Crystal Clear

A fortress of glassy glacial ice is melting. It took years to build and it took all sorts of engineers and late nights to concoct. With so little left for it to stand for, it has decided it would be best to fade. It wasn't an immediate decision of course. It had liked the roomy caverns and echoing hallways within. The crystalline fortress knew it was time to move on though.

The people within it were leaving. Slowly they left in the dead of night. Stealing away what little possessions they owned, they saw no other way to survive. It had convinced them its walls were safe. Locking in the numb chill of solitude, the people forgot their worries and the outside world. Family faded in their memories and icicles encased their hearts. Though it was an easier life, it was also a life of death and dying connections to things which used to make someone giggle, or moan, or desire. Instead, the fortress stole away joy and thanksgiving and replaced it with pride and doubt. No one sought them out for they did not know where their loved ones ran to. Little did the icicle people know that their loved ones mourned for them outside the bluish shadowed life they lead. When they were justified in feeling isolated because no one came for them, the inhabitants further embraced the slick walls and sparkling floors.

It lost the fight. No amount of ice could contain people. Not desire, nor love triumphant brought this mighty fortress down. No it was an old lady with a long memory. The long memory meant jagged edges still unworn by the sliding pressure of the glacial age. Her partner passed on long ago, but she really could not remember the end of her love. She forgot her true love and her shining smile. The true death of this fortress came when she refused to die, her hatred of a long memory still lived. She was the only one who remained in that glassy house. All else was gone. It made the choice to come down around her in a silent homage to the hate that filled her chest. It saw no other choice than to capture her. Her company would suffice for the next millenia. But would it outlive her rage, it never knew. It would never know because she kept it so well hidden. It was not the rage of a burning aching pain. The rage within her was icier than her captor, and she hid within it to save her last remaining crystalline heart, though shattered, pieces. Though hard to believe, this slow and dripping fall of fortress walls and the wicked sustaining hardness of her heart were a kind of battle. Time was inconsequential. And even the reason for this fight lost meaning. Without this, they both lost meaning.

When she walked free, the world held a new value. One worth living for. She had no one. But she had her heart, its own chrystalline shards reassembled in a glassy prison. She was impenetrable.

When I feel raw, pieces of me leave

i listen to music as a kind of medication. is that wrong? i suppose for me- music is life transforming. a song, cd, or an artist come into my life. it is always happenstance. i get entranced. something clicks and i have to seek them out, track them down, make them mine, repeat them until my heart breaks, my eyes leak, and my mind wanders. i turn the volume up until my ears are abused. the words thrash me up and down. legs with goose bumps. toes curl. eyes close in pleasure and pain. i fantasize.

how else would one listen to music? i guess to fill the silence- i can be accused of that for certain. to fill my mind, to just pass the time, to concentrate. but the music which takes a piece of my soul always is there as my drug. i become and addict for them and need them and yearn for them. amazingly and selfishly i steal that piece of my soul back, if even for a moment and i feel whole.

why else would music fill me with such dread, such passion, or such rage. the simplest song tips me over the edge and i cling to it for dear life. they trigger something in me, a reaction, an emotion.

most recently i have felt emotional. exposed. raw. rankled. despised. unadorned. ignored. but raw seems the most fitting. despite how happy my life may seem on the outside. i am exposed and vulnerable on the inside. anxiety, panic, and down right irrationality. i have painfully clear moments when i don't want to be me. and- i know i shouldn't think this about a lovely life.

i have a mix of songs (and books) which medicate and nurse my wounds. the holes are repaired, if briefly, by the burning presence of my beloved songs. they found me. they chose me knowing i needed them. they come in all forms and ways. mp3. cd. radio. cafe. class. movies. tv. they reach their wiry tendrils through the air waves to tickle my interest and beckon me to find them. they seduce me with the image of their creator, my own deity. i worship their genius to reach across time and space with their composition. they thrill me and kill me. i can't get enough of these sirens. how ever do i manage to forget them?....

they are cruel really. they fade like ghosts. shades. specters. they delight in my lack of grip. i eventually fall from them. it is only when i rediscover them that i feel transported back to my soul. those images of my life frozen in bits of soul burn still, even when they are unclear and damp with tears.

i always wanted to be a writer. famous. talented. no... i am intensely jealous. i feel that impassioned feeling of missing pieces of my soul in music. i think books do much the same. i am not audiophile. but books have also been faithful to me. and when i pick up a book and feel the author in my hands, speaking in my ear as i read- i hate them and love them. i am no musician and i accept that. but a writer? surely i could fill pages, as i am here. surely i could write complete sentences. could i bare my soul?

do i only take? take from the music, my beloveds. they deliver violent blows to my soul. i flog myself raw with their inflections, guitar strokes, and silences. what is it to write a book? direct a movie? i admit being jealous is hardly a reason to pursue these... do you call them occupations or callings? like a jealous lover, could i force myself to love them?

i'm jealous i haven't heard my call. i want to be an artist. creative. flamboyant. desirous. disastrous to others' souls. thrashing them about as they enjoy every second. beg for more. leave them torn open and naked. do they dance around joyously? weep with disgust in themselves? tear their soul back from my creation's grip?

i hope my dark visions are just that. visions. but i admit- if i could inflict upon others what one song does to me, i would die happy, complete, satiated. am i an artist? i'd never taken the idea seriously. does this qualify an artist, or does this paint me a fanatic?

whoever reads this, if ever reads this, if it is only a tiny byte on some dead and long gone obscure server... i want you to know my greatest desire in my life is to leave my imprint. what am i most afraid of? leaving in dead silence, having left no trace of impressionable existence, meaningful influence, revelational mission, devastating genius. a dead and dull silence from the peanut gallery. i am always the watcher- not the watched. no, i'm not afraid to be seen. i am afraid of being unseen. ending in my whimper. meaninglessness.

(see this site for song that make my cry, sing, and bare my sould raw)

Songs: Make me feel raw inside

I feel raw
I listen to these songs

Lyrics - Let Me Sign

She was standing there by the broken tree
Her hands were all twisted she was pointing at me
I was damned by the light coming out of her eyes
She spoke with a voice that disrupted the sky
She said 'Come on over to the bitter shade,
I will wrap you in my arms and you'll know you've been saved'
Let me sign, let me sign

Lyrics - Never Think

I should never think
What's in your heart
What's in our home
So I won't

You'll learn to hate me
But still call me baby
Oh love
So call me by my name

And save your soul
Save your soul
Before you're too far gone
Before nothing can be done

I'll try to decide when
She'll lie in the end
I ain't got no fight in me
In this whole damn world
So you hold off
She should hold off
It's the one thing that I've known
Once I put my coat on
I'm coming out in this all wrong
She standing outside holding me
Saying oh please
I'm in love
I'm in love

Girl save your soul
Go on save your soul
Before it's too far gone
And before nothing can be done

Cause without me
You got it all
So hold on
Without me you got it all
So hold on
Without me you got it all
Without me you got it all
So hold on
Without me you got it all
So hold on
Without me you got it all
So hold on

I want to bow downI

I want to quit it all. I'm so overwhelmed and burnt out. I feel like failure is imminent. I feel so melodramatic.

I can't tell if it is personal. I know it isn't but some people have better delivery.

I feel like I'm trying to save my thesis (a wreck) and salvage what I can to just scrape by.

I am so jealous. I want to write a novel, have it published...

I am emotional and self doubtful.

I am not pregnant, I checked.

I've been praying, more than I usually do. God, can you help me find my way? I want to dazzle everyone, including myself, even though it all seems so hard now.

I have physical pain, sickness, and tremors. I have panic and anxiety. I wish I were on meds, smoked cigarettes, or drank heavily. I want to heavily self-medicate.

I have a complex, a self doubt that nags. Sometimes it is more and more easier to ignore, then something will bring it all back.

I feel ok about it and then flash... I'm miserable.

I hope I can see the other side soon.

Manic Tremors

I get these bursts of anxiety. Just pure manic and frenetic feelings of failure mixed with upset. Questions galore. It think of a line or a subject from my thesis and I want to cry. I cringe and imagine the filthy things that could be said about me.

I critique my paper, and think things like "you have a pathetic methodology," "it sounds arrogant," it's barely passable...

Sleeping was hard, but it was harder waking up. I just felt failure, the same to when I lost that contest.

When will it change? When will I feel better about it? Until them I have tremors beneath my surface of completely upsettling mania...