Woke up this afternoon in my living room. Picked up the guitar alongside the wall and played for about 2 hours in the dark. I can sit in the dark and think and not even be in the dark anymore. Sometimes I wonder if it even matters screaming songs over and over. Save for me anyways, it all comes down to elevating yourself away from the constraints of the walls. To be able to play and leave where I am, even if it goes somewhere worse. Sometimes anywhere is better than where you are, just because it is somewhere else.
So I’m laying here going over songs, playing some that I haven’t played since before christmas, trying to find something tangible and good to launch me into my late Sunday afternoon. It just finally ends up with me screaming the same things. You wonder if anyone can hear, whether its next door, above my head or 30 miles away.
You wonder, I wonder. And if anyone does hear, does it count. Does it needle inside the same way it does to me. Does it make you itch, the way it makes me itch. And when I shut my door, you would think that it would stay in there. That it would lay there and die, and combust upon itself. You would think that it would. And reality blows in, then you realize that as a beacon that sits proudly in yourself anyhow, seems to continue to although – remain cold as rock in the night, stays utterly and forcefully as bright.
Doesn’t make any sense to me at all. If I could reprogram myself I would. If I could restring my thoughts I would. If at all cost I could take a pill that would devour the things I don’t like to think about I would.
Probably just another story that I made up in my head. A story that has no lining at all. A story that I sometimes want to choke on.
And then here you are reading it again.