Mutable notes.

Note 1382
Unavailable and a side effect of nuances please.

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Loud enough, is never loud enough. 

I look back over the seven years of writing here, feeling through the thundering and the hailstorms, and what they leave behind. The absolute fingerprints that tattoo themselves to the insides of your ribs because that’s where we cover things up the easiest. I can’t explain enough detail of how incising the fast forwarding and rewinding that goes on within any sessions of  panic, anxiety and disorder. I could cut and paste pretty much any number of things here and I still feel that it is inadequate in conveying what exactly is going on – when in essence, inside you feel like you are drowning.

One day it will just eventually shut down. You think you’ve heard it all well guess what, you will get a surprise as long as you keep letting things in that have no business being ‘in’. Changing people is a joke, don’t even mess with that one. We’re programmed and patterned with so many things that as long as we ‘keep getting by’ – we’ll keep doing the same things, continue following the same ‘click bait’, regurgitating the same lines and writing the same rules down over and over until you are blue in the chest. It’s taxing, malignant and the bark you choke on will ‘be your own’.

I refuse to blame anyone. We are responsible for what we make, what we cultivate and what ‘we choose’ to grow. No one will ever say “this is yours to keep, this will make you be the best person you can be”. You eat and swallow what you want, you sleep with the same things at night that you wake up with. You attract what you think you want – when we never know, or even care to grab hold of what we need.

Years of seeing this in closed circles, either through it or beside it, or past it – hearing it, it just dissolves me from the inside.

Caring enough, is never caring enough.

Loud enough, is never loud enough.

 

“I always wanted to be the exception to my own rules, I told myself that if I screamed loud enough – it would be heard. That if I raged long enough, it would make a difference. I guess yelling down an empty hall that yields only to a voided room, it really doesn’t matter what you are saying, or how you are saying it – it is destined to fail.”

Water Those Seeds With Alcohol // 2011

Keep pressing on the frailty.

Over the years you become slightly more resilient to damage. You learn to eat the words just to get them out from in front of you. You stick rocks down your throat to keep from regurgitating conversations over and over. You stuff thorns in your ears so that in some possible way you can distract the deafening noise of things broadcasting to you. It consumes every bit of energy that you manifest, devouring every small piece of sense you can piece together until you finally break and fall into the constrictions of being paralyzed.

It’s the dark hole behind a broken door that you don’t even care to find a way back through. It clings on to you so that even when you are out doing your daily numbered bullshit, it constantly reminds you that the vise across your skull will ultimately finish you off. Now, or later.

Not good with today. And it’s not even that much math in it. Which just adds more to the fastening of the wires.

The day fades. And that is just the shittiness that it is.

“You really touch me whenever you feel like it, don’t you?”

“No. I touch you a fraction of when I feel like it.”

– Last Night (2010)

Your mouth is moving.

It’s a flood. It’s suffocating. It doesn’t care how much the words weigh. It sits in the corner of your home and it waits until it can drown out the sounds of the humming fan.  It damages layers at a time. It poisons. It steals the air out of the room. I don’t understand the backwards dialogue that spills out in desperation. Save yourself I suppose.

You won’t win that battle. So find your way to surrender. Give it back. Do something. Repair what is left. I don’t lie. I don’t bend conversations to fit any narrative. I’m guilty of being painfully blunt, and I own that.

It’s a paper-thin veil, and it grows wet with your breath. You chew, you swallow, and it’s gone.

 

“You are what you do, not what you say you’ll do.” – Carl Jung