Q

Q

Wild ducks flying backwards

Sent from my iPod

hello world, im feeling very angry right now.

what, world, is the point of sharing this with you?

talking about it, sending it out to you, world, what does that do?

im sure you like it when I share nice things with you,

but I have not nice things too, and they jump

out of my chest,

through my uh-sof-uh-gus

and right past my teeth into you, world.

they are nasty, ugly, selfish, scared, and loud things.

and when they come out, how does that make you feel, world?

im sure the nice things are ok,

the nice things dont try and pull on your arm.

the not nice things, the anger, the fear, the outrage that I feel sometimes, world,

that must pull you, doesnt it?

that must grab your shoulder and spin you around,

must give your neck a startling tug as you are HIT?

and when I do this to you, and you did not give me permission to do this,

how can I expect anything less than resentment from you?

all this leads me to think that the best thing to do is to let the fire in my chest

GROWL and YELL and SCREAM and POUND and DEMAND

all by itself inside of me.

The tricky part is, I think I dont know how to do that right.

I am a coward. I see the fire in me, and I cannot face it alone.

It grabs my throat and fills it with a SCREAM! a big selfish SCREAM!

ROOOAAARR!

And the coward in me holds that scream back, just barely.

it tells my tounge to cover my throat up, to hold it still.

it forces air down the strained scream in my throat,

hoping enough air will calm it down.

it tries to take the thing in my head that creates the scream,

and take it somewhere else.

The coward in me cannot do this.

The coward in me fails to control the fire.

The fire would have me in the streets, screaming until I pass out.

So the coward in me thinks of a new strategy.

The coward in me looks at the bursting dam, and says

Hey, if I cant stop this feeling from coming out, maybe I can give it somewhere for it to burst into.


So here I am. Writing a stupid fucking note on a stupid fucking blog that gets redirected to a stupid fucking facebook page that all my stupid fucking friends and family may or may not read.

YOU GUYS ARE INNOCENT BYSTANDERS! I DONT REALLY THINK YOU GUYS ARE BAD GUYS!

I have no idea what I hope to acheive by writing this down. This is a letter with no recipient. Im not considering whoever you are, reading this. Im not picking words based on whether or not you like them. I know its strange, but Im not putting this out there for any of you. Im not responsible for what I say here, because I have absolutely no intention of holding myself responsible for it. You can watch, you can comment, you can do one or neither of those things. If you want to talk to me, call me, find me in person. I like conversations :)

but this medium is just how I deal with my own mind. my goal never was, and probably never will be, to be coherent or "nice" or fair or respectful or entertaining.

A

A

A funny thing about seeing them on stage.

The sounds mix with the way you see them, what they do with their
faces, their bodies.

They take you somewhere, but the funny thing about it is that you
can't tell where they will take you. You don't have a safe way of
knowing where the music is headed.

So you watch and just hang on, at the edge of each moment.

What is that like? How does it feel?

Sent from my iPod