Shorted-out Coil

High voltage

Some days just feel like I’ve had enough; Either I have not had enough rest or I have had too much of people. Most times it’s a combination of both. My ability to cope with the outside world and the emotional contexts, especially, dwindle to a match whose flame has consumed it down to the finger tips until it starts to burn. It does burn. I can feel it in my chest and abdomen. There is a fire there flaring up to fend off the incoming bombardment of having to decipher emotional content or merely try to calculate the meaning of other people’s reactions to almost anything. I’ve come to realize this is a defense mechanism.

I don’t know whether or not I care to control it. That is the current question tumbling around the inside of my brain along with everything else. For more nights than I care to remember, I have only slept for four to six hours then, when it comes time, I go to work and spend eight to ten hours there. I am faced with people talking about nothing, subjects of no great consequence. Things that, perhaps, shouldn’t bother me, get under my skin and add fuel to my gutfire. I am instantly angry but, instead of decoding people’s response, I am flippant, dismissive, and maybe even mean. Is it mean if it’s the truth? If I tell you I don’t care and it’s the truth is it something I should have kept to myself in order to be polite? It evokes no guilt or personal emotional response from me. I’m just pure, raw nerve.

Have you ever heard someone repeat a word over and over again? I once knew a girl who had a thing for me some years ago. She would disappear and reappear in and out of my life like most people do. She said she wanted to be friends when she found someone to date who wasn’t me, for which I was grateful. She continued to text me and would continue to use his name whenever we talked, almost going out of her way to do so when a pronoun would have sufficed. I saw through this immediately as an attempt to needle me, try to evoke a response. She got one, just not the one she expected. It has since become a pet peeve of mine for peope who do that or do things like it. I am overly analytical of speech as it is, to the point of actually being able to tell when something is wrong just by changes in word use or syntax. Don’t ask me how. It just works. I can just play.

Needless to say, I have no patience for passive-agressiveness or even something I percieve as such. When my battery has run dry and I’m burning from the inside out, my patience is burned away by the flames and I’m sure people can tell. I try not to take it out on other people. I isolate myself as much as possible. The music in my earbuds is loud and I stay focused on my work. I don’t talk to people unless I need to. The feeling is still there and I can’t get rid of it no matter how much time I spend focusing on my breathing or finding music that usually lifts my spirits. The only real cure for this is sleep.

I have not slept well for days. I take naps when I can but that is only on the weekends.

Times like these are discouraging but not without its teaching points. It’s discouraging because it’s proof to myself, a self-fulfilling prophecy, that I can’t act and exist in a realm inhabited by neurotypicals. I learn, however, I must find different approaches to taking care of myself and finding ways to cope with it all. Isolation and sleep, so far, have been the only things I’ve found to work.

I always seem to sleep the best on Friday nights and the worst on Sunday nights. Though my anxiety is oft under control no matter the day, I just can’t seem to make it through the night. Caffeine has quickly become the only reason I function through the day. Even then, I don’t always feel like I’m going to make it.

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Can you hear it? … Listen…

IMG_4598

I had the concept of subtext and underlying emotion when I was putting this one together. Like my previous track, this one grew organically and I’m honestly not sure how I feel about the end product.

However, since this is a learning process for me I will unashamedly post and share it because I need to continue to access the courage it takes to create and put on display once again when it comes to making music.

“My heart is pounding… Can you hear it?

… Listen”

11,400 Days

On this, my 11,400th day of life
I am questioning everything I’ve ever known
Throwing it on loops of film on playback
Penciling with esoteric shapes the points
That caused everything to never be the same again.

Today was the first time in several years
I wore my hair in what is is now referred to
On the internet as the man-bun:
Now an ironic memento of white hipster culture
Saluted in memes as a glowering sign of male femininity

Does it make me a hipster to say I wore it before it was cool?
That I twisted the hair on my head up into a coil
To match the rest of me?
That accompanied it with a black slouch cap and beard
My friends said made me look like SOA’s Opie?

Truth is I was that guy before I knew who Opie was.
And the woman who taught me how to pin my bun in place
With chopsticks has since all but forgotten me
Gotten married and, like everyone, pretends to live
With a glass of happiness with a shot of Jager for the bad days

[We’ve all begun drinking a little more as the days add up]

Those days come now not in the occasional rainstorm
But in curling, whitecaps, and waves you could ride home on
And I am bracing myself aganist the tide with anchors
Made of medicine that barely holds me in place
Everyday I’m a little more capsized, Lord have mercy

I wish I had pen and paper for every person
I can remember, even if I wish I could forget them
My life would be War and Peace in 31 volumes
Paradise Lost, but even more incomprehensible
Because even I don’t really ever understand what was going on.

[Lacuna for every shot of whiskey, burn marks for every cigarette]

This weekend is my little brother’s birthday
And I don’t want to celebrate because
It brings me back to a friend who is now dead,
Knew that birthdays were not celebrated on one day
And loved everyone, including me, without question.

Add that to the calamity of percussive sounds
Rattling around in my headspace
Every day I wake up and leave this small apartment
Every one of the few miles from here to anywhere
Is a bouncing betty suspended midair, packed with panic attacks

And I can’t get out of the way of the shrapnel
No guardian angel because I don’t believe in them
And God? I’m sure he’s there
I’m just trying my best to get through the silence
With my face and faith in Him and his humanity intact

One day at a time I got here
But one day at a time isn’t cutting it anymore.
Someone knocked the teeth out of the great gears
And now they’re just spinning wheels
And I am caught underneath them

Sheddings skin, hair, breath, and nail
I am a ghost of sheets on a clothesline
Flapping in the breeze, drying the absorbed tears
You will never see because I don’t do that anymore
I haven’t the time.

This door that says 11,401 is in front of me now
Three hours have yet to go down
And I’m wishing for a nickel to throw in a wishing well
Then I’d jump into the water for the treasured memory of a wish
And amidst it all, I’ll probably drown.

Liquor Wounds [Experiment]

Gotta get used to this blessing of being alone
When the winter has teeth and I’m chilled to the bone
But walking around in bare feet’s
Got me treading the past
Of broken bottles and bottle caps

The ground is coated in the aspersions they cast
I’m tripping on keeping the blood neat
Keeping the ice from the glass
There’s gotta be
Something easier than walking the coals
Crossing these bridges
Not spending time with the trolls
Hate how they roll

Smiling politely just to spite me
They’ve got the teeth of a wolf
Licking jowls, on the prowl,
cuz my feet bleed on the sidewalk
And there’s no time to bandage ’em

(Gotta keep moving
Gotta break through before time’s up)

Put down that phone, you’re alone
So fucking sick of your voice
I’ve got no option but pray for deafness
It’s like I haven’t got a choice
Let’s defect, let’s be reckless
My face is affectless
I’m not gonna smile at your callow
And feckless dissecting of what we built,
The faithful faceless

So tired of tasting the bottom of your boot
Rather lick the dirt and blood from our wounds
You want another round
We’ll take you flawlessly,
Victory not vengeance banner flying above, we
The callous and nasty, nothing so fancy
But it works in a pinch
It works like a stitch
Hurts like a bitch
Correcting the glitch and sewing the seams

You aren’t going to stop this
With every tumble we take
Like a snowball down a hill
Man, we got this.

Rainstorms Pass Away Unlike Headstones and Graves


Empty apartment, quiet room
Except for the intermittent flow of air
Whispered from my furnace,
Inadequately heating this
Small
Studio
Apartment

Memory speaks from the darkest crevices
Probably aided part by vodka
And an open space to roam
Reminding me, yet again, I am
Still
Here
Alone.

I am covered like a cruel joke
By its black quilt, my size
I can’t see anything but black
But when the nighttime illusion is removed
Everything
Is
Dark

Weeks, I could go weeks and months
Without a rollback into the dark tide
And grey rain clouds that disappear to the air like you
But some nights are hard I…
Can’t
Fight
Back

My only reprieve is sleep
Sometimes you go away if I sleep.
Rainstorms on a bleak day
Pass away unlike
Headstones
And
Graves

Apnea/Orchestra [Breathing Fire]

My heart is fueling a storm in my head
conducting electrical currents
like explosions in the veins in my eyes
so I can understand the red I see when
the elephant in the room takes a seat on my chest

Now if only I could get him to stand up
So I can exhale the words
Trapped in the bottom of my lungs
I have a feeling of fire and ice
Trapped between my diaphragm and windpipe

Now listen to the violins on my fingertips
Play a sad song on its silent strings
Inifinitely inflamed by the cold sotto voce
of the wind against my joints
Every new day is another new aching aria.

Bellows of my body, set my breath free
Compress the life back into
And out of my ribcage
Breathe life back into the kindling fire
These days have reduced to coals.

Resuscitate
Let me feel like I’m alive again.

Boltcutters And Bruises


There are too many people who have
Bumped the lock on my heart
And pulled the chains
And, forgetting the security
Of the steel links and tumblers
I left myself unfettered

Door left open to the elements
I left it ajar

I want to be loved,
I want to be cared about
When there’s no one there
But God and me
The city lights seem so bright
Especially when seen from my two eyes

Can you see the light I lose,
The light you leave behind when you’re gone?

There’s been so many excuses and apologies
I’m sorry, I thought you had a dad
I’m sorry, you’re not for me
I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore
So sorry, you had to watch me go that way
I’m sorry that I died and went home before you.

Explanations hurt worse than I’m sorry
Sorry could fix so many things, including distance

Bolt cutters leave teeth marks in the steel
Sad stories don’t forge or weld the damage
My heart: it has many bruises
One: from those who have let it go
And two: from clutching it in my hands too tight
My hands are drenched red from both.