Sight From the Songs

The tension around me boils. There’s so much noise, and what needs to be said is remaining the only absent thing. The more they strive to get where they want to go, the further they drift from grace.

Someway outside. Somewhere outside. Someone outside. Escape, trivial lapses from mundane things, away from worry, away from minds that pay no mind.

iPod? Check. Headphones? Check. Wallet? Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I can afford anything. Shoes and a direction, that’s all I need.

Out the door, scrolling through playlists.

Menu: Playlists: Ten-Song: All As One

Now for a direction… left it is.

So begin the thoughts. Need the playlist updated, constantly searching like a parasite. What fits mood, what fits setting. The current track contrasts nicely, but most of my mind wishes it wouldn’t. Lyrics sink deeper into their meaning, change the song. Doesn’t work, if it did I could maybe have a different kind of pain to focus on. One more direct, less of a dull throb that keeps me restless. No one is lost, no one is found, how does this convey what I feel?

No… the annoying thing, is deep down, I’d much rather feel that.

With your games, and my games, and the rules we hate the same.

Change song…

Unusual Habits… this should work. Help me be more introspective.

Keep the state of mind with me, look at where I’m walking, look at why.

People grow food, then they pick it. Then they move into the spot where they strip it. Then they re-cook it, try to enrich it, remold it, fold it up and then ship it. See? People got unusual habits, see something beautiful run up and grab it. Stomp it, kick it, beat it up and stab it. Burn it to the ground so that nobody can have it.

Keep my mind and eyes like an arrow. Try to look out for things other people pass by. Old payphone leaning outwards, long stripped of electrical devices. Cord to the power line above is still connected. Vegetation grows all around it, trying to reclaim its territory. Doubtful anyone ever made any important calls from it in the first place, yet people still had to put in the man hours to put it there. Funny, no one’s putting in any man hours to remove it.

I wonder how long it took people to forget about it… seconds maybe?

This part of town’s pretty poor, but the people don’t seem too terribly down trodden. I envy that in a way. I don’t even wish for the clarity of just being happy with what I got. I’d rather have whatever’s making these people blind. Do thoughts like these prevent such moments from ever existing? The moment you begin to question the complexity of life, is the day you lose out on the wonderful randomness of it all. I want order. I want peace. Surely complexity shouldn’t be needed for those things. I look around at other discarded items. A kids toy on the side of the road, a crap ton of garbage filling up a ditch… I see them and I begin to wonder. Is it really comfort that allows people to aspire to nothing, or is it just ignorance? The lack of want for these thoughts, the lack of care for them, the lack of accountability.  All poor parts of town share a uniquely shitty sheen to them, but nothing’s ever done about it.

This is where the poor people go, so we won’t make problems for the wealthy. These areas of urban decay are for refuse. The ones nobody wanted. What invalidates us?

Why do I speak of many…

This is where I get put, when nobody wants me. What invalidates me?

I think too much.

I dream too much.

Too much…

Song changes… Guess that’s a good thing.

Somewhere I Belong.

That fits… bring me down from such condemnation, let my eyes turn inwards as I traverse even further out. Don’t think I’ve actually wandered this far off before. Mostly I just walk to the store to get something to drink.

I can’t believe I didn’t fall right down on my face (I was confused). Looking everywhere only to find, that it’s not the way I had imagined it all in my mind (So what I am).

I want to yell and scream, like I’ve somehow broken from the cast, and I’m different. I’m not though. That’s where the silence comes from. I’ve bit my tongue because I’m really no different. What I feel doesn’t change what I am, and what I’ve done. So many mistakes, missteps. Should have said this, should’ve looked them in the eye. Let them know I’m serious. Not a failure.

So many I knew fell away from me, and I didn’t want it to end like that. So many people I used to call friends, so many I wanted to keep laughing with, talking to. Those I was left with, I didn’t want to be near. It was like a mirror, I was around them, but I knew nothing of them, didn’t care too much, wasn’t invested.

So the line that held me over the cliff started to thin a little more. I craved so much peace, but the silence of my own thoughts are poison. It reminds me of who won’t stand around me anymore. It reminds me that those that stand around me now only annoy me, break apart my mind, fragment it. If I am not the person I claim to be in silence, yet I’m not the person I claim to be in speech… then what am I?

Song changes… focus on a similar path. Oh god, I really don’t want it to sway this direction. Too sappy, too much focus on what’s not there…

But the focus is already there I suppose… the song adds comfort. I don’t care if the lyrics try to tell me that I’m not alone in the feeling… the only thing I take comfort in is the sound…

It’s ironic to be so infatuated with love songs without being in love. Perhaps the longing is what resonates with me? I’m not sure what I’m missing around me, but I know something’s missing. Putting that focus into songs like this gives me something to fixate on in an issue that’s horrifically vague.

Or perhaps I should just stop being so goddamned analytical?

Let me slip away, I’m barely holding on. Every now and then I feel the end of us.

Us, me, them, it doesn’t really matter, I keep listening.

I love the way you breathe inside my head.

That line sticks out to me every time. Like I hear it and I die, melting into the meaning of it and spending a thousand lifetimes of regret that I could never write something so clever, so filled with meaning.

I don’t write much about growth or joy, because I don’t know much about how either function. For me, it’s always about either balance, or decay. I’m always introspective, but I never have a point.

Something’s missing.

I don’t know what, why, or who, and I don’t think I care much. Just this gnawing thought that keeps chewing at my sleeping mind when all I want to do is sleep. My muse, that’s what’s gone. The reasons I used to write aren’t there anymore. I don’t want to weave any more tales, because I forgot why I did.

I loved crafting the stories inside my mind, I loved how they all fell into place. Now, they only fall apart.

Is that what’s missing? Will I grow past it? I thought that it was my escape. I thought it was what made me different. Stand out amongst the crowd. Scream when no voices could silence me.

Wow, I’m almost at US1 now. Didn’t think I’d have ended up walking this far.

And then it smacks me in the face while I’m standing on a street corner watching cars pass me. I’ve spent all this time musing to myself, all this time traveling, and I’m not going anywhere. Like being chained to a prison cell, there’s only one place I can end up when I’m done walking. I don’t want to be there, that’s why I started walking.

Christ, going for walks can’t even bring me solace now. I turn the iPod off and I hear the sounds of cars constantly screaming past me. More noise. Asshole outside across the street back home is launching off fireworks. It’s the middle of fucking August, and he’s launching fireworks. That’s why I left. I had this ONE day where I was all alone with my thoughts, and all I could hear were bottle rockets. I left hoping to find my thoughts, but here I am with them, and it hasn’t done me any good.

I think too much.

I dream too much.

Too much…

I hear the worlds in my head as I turn the iPod back on, and I almost wish them away. Each story I tell, I could give a happily ever after, but when I sit on that lumpy ass bed tonight, I’ll be alone with my thoughts, knowing full well that I won’t get any decent amount of sleep.

Even when I escape, I’m only deluding myself. I’m still just shutting down and trying to make the whole goddamn universe go away.

Wishing, hoping… my god, it’s amazing how easy it is for stupid shit to keep a man going. Broke, not many I could call friends, the place I live in is like living in my own personal equivalent of a torture chamber, and yet I’m still here, dreaming of the same stupid shit to help me escape.

I could be doing something else, but I’m not.

I lie to myself to sleep, act like there’s an arm around me, or that when I wake up, it’ll be at my own accord, or that when I rouse from slumber, I’ll be leaving someplace to where I’m needed. All of those things make me fall asleep, because that lie is the only thing that keeps me from worrying.

I started writing to avoid reality I suppose… perhaps I’m not in need of my old muse, but a new one? Writing about fantasy and escapism seems horridly pointless when so much of your life is spent focusing on how miserable you are.

Self deprecating cycle that wounds me further, but I don’t even pay it much mind. Instead, I just walk back home, trying to encase myself in the sound.

And I will hear your name called out from a boom box. I will hear your name called out from passing cars.

Fixate. Put a name on something that isn’t there. Dress up nothingness… empty distraction.


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