“Molding pillows to your shape in hopes of catching rest.”

Alone? I know alone.
People? I know fewer of those
As the days drag on into nights
Where the lights to the East
Coat the skyline like stars
That have yet to die

It’s lonely here, between these ears. From my patio, there is a car parked between two empty spots: numbers 9 and 11. These numerals are spray painted in stencil on the pavement so that every time I step out onto the patio, I’m one space away from being stuck in an emergency, so I stay between the lines and let the nicotine buzz.

There’s solitude in the songs that hit me like hammer hits nail. I don’t bend to its will but it makes me malleable in my introspectie space where, in the dark, there is no one but me and the background noise of my TV as I play the same song over and over again. I’m trying to make sense of this heavy burning in my chest; sometimes my emotional state escapes the rate of my cognitive abilities and so, sometimes I dwell in the miasma a moment to soak up the scent, to plug myself into that outlet. Or maybe an inlet. Depends on your perspective, I guess.

There are songs that make me miss people even though people aren’t exactly on my radar. When I’m running low on sleep, which I have been for days it seems, I think the doors open a little bit easier and I’m a little more susceptible to being set loose, but not set free. Emotions are sometimes an escape but, more often than not, a ball and chain and I’m chipping away at the stone around my brain to see what I actually think.

Tonight, I struggle to keep my eyes open and my heart steady.
These nighttime hours are the times when I miss people
When they’re the most inaccessible.
Maybe I miss them for the very reason that they are.
If that’s the case I would miss them all the time, though.
It’s the magic and solitude found only under the spell of night
Where I wander.
I wonder.

Now playing:

Artist: Sixo feat. Ceschi
Song: Christmas Past
Album: The Odds of Free Will
Fake Four Records


Grind my bones up,
snort ’em through your pretty, big nostrils
’till your stomach expands from cuts to your guts.
I wrote a lot of bad from the depths of your insides
To sing you sweetly to sleep as you cried at night.

I’ll be your ghost of Christmas past
On a pillow of feathers all soaked as rags.
In a thunderstorm over skid row we’ve danced in dreams.
But in reality, I don’t dance or dream.
In reality, all my laughs are screams, emotionless,
And half the man I’d ever hope to be.

So, promise me you’ll pawn my guitar on a Fair Haven Street
And buy yourself a diamond ring with the hundred bucks you recieve
Near the crack spot near the bail-bondsmen there’s a gas station hest.
I swear to fucking God I tried my best.
But my best will never be good enough for a perfect guy that’s mess.
But as long as I’m alive I will be drenched in my regrets.
Tonight I’ll sleep in sweat in another bed
Without the warmth of your flesh
Molding pillows to your shape in hopes of catching rest.

Let’s make it through the winter
Without peeling off each other’s skin.
Let’s grow our hair and learn to live again
‘Cause spring is right around the bend
It’ll melt away the bitterness
It’ll grow new trees and pollinate the land

The king and prince are both dead
Drift away quick as snowmen
With frosty powder still in noses
Nobody left to hold them
Through the blizzard that left them frozen
I’m hoping that I meet a better end.

They’ll be our ghost of Christmas past.


Can you hear it? … Listen…


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”


Some months ago I made a leap back into music, relying on only my own creativity as opposed to relying on collaboration which has failed me time and time again. I don’t pretend this is the greatest thing I’ve ever done but it is the first of what I hope will be many.

This instrumental was composed on the concept of and during withdrawals from Lithium Carbonate, a medication I had been overmedicated on for about a decade.

I give you:


… That I Can Build New Hope Upon


Sometimes, there is more soul in songs you can’t directly apply to your life situation. It’s the songs that evoke the hope, the desire, and sometimes the despair of your hopes and desires that makes a song real. It brings the ache into focus and makes you recall the things you thought you’d long since forgotten or, maybe, things you wish you could forget.

Sometimes, it’s the songs that tell the story you wish was yours that grab hold of you and shake you free of all the clutter and make you remember, despite that recurring pain in your guts, you are still living. I heard this song today and it was special like that. Maybe you’ll remember the freedom of your aching wants, your desired things in this tune as well.

Well, tomorrow may not be like any other day
It’s so hard to know now, what with the collecting they

See, lately they’ve been swinging high the wrecking ball
Tipping dirt on the foundations I spent so long upon
Making sure they would be strong

But you and I, we are hard as stone
You and I, we are hard as stone

I may empty out my pockets in their hat one day
Then I’ll turn my back and I will simply walk away

They may think it over and reach out their hand
But I’ll have long since disappeared by then like water in the sand
‘Cause you see, gold was all that they had planned

But you and I, we are hard as stone
You and I, we are hard as stone

They’re like pawns on attack
And I’m back here castling
Trying to find my feet
And find my joie de vive again
But I can’t make it on my own
And I need something strong
That I can build new hope upon

But you and I, we are hard as stone
You and I, we are hard as stone

You and I
You and I
You and I
You and I
Baby, you and I
You and I

Neuron Crossroads [No Deal with the Devil in my Head]

DepressionA lot of people have problems admitting they see a therapist. I guess i don’t see the point in hiding it. That being said, I had a session today and my therapist said something that threw me back into my seat a little. Floored me. Like someone stepped on the gas too fast and the laws of physics forced me backwards when really I wasn’t moving as fast as the vehicle that I was riding in. I was an object at rest forgetting my seatbelt, hold on tight and keep all limbs within the confines of the car at all times.

It’s not been any easy time coping. Nothing feels right and there is no “I” in motivation… even though there is an “I” in motivation. I am not motivated, and therefore “I” am not in motivation. That I is obviously somebody else.

Anyway, she asked me if I was doing the things I like to do. You know, read, write, play music and such. I’m a creative person or thought I was. Lately, I’ve just been struggling with getting through the day and finding the will to stay awake until it’s time for bed and so when she focused on the music I told her I’d been playing guitar a little but mostly I’ve just been listening. She snapped back like a backhand slap to the face with as much gentleness as her profession requires when she said,

“No. You’re not just a participator. You’re a doer”

I sank deep into that really soft couch. I ripped a floating rib bone from my side and whittled it down to a toothpick to pick and flick the bits of that statement I was left to chew on, trying to balance my mind on the thin wire that knew she was right and I thought about myself and all the time I’m wasting away doing nothing, not being happy mostly because I feel like I lack identity. I am not real to the world around me but I can’t be myself because half the time I don’t know what that is. At least, not anymore. I’ve been swimming too long in poisoned amniotic fluid, waiting for the world to show me how to be born into what I was made to become

And I’m becoming impatient. Break the water.

The words collided with something I’ve been thinking about for days. I know, in my heart, I was meant to do something great. I like to do things, I am a doer but, when everything attempted has failed, where do you go? I am a ghost of a man staring into a mirror hoping for a glimpse of my own reflection but getting nothing but blank space. I just haven’t got the courage to rip off this sheet with two holes for eyes long enough to get a good look, thinking maybe it will tell me something other than what I already know and that’s a whole lot of nothing.

I am a shark, a great white (this has nothing to do with ego) who swims to keep himself alive, to keep water passing past these gills so I can sustain my habit of living a while longer. But when a shark stops swimming it dies. When I stop moving, well… I guess you could say that it has not been the greatest of months and I have not been the greatest of anything. My heart’s just not into it right now and I find it hard to keep moving. This time of year is always the hardest. Always.

I don’t know what to do
[Welcome to the crossroads]