. Pretty people, fat people, ignorant and incompetent people, callous, plain ugly plain evil people, people like me, people who should like me, pretty much all of us - just alcoho
"arent i good enough for you?"
arghhh.. this entire blog is founded on you. and still i dont even know how to answer that.
&
visions where i'm walking across the bridge at night and i'm shot in the face, feeling like a snapped rubber band ohhhhhh, reel into the railing at the side, looking down into the river and dropping teeth and various parts in
they slowly descend like on spiderweb strings, gum of my gums. curtain drawstrings.
so when that's run the current far enough, turn back to the road ahead.
all that needs to happen to turn this to terror is for green to die.
the countdown is an affixed timer, telling me "walk quickly" through the rain.
countdown to ? the death of nobility. beyond good and evil, sickly alluring horrors wait.
oil bled and rain diffused colours on an asphalt canvas which is more than a mirror, fix your stare,
draw my feet to bring me closer to Providence and be transported through a hanging street lamp
to the places found in hazy nightmares, of shadows pursuant and of no rest for the hunted.
visions where i'm shown what once was by what is
(the horror in understanding this is that it mutates the past into a gruesome chapter where once there read a poem)
the first night when i walked you home, on the way back to my house i had a picture in my head of you crying terribly, and i'm not sure why.
this is not the first line, merely my paranoia coming through
(protective measures parasol the contents from watchers above)
I need to be reminded there is still thrill in the hunt, does it matter if I come across a mallard in search of a doe, or would i be eating crow to ride the inertia of a guided plunge into unknown waters below. and is crow so foul ?
I'll be a werewolf if i/we/you want, it suits moonlit occasions and destructive energies where I find myself all too often, and if the moon sees, so too does it speak
are you performing surveillance on me ? i'm not above making that assumption, i take it as premise already
but I ask that because if so it's obvious. it's not your nature, it's mine.
watchful eyes know what daggers and roses to the back feel like.
I might be the only one who can't hear what it says, all because my watch counts seconds as more than they are, as less than they are, too many, in a minute there is too much time.
and never enough in a day
feel lucky not to see me read any of this
dove spirals high voltage power line, feathers eject, hope unravels as a beak skirts the wire a little too fine
a little too sure - so organs erupt, beak seperates and hope becomes irony, laughter at the absurd nature of things.
a boy holding a pink balloon standing on the sidewalk is witness to three things in the transfer of energy
- bird into bird matter
- ignorance to cursed clarity
- hope into mockery
the moment was transitory, as is every. that transfer was incalculable, but the lasting result was charred incoherence splattered across asphalt. the boy saw a live wire and a bird circling it, transfer, the blighted saw a metaphor for existence, and the end of reason. the string holding the balloon slips, and it too is gone. one day it will return, so will the boy, the bird, hope and reason, but only after the blighted observer stops witnessing energy as a tool of transit.
the birth of reason comes out of the death of it.
so Ill be very specific.
You're great, and I mean it.
Sometimes I want to take knives to myself, and sometimes I do, but sometimes you call me or I see you by the river.
I listen to music and I put you in it. Headphones and rain. I think about you when I drink orange poison, and again when I'm throwing it up. Feedback breaking ear drums is rubbing strings and smashing my head into a wall to break through.
Public displays inviting me to bleed through my eyes, through my hands and into the speakers. I want to wreck you all.
Come and see me, I feel like turning the tracks to face you but not before I've been run through.
The basic premise is an antinomy: I want to give all of my love and energy to all of you. But I also want to lock the doors, break the locks and make a mess of the room. Organs and eyelashes. Hearts and bone.
Allways chasing feathers
im chasing your feathers now. i cant seem to discern them from my own, what i leave behind.
today i wanted to break my yolk. her name is too easy to carve into my side, your name cross my chest.
strangely, familiarity seems to cure itself. cell death, division. you split, i die, trembling new relics emerge.
there's a man drowning in the river tonight, would you beleive it's not me ? in another sense, I cast myself down against the current, and I'm asking "are you going to let me die? help me someone, i hate you all and i hope you all fucking rot, are you going to let me die?", and in reply, the water screaming those questions back at me, pounding my chest and aching lungs, cutting off my toes for some reaction or restitution. now my legs, and I stop shouting, but allways asking just the same. but the man is not me anymore, and I let him go - watching as his head slips beneath the water and finally being carried on by the current. with this, I can leave.
