Loving Living Lost in LoopLand
So through all this darkness, this magnetic and perpetual distress that has encompassed my being recently, good things have intermittently begun to reveal themselves. Boy do they shine, too.
The biggest thing has been a vasting cosmic awesomeness pertaining to the only thing in my life that ALWAYS makes sense to me- Drum & Bass. It's difficult to find new material that's really groundbreaking, especially since the bulk of the releases are toilet-worthy at best. I somehow stumbled upon HOURS AND HOURS of the most awesome, floor-slamming, kick-you-in-the-face-and-laugh sets; some of them live, some live AND mc'd, and some recorded as podcasts. The biggest names. The sickest beats. I've been blessed.
It's been the biggest struggle the last few days, since I graduated off the patch I'm just floating along and am about as unstable as they come. The energy comes in a great abundance, but that's turning out to be a bad thing. I have to work out like every day, I bounce off the walls at work and my co-workers and I aggravate each other mutually. I seriously have to do the 'Thumper the Rabbit' thing, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all..."
How can someone walk around smelling like a bag of assholes and not realize it?
I don't want to bitch about work. What I want to do is Hang Glide. Or climb stuff. Little man and I went to REI the last weekend I had him and he said he'd climb the rock-climber-training wall if I did first, so I bounced up there and his valiant attempt got him 7 feet up before it was just too much. I was proud. That was a good start.
Brain has been going hundred miles an hour. Too much going through it to focus, yet nothing good enough surfacing to provoke interaction with others. I feel disconnected. Not like someone flipped circuit breaker off in my head, more like a bulldozer dug up the service feeders on accident and instead of reconnecting it they just demolished the building that was disabled. Does that make sense? Fuck.
Nothing seems worth anything. Leaving here again isn't gonna fix any problems, but staying isn't gonna fix them either. If I see that weird looking guy that is in every western Casey has watched the last 4 nights in a row again I'll probably jump off the roof. Why won't my Carharts get clean? I've washed them like 3 times in a row and there's still concrete dust from the desert!
I read the journals of people I respect and admire, people who are out there in the world living life, developing tales to be told and being present in their presence. I remember less and less of what I used to feel like, I feel only illusion now. I can't concentrate or hold a conversation or form a cogent thought anymore. If I were to imagine what being crazy were like from an originally sane standpoint, it'd be right up the alley of how I feel right now, how I feel every day when I wake up and everything's a blur from the time I rise to the time my head hits the pillow.
Why do I lay awake with my eyes wide open in the dark when it's bedtime, thinking dark thoughts, twisted thoughts, wanting to go to sleep to escape, wanting only to get plenty of rest so i can be on time the following day and be productive... Why when I'm trying to commit to doing this rediculous fucking job can I not concentrate on anything? My brain is punishing me for punishing it.
But at least there are the beats.
Hours and hours of killer loops, that keep me from derailling into psychosis, that give me breath when my body refuses to breathe. Loops that make me laugh from the hearty innocent place I yearn to laugh at everything from once again. Riffs that provide the framework for me to proceed in the real world, undercover, little sci-fi movie quotes of strange and dark times, leading me through, acting as God in the poem "Footsteps". The beat goes on, as I get crazier and crazier, the insane riffs in those sets make more and more sense. Music that probably shouldn't even be called such, music no one I'll ever meet enjoys listening to leisurely, music that for all intensive purposes is as far removed from reality as I am.
It's all about the little things.
And the NyQuil.
To add further depth to my distraught nature, today is my grandpa's birthday. He died on Father's Day 2005. I spent half the morning at work that day, even after visiting him comatose in the hospital, knowing it was his last day with us. He was short, sweet, shincere. He drank Chivas Regal and chased my childhood friends and I around the house like a monster. He was priceless. He sacrificed a great deal to raise kids and then grandkids. He was from another time, one where text messages would've been revealed as the shallow desperate feats they are. He was in WWII in the Navy. He endured hard times. He drank scotch that knocks me on my ass even now. He had a shadow, and was human in every beautifully human way one could be human. I loved him. I love him still. He wouldn't want me to be crazy.
Sorry Pa. I am crazy. I love you though. Thanks for putting up with me. You're a bigger man than I.
I'm reminded of the little 'lesbian' girl at work. Have you ever had an attraction to someone that you couldn't explain, that in no way would you typically be attracted to someone to the extent you are to that particular person? It's a chemistry thing, not a connection thing, not a lot-of-stuff-in-common thing and not mutual by any means, I'm sure. Just intense. Playful little brown hair, short cut; loving and seemingly sensitive but with a little bit of an attitude problem, kinda-just-a-little-bit-hates-everyone-on-the-face-of-the-earth-for-their-incompetencies-projecting little lesbian inventory girl. I told you you should run if you wanted to lose some weight and you started running. now you weigh yourself on the shipping scale every few days and even though it reads 120lbs you still think you're overweight because you live in Plano. You put stickers of hearts and halloween decor on the window and when I used your desk for a couple days I would look through the stickers into the rolling Texas sky and laugh a crazy laugh, as antics like those are much needed in these strangest of days. This is so sounding like a CraigsList "Missed Connections" post. I think I'll post it. That'd be fun.
People reach out in these dark days, call to me on the phone and through email and such, their interest is being provided by the universe to disprove my theory of abandonment. They want to talk to me, even people i shouldn't talk to, call and email to invite me places, but I have no social ability at this point. I would probably scare off anyone that spent a good amount of time with this crazy version of me. I want to socialize but have nothing to say, no ability to entertain, no money for soda...
"There was an owl sitting on an oak, the more he listened the less he spoke, the less he spoke the more he heard, now wasn't that a wise old bird?"
It's time for something...
-peace-