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


Throw me into the ocean please.

We get sucked into the shit storm, it crashes headstrong across your face until you choke on it. I stumble and reel and try to make sense as I feel the six degrees of every mother fucking disaster I’ve sat through echo over and over and fucking over again. It really makes me want to hurl things off bridges. I imagine how good it must feel to plummet twelve feet under water and understand that the only thing you can really hear is your fucking heart, and the total silence that it becomes.

And I get sad when you and I are apart for too long. The fear of us both being in the dip at the same time. I’m not a super hero. I can’t snap and make the world change like I wish I could for you. It’s not fair, and life really does not care. And who gives a rats ass about “well life’s trying to tell you something by making you suffer”. I don’t buy that shit. I’ve sat through piles of soap opera catastrophes, suffer is something I know well. I’ve lost every dear person to me that I have ever cared about in some fucking horror storyesque misadventure that I only wish was a fucking fairy tale.

You sit still while the clock ticks, and plunge your hand directly into an open face fan blade just to god damn feel something else than what you are feeling at this very moment. Because at least it’s something.

My chest is tired. I feel the air waves shake. I wish that you understood that, really I do.

It likes you because you feed it.

Note 1256
A lot of shows in a row makes me ache but I’d rather have that soreness than the other types. It’s easier when I don’t have to count the disasters but more so the ones avoided (I count them on my free hand now). I’m tired a lot, constantly. I carry a shit ton inside and I’ve decided to just shut the fuck up. I’m way too old for this kind of nonsense. I gave everything I had left, again.

Note 1258
I overheard a conversation at a show in south Texas almost a year ago, a musician stating how many times he had cheated on his girlfriend over four years. He said twenty-seven times. Three times while she was pregnant. He acted like it was some kind of trophy staple to playing music. Fucking ridiculous behavior. Considering how many times I’ve had to regurgitate people’s bullshit over and over, it really drastically alters my view on things. Even when you are one hundred and eighty percent to the point where you may as well skywrite devotion to someone, sometimes it still doesn’t matter. I will never understand that. And I fucking hate my hometown and all the garbage people who behave like that there, or anywhere.

Note 1259
Not much I can do about the residual webs anymore. Clear them out, pull them down. They still stick right to you. You roll over at 3am and reach for the empty spot where you once backed up against, just so that you could finally breathe. It is an empty that is so loud it’s like a piano on your face.

Note 1261
And it’s so easy now days. Social media allows you to rewrite your narrative to make it out to anything you could ever want it to be. In fact you can make faces just disappear with the click of a ‘delete post’ button. It’s like it never happened. You were really never ever there. Crowds just pass on by your feed like “huh oh, wow carry on”. No one sees the stitches underneath it all. It’s all too easy to wipe away. Must be amazing to pull that off, because oh how it makes one feel like total shit and less than zero all at the same time. Way to go, you deserve an ‘atta girl/boy’ ribbon for that fucking Houdini trick.

Note 1265
Momentum screams and that irony just bakes all around you. Anger is a such a plentiful tool isn’t it? How I know it so fucking well. It is a reeking hailstorm at times, and you just have to hold everything you have left over your head and just hope that when you lift your shoulders back up – everything that remains, the smoldering and battering of eyes and lies, YOU HOPE WITH GRITTING TEETH that it might not weigh as much as it did the day before.

Note 1255
Caring what people think is way over rated. I tell you with 46 years of experience in shoes and legs that I can’t even feel. The less you give a fuck about what people think, and the more about lending the focus of your heart and finding its place – that’s where you need to be. It’s raw and pure and you carry it like stones on your chest.

Find it. Throw it. Yell it across empty stares until it’s like dragging a screen door across someones face. Do it enough times, and  maybe a reason will tap you on the back and say “hey I get it, it’s ok”.

It’s ok. And unlikely. Trust me, I get it.


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

Rewinding Roads

Format C: DriveRelational memory: Process in which multiple and simultaneous sources of stimulus information–such as particular scenes, sounds, smells, emotions, and goals–are connected together. Conceivably, the hippocampus (short-term, long-term memory and spatial navigation) together with other structures in the medial temporal lobe, facilitate the formation of relational memories.

I have written many times about this in the past, and was delighted to actually run across a term and research group that study the traits, triggers and phenomena of this part of the brain – (well that this really exists is what I find the most fascinating part).

It amazes me that you can really be going along your way, mind wandering as far off in the distance as could be – and then you are stimulated by a sensation or a smell, or even just brushing up against a wall of glass and your mind immediately takes you to some place that it would have never brought to surface ten minutes prior.

Just goes to show you that we probably never really ever forget anything. We’ll I believe that we have access to around 2.5 gigabytes, but the capacity is actually 2.5 million. That’s a lot of hard drive space in your head to store all of the things that you would rather forget. Or maybe really would like to remember.

I often wonder what kind of filing system our head relates too, as if we could choose to file something way in the back – or keep something close at hand like flash type memory.

What I do understand is that my memory broadcasts me pictures in HD whether I want them or not. Music and temperature are the most sensitive areas. I’m sure I do not stand alone on that. Smell would be a close third. Sounds are very subduing mostly, but the temperature of the air or wind are the most destructive – meaning that when this type of wave rushes over me I am 80% not in the present. It’s like a DVD presses play in my head and that’s what I get to see for about thirty seconds are so.

In ways this could be something that would serve as a positive tool. Useful in remembering where my keys are, phone numbers, addresses or simple short-term things like that. Only if it were that so easy. Unfortunately my relation memory does not work like that. I get the long-term, years five to ten years ago flashes. About 50/50 good and bad. Had I a selection or channel knob that would be quite the blessing. I could tune out the horrible stuff, and just live in the more comfortable places of my head. In a perfect world.

Ultimately this process is quite amazing overall, how you internalize these transmissions is what makes you who you are. Most people I think would grind them up over and over and try to be rid of them – or just never go there. I tend to find myself a bit too analytical at times. If I can relive something as vivid as almost touching it again I tend to replay how the story could have turned out, instead of the way it did.

Do I wish I had a “/format C: drive” line of command for it all? Sometimes, but mostly I just enjoy the pause, rewind and slow button.

How I have kept mine from crashing all these years I will never know.