Can you hear it? … Listen…

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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”

Li2CO3

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:

Li2CO3

… That I Can Build New Hope Upon

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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]

The Stoplight

He found both solace and torture in music.

There, were, of course, certain songs that he had shared with her that specifically breathed life into the memories he had been trying so violently to kill. So, he did the exact opposite of what would seem logical in this situation. Most people would avoid those songs that they had shared in such a situation but he dove head first into the deep end, trying to desensitize himself to times that the songs would bring up. This was the soundtrack to his heartbreak but he didn’t care. He wanted her purged from the folds of his brain so he could move on with his life. He had no other choice at this point since she acted like he no longer existed. Trading lacuna for lacuna, he trudged forward.

What he realized was, of course, he could listen to almost anything after a while without feeling as if she were sitting right there with him, especially when he was alone at night in his car. But one time out of a thousand her hands would grip his neck and a song would take him back to the place where here eyes would light up the darkest night. Then the dam of his eyelids would have to fight to hold back the overflow of water. Most would change the song but he couldn’t. He needed this, to get over this. This was his music first. It had been there before her and it would be there long after she was gone.

His car rolled to a stop. It had just rained, so the reflection of the red light made the soaked streets look like they were oozing incandescent red blood cells. His eyes were too focused on waiting for the light to change and his mind too wrapped up in the music to notice his newest passenger.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” The ghost from the park was in his passenger seat, facing forward and lightly bobbing her head to the song on the stereo.

He jumped and slammed himself up against the door, bumping his head against the window as if he could somehow permeate the steel and glass. Actually opening the door hadn’t really occurred to him.

“How’d you get in my car?” He stared intently, waiting for her to turn and show him glowing eyes and then evanesce into the ether somewhere.

She didn’t say anything. She simply reached for the door handle and opened it. “You left the door unlocked.” She pulled it shut again. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said as the track changed to another tune to which she felt she could move herself to in the tiny space of the passenger seat.

He was slightly put off by this but he pulled himself back into the regular seated position he had been in previous and then just stared at the center of the steering wheel. Or maybe he stared through it. He looked up to see the light was still red.

“I can’t let her take this part of me with her. This music is what keeps me together on days when nothing else can. She already took my heart and broke it. I can’t have her take this and misuse it too. This music is mine.”

She nodded her head. She seemed to understand better than most. This seemed to be the running theme in their conversations and his curiosity was piqued but she seemed relatively unattached, as if she were just there incidentally. He wondered who she was and why she kept showing up in the strangest of places.

The light was still red.

“Music is like that for a lot of people. She’ll take it regardless and she’ll think of you whenever she hears it. Whether or not that’s a good or bad thing is a question you may never get the answer to. But keep fighting, crusader. You seem to be doing much better than when we first met, much calmer and with thoughts more directed and even a little happier. Keep going. You’ll get your question answered.” She picked at her nails then patted him on the thigh.

“What question are you talking about?” He turned to look at her as she reached for the door handle and pushed the door open.

“Aliquid stat pro aliquo…” She shut the door before he could ask her what she meant.

Then he heard a horn beeping behind him. The light had turned green.