Sight to sore your eyes


Note 1134

A discomposure, even the definition seems surreal (panic n.- sudden uncontrollable anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behavior). Like an iron band torqued around my chest. I can breathe enough, but also not enough – to know that something is going wrong. I hate it. I won’t sedate it, I just have to lock things down when it comes. Sometimes more than other times. It’s like having a heart all filled up and at the same time layered with holes that lets everything spill out onto the floor. The more I fill it on the upside, the more it drops out on the downside. Again and again..over and over.

Note 1137

Dark winding arms of anxiety, I’ll always see it that way. Bending, constricting, telling you things in your head that feel like staples and bone. Always trying to foreshadow to you that the worst is on its way, and the weighing of your breath is just too heavy. Being tied to poles with bending hangars, being able to stretch just enough. It’s the giving up, to giving into the backslide, like a backwards dance into the streams of anger’s roar. And sometimes you need that push, that feeling of drowning and you don’t have any more air. That you have to pull your self up to breathe. And for that one short moment, when you forget all the damage on the inside, you find yourself ultimately feeling again, and it’s quiet. And calm. Until you have to fight with it again – not really knowing every time, the next time that you will be able to hold on to anything.

Note 1140

I only know what I know. I always believed to be what I thought was a good person. I can only choose what feels right at the time. I miss a lot. I miss feelings a lot. I drown myself in destructive memories. I pick apart every fight, I pull my own strings, I push my own buttons that open the doors to anxious thoughts. I don’t even know how to unwind the coil anymore. It just gets closer and tighter. I can only be strong so long, until something breaks. I don’t like that rabbit hole. I just don’t get it and I’m so exhausted from the fight.

“…what nobody seems to understand is that love can only be one-sided, that no other love exists, that in any other form it is not love. If it involves less than total giving, it is not love. It is impotent; for the moment it is nothing.” – Andrei Tarkovsky




Note 934
I take in new connections like I fucking breathe. The importance of how it all meant to me is trivial at most now. We all know people have hard shells, but when the doors are closed we still have to deal with the choices we make. And you can play the hard candy card every day of the fucking week but at 3am sober or drunk you have to look at all of that eye to eye. Brow to brow. And no amount of “like farming selfies” is going to stack up high enough to stand behind.

Oh and I am such a follower of the glamoured and pretty but when choices chip away at the diamond that you believed you were, then it’s the rough that you ultimately become. And I so adored you, and I wish that whomever that was – for whatever reasons, why things changed in lieu of them being repaired, that what made it right for me to bury my face in the aftermath of stripping away every layer that was painted while having to be wired to a wall and just watch it all fall down at the same time, makes me devoid of every detail that defined what we were. And that creates a very saddening grimoire because you were the fight I believed worth fighting.

Note 1001
I wish I would have not given a shit. I wish I could have tossed you to the pyre, I wish that I was even capable of switching things off with a fucking click. I am surrounded by personalities who constantly reuse manufactured emotions to make themselves feel better, or generally re write their own narrative to fill in the deficiencies as they see fit. But some people are absolutely fucking delusional if you really believe that anyone thinks that narrative, your narrative is always one worth re telling.

I ask you to sit in this hailstorm. I ask you to turn your back and tell me that you feel absolutely nothing. That being nailed to the floor with every piece of the veil of superficial vanity that you keep grasping on to, is going to be enough. I fucking hope it is.

Note 1032
I remember when you said “Don’t worry, if I ever left you I would give you the respect to drive to your place and break things off to you face to face.” False. In fact very false. Thank you for that. Because it was that frail statement that I trusted, with every bit of my guard down, every piece of vulnerability exposed, and you obtusely strangled the fragments of what had been protected for the last, fucking, eight years. How someone does that, wakes up, walks on, and shrugs it off like it was dryer lint, blindly never looking back, is what makes you the monster. Whom I lost to, someone that was literally the sound in the center of my chest..again, gone.

I was wrong, I was the fool. I will not do this again.

Sehnsucht (n.) “the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what”; a high degree of intense, recurring, and often painful desire for something, particularly if there’s no hope to attain the desired or when its attainment is uncertain, still far away. 


Tumbled into Tumblr, wow this place is a mess.

I started a Tumblr account to keep a photo journal recently. No writing, or maybe the occasional quote… All B/W photos of traveling or road stuff while I’m out. I’ve begun to realize although Tumblr has been around for a long time I never really began to find its appeal.

Recently I ran across some quite dark pages, dealing with things like depression, anorexia, anxiety disorders and pretty much anything all related since they feed you posts by your tags. I admire the boldness of the writing and posts I’ve seen. I’m sure WordPress has similar communities but the format is more Twitter-ish (micro-blogging). Even though some of it is quite direct, there is a clarity of truth in a lot of it.

Raw understanding in writing or photos I think is rare. While managing life in a whirlwind of problems at once, sometimes a blind understanding eye or ear is a helpful and welcomed thing.

Apples For Eyes // Bandcamp

All of my recordings can now be downloaded for free at my bandcamp site. From acoustic, to loud punk, to pop punk to the concept work – they all have a new home now. A few of the tracks were on lockdown on my computer but I went ahead and pushed the whole catalog online.

Going back and listening to the stuff from 2012-2014 makes me realize the evolution of my writing and recording, that for some reason you have to keep on doing it. It’s all about survival. And even when you forget about the old stuff, life has its way of coming around full circle and things seem relevant again. There is much to see in that when maybe even in your own time a song had reference to one event, which later could even relate to the present. Funny how that works.