Musical Moments #9

After a significant delay, I figure it's time to post about the Seether concert.

First, I'm going to take a moment to thank (heavy with sarcasm) the Diamond Ballroom for forgetting that the venue is in fucking Oklahoma for the evening.
That's right, they made everyone park in a large grass lot behind the venue. It was a damp drizzle all day long, and for some mysterious reason the powers-that-be forget that WET and DIRT create MUD. Leaving that parking lot was a massive disaster and I was not pleased. For future reference try and remember basic facts of the weather, because that was fucking pathetic - especially for a sold-out show.

Deep Breaths Outside

"Some day, some one will come along and change you, change everything. You'll discover what love really means, what it can do to you and for you. You'll become a different person - a better one, and all the things that confuse you now will make sense."

"Well yeah, I agree. So what happens to you when that one person leaves you behind?"

"..."

"Yeah. The apocalypse happened while you were busy being changed, being better. Now all your friends have lost the capacity to understand you, and so they move on as well. You get superficial relationships at best, and fulfillment never really comes. You pour your soul out to no one and nothing, hoping that maybe God will take pity and just kill you off. But He doesn't - whether to let you wait forever for something you believed could only happen once, or to let you suffer for your sins...it's hard to tell.

It's true enough that there's someone for everyone...but what happens if you use that someone up?"

____________________________________________________________________________

Impulses drive through the brain, snippets of electrical currents that come from nowhere and return to the void.
Feels like an ocean moving beneath the earth, whips cracking against illusions of solidarity.
Prayers pour, teardrops lost in raining fire, hopes clinging with broken hands to motes of dust...drifting out of reach...

_____________________________________________________________________________

There's more to some of this, maybe. Blame introspective music, or whatever.

- C

Feels like I've been here before.

"If you only write once every five years, it's okay, as long as it fulfills a need."
Well, there's a need. In the interest of not corrupting that, we're going to nix the titles and tags.
It's likely there will be lyrics interspersed throughout, as well.

Story's old, the black and white have gone to grey.

I mean, generally when I'm not writing or reading a lot, especially when I'm not playing piano much...it isn't simply from lack of need, it's usually a symptom of something deeper; often it is a symptom of something darker. These are my outlets, where I pour out bits and pieces of my soul. It isn't a hobby, it's a compulsion - at least in the sense that breathing is a compulsion.

Lacking that, I'm suffocating. Emotionally? No.
Spiritually, maybe. Feels more right, anyway.

If we're keeping score, it's the memories that are winning out right now.
I don't want to write because I want to avoid accepting that the damn things still have a hold on me.
I don't want to play because if I open myself up like that, I won't have any choice about it.

I say open myself up and I hope you understand. It's the nature of really losing yourself in music, not some cliche. There is nothing more simple, or more powerful (as far as these things go.) At a fundamental level, it is a baring of the soul.

Which is interesting for me to say. Most often, if we were try to pinpoint the underlying cause of my problem on a night like this, we'd decide that it stems from an absence of feeling.
Not to say that I don't feel, but to say that I am particularly talented at suppressing it, burying it and analyzing it until there is little left of the original gist. My mood is stable, just very flat, as my therapist says.

I know why that is, and knowing that makes it less confusing as to why on one end I discuss feeling things in such a powerful sense and on the other I don't feel things much at all.
I've tried explaining it before, but the context was off. I suspect the words were as well.

Think of it like having a fire of your own...and for the most part, it keeps you warm at night.
But like fire, it isn't predictable. Sometimes it gutters out and despite your best efforts you're left cold.
Other times it rages so much you fear it will consume you utterly and leave nothing but ash in its wake.

Most of the time, feelings are like that. They keep you warm. But if, for some reason, you felt everything more strongly...those highs and lows could be lethal.
Instead maybe you sit farther away from the fire. Maybe it doesn't keep you as warm most nights...but then it also isn't as likely to make you freeze when it goes out, or to burn you alive when it rages.

Funny thing is, I think you eventually go numb from the cold.

So here I am, knowing that if I let myself feel things again I'm going to have to deal with all this pain I've kept at bay.
Yet at the same time, I'm tired of feeling so far away from everything, everyone.

Not sure what I'm going to do about that, yet.

- C

A Kiss

The first touch of the lips is electric; flashing lights behind closed eyes.
Light sparks fire as matches to kindling, fit to consume the self in its entirety.
Fire smolders slowly in each movement, rendering self-control a laughable illusion.

The refrain is what does it, though.
Before any time at all has passed the barrier between one and the other shatters like fragile glass.
Leaving only the infinite pause of being utterly one.

Lips slide along each other purely on instinct; intent is irrelevant and outdated.
Chemicals in the midst of an explosion don't have a choice in the matter either.
Sparks fly as in a thunderstorm, and the act is no more predictable.

Ultimately there is no energy left separate.
Not one and the other, but both - like an exploding star,
Fused together in the smallest fraction of eternity.

Remind Me

"Impotent in your hatred,
I've been cut but never bled."

This

Musing along

It's always a danger of a writer, a musician, an artist of any kind really, to burn out.
You do so much, say so much, that you feel like you've said all that needs saying.