23 July, 2012

45 Grave - "Pick Your Poison"

Well, you know, it's been 25 years since there was a legitamte 45 Grave release. All of the members that made "Sleep In Safety" unforgettable and culturally significant have passed on or moved on, save the intoxicating banshee, Dinah Cancer. There were only brief moments since 1989 that 45 Grave were at rest... but sometimes the dead refuse to stay in the ground. Since the early '90s, Dinah has made efforts to return to the rightful throne of punk's Scream Queen. The deplorable and unwelcomed "Debasement Tapes" from Cleopatra Records offered very little to someone unfamiliar with 45 Grave's legacy, and only annoyance to long-time fans. Dinah again began to make resounding waves with Penis Flytrap, and ironically that bone-shattering wail was such a comfort to hear. In a few short years to follow, 45 Grave began touring the U.S. and Europe with assurances of a new album. We've waited with baited breath for nearly a decade for it to come to fruition, and this August (earlier for mp3) we are presented with, "Pick Your Poison".

Of course there's expectations, 45 Grave is my love-child. You immediately recognize some titles, "Akira", "Sorceress", and the teaser from the past couple of years, "Night Of The Demons". No, right from the start, this is not "Sleep In Safety II". Dinah has been exposed to countless musical influences in 25 years, is no longer adled by addictions, and she's the sole remaining member. Not to mention, it would sound frighteningly dated if she even tried to record "Sleep In Safety II". I am guilty however of thinking maybe something along Penis Flytrap might emerge, but that too is more than a decade ago. So, what do we have??

"Pick Your Poison" is appropriately titled to be honest. One can look at it as a tip of the hat to musical influences, or you can break it down to the simple fact that this is dirty, scary, campy, bar rock album. Like Bordello Of Blood's house band. No disrespect at all is intended by those comments. Dinah's voice is still strong, and her presence is inescapable, but if you are looking for "Partytime" wails, then you will be a sad, sad deathrocker. There are elements of hard rock, post punk, dare I say, an effort at cowpunk, no, no - can't be, and a measure of rockabilly and ska. "Johnny" definitely comes from left field, which is apparently a dusty, bar with a jukebox containing only early country & western. Hey, it's fine! This is a drinking album, seriously. No beer - straight whisky my friend.

"Sorceress" is goth/death rock, and it's the skeleton from the 45 Grave wardrobe of horrors. It will appeal to hardcore fans, with it's polished vocals, a driving rhythm, and seedy guitar. It's a warm and bloody bath of familiar phantoms. It would easily be my favorite track from the disc, but I actually am impressed most with "Child Of Fear". It has a bit of fairytale horror to it, similar to early Switchblade Symphony, but with more complex guitar progressions, and I love the ayered vocal effects. This is actually quite familiar to me, but damn if I can place it. Doesn't really matter, 45 Grave put forth a solid track that would make Alice Cooper take notice.

"A Desert Dream" is unexpected, a piano-driven intrumental that is a child's music box left behind after The Dust Bowl. It could easily fall into a post-rock category, but the guitar aspect is reminiscent of the 70's. It's an interesting mix that works well, and if there has to be a ballad - I'm glad we decided to be original with it.

"Winds Of Change" is the closer, and it's got horns, it's got rhythm, and yes, I want to dance, thank you for asking. It's another oddity from the curio cabinet that is "Pick Your Poison", but hell, maybe Dinah is an Oingo Boingo fan like me? It works, it's wonderful, it belongs.

Yes, "Pick Your Poison" does suffer a bit from a scattering effect of influences. It's binding element is the macabre, creep-campiness of the lyrics. You are making a mistake if you want to take this seriously and choose to accept this in any other way than a band that had a blast recording an album that is amazing to drink to. It's been 25 years, and to expect something different is unfair. Honestly, it would be unbelieveable and regrettable. Elements of the part are present, a healthy enough does to know that the film projector running 80's horror movies in Dinah's heart is still a well-oiled machine, and she is still the ultimate deathrock party girl that we all love. It's enough and I thank 45 Grave for bringing the party to me.

22 July, 2012

Vacation...or Better Phrasing: The Week I Wasn't At Work In July 2012

What was supposed to be a simple three-day weekend somehow spawned a monster. The kick-off was selling two treasured belongings to take care of responsibiities. I never expected to be parting ways with these, but alas - I am. I do have some resolve in knowing where they are going, and knowing that who will have them will cherish them even more than I have. But I accepted it, knowing I could spend three days with someone I care about and excited about sharing that time really put all thoughts out of my head about these items, but more important, how close of a nerve it touched upon from my past. That above all else, needing to be with someone that loved and cared about me was a distraction from my past. It was strength and foundation.

In an abrupt and brilliantly chaotic moment, that weekend away became a weekend of internalizing hurt. Crashing in on an already stunned and shattered heart, was the flood of surpressed past. It's such a mystery to me that somehow in 10 years with May, Allisin was but a visitor in our homes, and now, she perches upon my thoughts each and every day. We're doing each other no favors currently. She reminds me that I deserve this hurt, I refuse to allow her rest... so we fight.

Tuesday morning, functioning off of fragments of sleep, and a rum/vodka/whisky induced pyroclastic floe inside my head, I realize that all of the bedding is blood-stained, and I have 20 minutes to shower and get to work. That creeping swathe of pain when the hot water hits the wounds was nauseating, I buckled. It's never like that. But to work I went. Of course I wasn't able to focus, and of course I was going to fuck something up, and my boss, for the first time ever, called me out on it; yelling as he wrote me up and sent me home. Quite startling, like a slap back to reality. Amazing how sobering the fear of being umeployed and homeless is. He called me that night to see if I was okay, and apologized for the demeanor, and told me he made arrangements so I could take the week off and get my act together. I failed.

Tuesday, I was reminded that I had plans to meet up with a friend for coffee and catch up. "Good grief", I thought, "this isn't going to be catching up, this is going to be a therapy session." I told her I was in no state to hang out, she told me that's the perfect reason to hang out. And she was right, I felt okay finally. I voiced it... I felt like I could be okay.

Serendipity had other plans and kept me up til 6 in the morning. I chose to disembark on the same train from the weekend. Actually with a little less sense of caring and sort of hoping we hit something and derailed. Again, fate stepped in; took the pretty, shiny, pointy things away and took me to a movie. I thought I was okay, but not voicing anything and only witnessing in silence someone else's twisted mind, left me with mine. Didn't sleep.

Thursday - I wanted to run away. Actually, St. Augustine was where I wanted to go, but a glimpse at the bank account reminded me that you are staying put. It just didn't get any better. There is still laundry on the bed from Sunday waiting to be folded. Nothing in the art book got done, tables are still covered with fucking everything. And what's worse, I realized I am still as capable of jealous feelings as I ever was. Even though I have no right to feel them, and it's utterly a selfish act, there they are. Ripping at what's left of my arms and heart. I don't even remember how that day closed, I think it's my night of 3 hours of sleep.

Friday - likely my last chance at solitude and dealing with myself. "No?! Not possible? Okay, yes, let's calm your freak out and shattering life... I think I have enough quality of life in my own to get you through this." Constantly reminding myself, I deserve this, or else it wouldn't be. Plans to have lunch with the work wife were my escape. And escape I did. "2 for 1 drinks u say?" "Thank you, yes!" It was nice to see someone I didn't have to fear, fix, follow, or fabricate to. So fucking nice. I needed some time that evening to just go and be absorded and invisible. I thought The Falcon was a great opportunity to do so. At least until I hear "10:15 Saturday Night" and I am right back to hurt; to missing; to wishing. I had to go. Yeah, goths are supposed to be mopey and sad, but I didn't want any of it, I just wanted to leave.

Unfortunately, those feelings never left from Friday. It's my current live-in girlfriend. Quite needy. She's convinced me that I am making mistakes, that I let something amazing leave, and that I probably should continue doing stupid things to myself and send the one that got away texts all fucking night like a pathetic teenager... oh and I should drink and drink and drink and be drunk. I have a problem saying no. It was also decided that going to sleep was prohibitive to making the least of this vacation.

Now, it's Sunday evening. It's raining. I am blasting deathrock... I can't really complain at the moment about anything new. Birthday is making full use of having a queen-size bed all to himself, and I don't really care what happens the rest of the day. This vacation fell apart, period. And I was given the opportunity to heal as much as possible and be ready for Monday, and I never left my head, so it just got darker and dimmer. But I am ready, I think, to shelf it all and just go back to work. I think I can focus, I have to, and get back on track with my job. It's where the stability is and is controllable, so I need to put my energies there.


21 July, 2012


This track has been on heavy rotation. I found this album at a time when my world was crumbling. Even though it's a powerful album for empowering women; I find it to be evocative and thought provoking, and I certainly made an emotional connection to it. You throw some cello into a track, and you have my attention... a total sucker for it. "Man", ironically titled given the message throughout the disc, was Neneh's third full-length, though it's domestic U.S. release either never happened, or was years delayed. She had already been written off in The States. Ridiculous timing, because as her light faded, her production team and her home town were about to strike hard at the throats of the American music scene and set it on it's ear. Go!Discs unleasehed fellow peers Portishead and Tricky, and dumped introduced trip hop to the masses. A scene that had already taken hold in the U.K., many of the acts emerging from the bleak, industrial wasteland of the town of Portishead. It was a melange of the youthful disenchantment that was the Seattle/X-Gen scene, and the underbelly of an acid generation that preferred glowsticks to plaid. It unleashed a new wave of brit-pop influence, and the acid/psychedelic culture evolved with many sounds, trip hop certainly included amongst them. It also began to shape the NY hip-hop scene, bringing in samples other than jazz.. alumni such as Beastie Boys and Moby certainly took notice and ran with it.

"Man" is a severing of expectation and being a slave to the music industry. Thrown to the wolves, and unfairly criticised on a professional and personal level, Neneh chose a measure of seclusion to focus on her family. And emerged with renewed strength, angst, and self-worth. She speaks so eloquently about love and hurt; about passion and betrayal; and eqaully about the type of love that's important to one's happiness and sanity. You can't help but fall in lust with her as she describes masturbating to her own reflection, but there's nothing narcississtic about it - it's empowering. That confidence is infectious and intoxicating. At the same time, you fall in love with her because she sings so sincerely about love of family, and love of self. How easily she could be bitter and hateful, but she teaches healing and taken care of yourself... a powerful message I am attempting to embrace...

Everything, anything I see
Anything, everything I feel
Everyday anytime I know
Anything everyone has to go
Champagne lingers in my glass
The party's over
I see my reflection, sipping
And it reminds me
I'd like to see you
Having more fun
If you can
I look at you
But it's me I see
It's everything I know ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
It's everything and everyone around me that I see
Everything is real
Everything I feel
In my mirror
I see myself
In that mirror
Inside myself
Sometimes I feel it coming to me
Thinking of you when I'm looking at my body
I can touch myself with my own understanding
My resolution to be broken
That I see now
And it's me I see
It's everything I know ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everything and everyone around me that I know
Everything is real
Everything I feel
No real solutions
In clipping from the past
I see my reflection at last
Books full of pictures
Remembering the blasts
Times consequences
Makes me go fast
And it's me I see
And It's everywhere I go
It's me I see
It's everything I see ( it's me I see )
And it's everywhere I go Yeah ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everywhere I go ( it's me I see )
It's everything I feel ( it's me I see )
And it's everything and everyone around me that I love
Everything is real
Everything I feel

20 July, 2012

Every Day

Seems kind of ridiculous, I have to do this every day, 3 or 4 times a day. My arms are shred; they hurt to the point where I am taking advil hourly. It needs to stop. I have to stop or risk infection, and then that requires explanations; an avenue I'mnot exploring. It's ridiculous and laughable. Also quite pathetic.

I walked around the neighborhood behind Dandelion yesterday for a couple of hours. Had my Tarocado, so the heat was tolerable. My mind just sort of wandered, and I allowed it to before realizing the hurt I was unfurling. Reality took hold of my throat when I found myself standing on Summerlin; a street that will never simply be Summerlin anymore. It was at one time, quite innocently home to the Gai Building, and IHOP. Now it's a scar running across my ribs and my arms. Fuck. I do not want it to be this way. I have no faculties to fix the wound or fill the hole, and I don't even desire to feel wanted by anyone else. It's nearly a week later, and all I can manage is 2 or 3 hours of sleep, and I can't do it in the bed that now mocks and betrays me... no - I have to do so on the couch or floor. Birthday seems quite happy with my choice of abandoning the bedroom - it's his room now.

So, I've done so little on this forced vacation. Haven't healed any. Had some nice distraction, but it brought me right back to thinking about the person missing from my life. Am I horrible person? I try so hard to be unexpected, caring, real, honest, and supportive - but it seems to never bring favor to my life, just a lot hurt. Maybe there is some delight in being an unfeeling, self-absorbed, douche and asshole. Fuck and follow, and never feel. Had coffee and a movie with a friend; going to have lunch with the work wife; got the car serviced; and bought some art. With only the weekend left to go, I am quite certain I will not be in a functional state come Monday. I understand why people go to work drunk or high - it seems like a great idea right now, because I am not going to have the focus to do my job.

Ugh, fuck, even my thoughts are muddled about this. I'm incoherant and just need to stop trying to articulate them until a later date. I really wanted a road trip to St. Augustine this week, but money and then plans derailed that. Maybe Sunday. I need to go escape somewhere comforting, because right now, that is not here.

In the shallow holes
Of a thousand eyes
In the knee-deep graves
Of future survivors
The fleshless guests live off
Children of the past
Their aging fingers cast the
Shadow of Death

Their razor sharp tongues
Invite to relax
As they slip the skin of your
Eyelids back
Invasive spectators
Get into the act

With roses and candles
Silver knives and spoons
Persona read women dance with
Priests on a side road
Your vision perspectives are
Turning to stone
Cabaret slide show starts
Shooting their loads
Act one is the end, the show
Now begins

Their razor sharp tongues
Invite to relax
As they slip the skin of your
Eyelids back
Invasive spectators
Get into the act

Breath ballet prancers spin on
Porcelain backbone
A child's muddled cry turns into
Ungracious freeloaders leave their
Dead on a doorstep
Flowers of doom bloom in prosperity
Luxuries of past days are
Luxuries of our days
Luxuries of past days
Luxuries of our days

19 July, 2012

Dark Shadows?

On a whim, I checked Colonial Promenade 6 for a showing of Dark Shadows, and was quite delighted to see that my hunch was spot on. I immediately texted Stephanie and demanded she make good on our Dark Shadows rain check. "Demanded", pleaded... you know... I needed some distraction and to be away from reminders. It was her last night of freedom, so she was onboard. She was also late in typical Stephanie fashion. We made it inside about 5 minutes into the film.

I was completely taken by the movie from the onset. Michelle Pfeifer was amazing, and I was delighted to see Jackie Earle Haley continuing in the basking of his revival. I thought briefly how ironic the casting was, in a movie about returning from the grave, that he should be cast. "Let Me In"'s Chloe Grace Moretz played the role of the daughter, and her rebellious attitude counter-balanced by a free-spirited hippie culture was a bit off but somehow worked. Maybe it's something about the 70's I missed? But then, in walked whore-orange-headed Helena Bonham Carter sporting a lob...and geez - just breathtaking. Sans accent, but nonetheless a little dirty; a little trainwreck like; a whole lot of hot. Johnny Depp's character's nemesis is played by Eva Green (Kingdom Of Heaven, Golden Compass), whom I never found that stunning, but as a long-haired, blonde in this role, she is the epitome of sex appeal and utterly salacious. The movie moves along quite quickly, but there's undeveloped aspects that I wish had been better explored. Christopher Lee's role for instance... it required more depth and background. The back story of the Collins Family losing their gasp on the town and it's industry, though throughly discussed - Burton films have cut-aways and I think we deserved on. Help me buy into this fairytale, please!

As the Collins Family begin to rebuild the tatters of their reputation, the story unravels into predictability and for lack of better word, silliness. This is completely unlike a Tim Burton film, and I can't to begin to imagine what happened? The characters become 2-dimensional, and though effort is made to explore personal flaws and weaknessed, it's so superficial and carnal, that it really serves no support to the story, it does however mire it in a swamp of disinterest, disappointment, and if the director gave up - as an audience member, I give up to. Right up to the anti-climactic ending that pulls every card out of the hat of tricks (maybe it was supposed to be absurd and a jab at current movie trends)... but it was lifeless and tracing paper for what's already been done.

Okay to watch, even enjoyable to a mid-point, but if I buy this or copy this, it's too fill a Helena Bonham Carter as a redhead fix... not much else.

17 July, 2012


Haven't slept well at all; barely eaten anything; can't focus at work; and have just a general feeling of being numb. If I could even rationalize my feelings, I wouldn't know where to go from there. It makes me sick and depressed, and the void is deafening. No text asking about my day, no smile, it's just a big hole and nothing to fill it with.

Plans I made last week to meet up with a friend tonight, seemed like a bad idea, but I wanted to catch up with her, and touch base before she started school again. Stephanie met me at Drunken Monkey and we grabbed our snacks and coffee and unloaded. Even though our introduction was through an online dating site, we didn't connect in any kind of romantic way, we did manage to become friends and have had intelligent and honest conversations since. She doesn't pull punches which I appreciate. Just hearing what someone else was doing with their life was somehow theraputic, and dissapated my malaise. I was relatively vague in the acts, but quite descriptive in my feelings, and though she offered no epiphanies, she did listen intently. That, and the cd I made for Bethy Williams earlier this year was enough to drag me from my shell.

Not sure if I will sleep tonight; not sure what to expect tomorrow; but right now, I have some clarity. The void is there, it does hurt, and all I can think about are the movies that won't be shared; the concerts that won't be shared; and the experiences we never even had time to imagine. My dad has told me since I was a child, "Everything happens for a reason, son...", and even though I can't imagine what they might be at the moment, I know he is right.

16 July, 2012

Broken Therapy

A weekend that de-evolved into heartbreak and a Black Heart Procession soundtrack. I decided that the day-off I planned in my head was going to be solitary and filled with the only therapy I know how to manage. Thrifting. I don't buy clothes, I buy used cds. I picked up one for someone that doesn't want anything to do with me right now, and the rest I am listing below:

Revenge Of The Flying Luttenbachers
Seriously, what in the hell is this? A 3-piece band from Chicago (I guess), and one member is pictured with football make-up and hair greased into a pair of antennae. The disc is a pentagram a la Motley Crue's, "Shout At The Devil". Of course I have to buy this freakish disc. It's dated 1996... so I wasn't sure what to expect, the Chicago music scene I knew was long dead at that point. Musically, it's a trainwreck. The opening track, Storm Of Shit is a melange of guitar, kazoos, horns, drums, and sampled sounds. Frankly, four-and-a-half minutes of it is four-and-a-half minutes too much, because Mike Patton already mastered this insanity. It does not get any better. There are no vocals apparently... I have to assume because I began skimming after the second track. Imagine my amazement to discover this band has several releases. Once again, the one disc I purchased on a whim that certainly wouldn't disappoint - is every bit a disappointment and so much more. Steer clear!

Rachmaninov: Symphony No. 2
You really can't make a mistake with this. Someone donated their entire BBC Classical Music series, and I may go back for the rest when I have the money. I am particularly drawn to Rachmaninov; of course because he is a Russian composer of whom I have an affinity, but also because of his struggles. Critically panned in his own country; his Symphony No. 1 was an utter failure, and he was forced to flee Russia during the Bolshevik Revolution and he to begin a career anew. He eventually found himself in America where he found acclaim and respect. And who wouldn't be in love with a composer who was interred in Valhalla? Seriously! This recording is conducted by Edward Downes with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Appropriate mood music today.

Zero Zero: A.M. Gold
This is pretty fucking upbeat, poppy, and doesn't match my mood today. I definitely can enjoy this, though it's commercial, slick feel probably means it won't find much rotation in my collection. The electronics are danceable, and never venture into any hard beats. Vocals are gentle, fuzzy and warm. This is summer day, car trip to the lake music. And it would help to not have a care in the world, including what you were listening to. If The Faint were forced into therapy, the hospital approved sound would be Zero Zero. My favorite track is, Pink And Green - it's a little funky, and makes me want to dance with the cat and go buy some rum.

Eric Hutchinson: Sounds Like This
I like Lenny Kravitz and Jamirquai too! But seriously, this is an upbeat, body swaying disc, it just isn't my thing right now. I can see this being played in my near future. I actually know someone who would likely really love this disc, and that's contributing to a lot of my sad feelings right now. This is palletable and radio-friendly (if it isn't already), and if you like Kravitz and Jamiriquai - pick this up or borrow it from me.

Sixty-Eight Pennies: Race-Car
If I had to guess, this is likely Alternative Christian Rock. Not sure where they hail from, but if today was 1999, when this recording was released, then it would already sound dated. It's light alternative rock with elements of Live and Soul Asylum.

Boiled In Lead: Silver
Uh - had no idea what to expect. But what it is is heavy doses of world folk. Upbeat, fun, and much too safe and friendly to really enjoy on any kind of level. I'd expect to find their cds at Epcot. I found the dark, seething bass lines of The Sunset enjoyable, but there's too much fodder and friendliness throughout to keep me intrigued. Another bust...

Imogen Heap: Speak For Yourself
I honestly couldn't remember if I liked Imogen Heap or not. I took the leap because the album title spoke to me. I probably don't need to describe it; this seems like the kind of thing you either are a devoted fan of or you hate it. Definitely something I think Tori fans would enjoy. I am not at all put off by it, and I can imagine finding a niche in my moods where this would be appropriate. There's elements of Tori, Fiona Apple, Eurythmics, and Bjork (musically), and it does tend to slip into a commercial, polished mainstream, but there's enough indie element to keep it genuine and sincere. And yes, this is speaking to my depression today.

The Wrens: The Meadowlands
This was a nice find. I am always in the mood for some lo-fi mellowness. I hadn't heard this particular album, but it's watch you expect from The Wrens. Quiet drums, subdued vocals, and gentle resonance. Slo-core a la Low, but at times strives for post-rock a la Mono. It's a welcome blend. Where this album breaks free from a Wrens mold are mid-tempo changes, and vocals that become border on a pained soul. This and the Imogen Heap are likely to get a lot of plays as I try to move forward.

I also picked up a promo disc of Bob Dylan Live at Carnegie Hall 1963. I know why I picked this up, and it's not because I am a Bob Dylan fan. Along with the other disc, my immediate thought was a gift. So, I will just hang on to it for now. I also found a dvd of High Fidelity. I am in no mood to laugh right now, so I will shelf that for a lighter day.

01 July, 2012

Oh you manipulators...

Sitting at work on a Sunday night; not a single day off. Not until next weekend, but I will be broke then as well, so what's the point really? It always seems like the summer when the extra cash dries up, and it's too easy to blame it solely on the electric and fuel costs. It is somehow inexplicable to me. It is nonetheless depressing as hell. I want to make my friends meals; take them out; treat them to some spoiling - but I can barely afford to keep myself fed as of late. Way, way too much debt.

I haven't been to a music store in months, outside of seeking out a gift for someone. That's like a crack addict without anyway to smoke it. I am however keeping a list of the things I discover on YouTube, Last FM and through friends. It's getting quite long. It was evident that I was out of touch with what is currently radio-friendly. I imagined Gotye to be some obscure, indie artist putting out depressing but catchy pop tunes - but no. First, Glee and now 7-11 - I had to wonder if I somehow wore a badge of shame for proclaiming such greatness to my Facebook friends? I kind of feel like the virgin I was promised was actually just reborn.

Find myself without a voice, or at least a direction for that voice. Can't talk to L about H, or H about L; I can talk to K about H and L, but I only get back what I want to hear. I have very different but very strong feelings about both H and L - and it's simply not reality based to think that this can be cohesive. Romantic, Hollywood notions about friendships being these bonds that demand respect and are priceless is to an extent not just a fantasy - but people's emotions and feelings aren't fairytales, unless they are of a Grimm nature. Who better than your lover should be your best friend? I can attest to the reality that it is simply not enough. I can only hope to find the kind of bond and unspoken understanding that Maisy and I shared with someone else... but at the end of the day, we had to admit that the bond we had was as best friends. As friends - we never once had a problem. This paragraph is directionless, and meaningless, and pointless - I am just trying to pry the words from my synpases so other things can process. I know there will be an audit forthcoming, and I will be utterly without receipts to reflect my spending. I don't know if I am doing what's best for me, and I don't have a lot of confidence that the other parties involved are keeping an honest eye on the books. It scares me. I don't think I am nor want to be a selfish person, but I am in love with the beauty of this moment when I can hear your thoughts, feel your breath, wrap myself in the splendid intoxication of your words... and I want for nothing else. The opinions I have of myself are anything but the ones were scrawling into the subtext of our conversations. I don't see me like you do, like anyone sees me. I am so skeptical of happiness - because as quickly as I can build you an ivory tower, I can take razors to my skin and bleach my veins of sensation. It's not true that you can never be happy unless you can make yourself happy... it's more appropriate to say that someone giving you happiness will never be happy if you can't make yourself happy.

Oh fuck.... I so don't want to be here, at work, espousing these thoughts right now - it's so depressing and reminiscent of a time when my world was collpasing in on itself. Who am I to judge what someone does or is willing to do to find love for their life? Fuck, I should be so lucky to even have half that passion and drive to want love in my life. I can't even fucking define love anymore. I know what it means to love a child; a friend; a family member - but to love another? Not a clue. I have been so wrong, so often - I'm not sure I'd even recognize it's clothes at the foot of my bed. I can't judge the stress and torture someone is willing to endure for this unyielding bond. Hell, I know what I was capable of ignoring under the pretense of love - so I have nothing to say on the matter. I'd be a hypocrite to try.

Well, I have said plenty I suppose. I am a word-user.