anewsin :: Demons

I lie listening to the gentle footsteps above my head. I reach my arm out as far as I can but my hands fall short of the ceiling. In defeat, I turn my body and continue to work on my letter — my letter.

Every intricate detail, displaying a different way of destroying the lives of those who step above me. It details the knives in my back and the daggers in my eyes. It describes the blood rushing over my torso like the rain on a tin roof. It speaks of the horrors that go on in my day to day, while everyone else screams of nothing.

The angel lying next to me doesn’t know what I have planned, but they will better from my explosive finally. They will finally get their wings.

Still, I wonder; is this all just an irrational expression of inner demons? Should I seek help or guidance? Or, should I just keep them to myself and have this fire inside destroy all that I am and create a shell of a human to distraught with their own perception of life to shed the simplest emotion.

The timer ticks and I wither away into insanity.

Gone are the days of innocence. Gone are the days of bliss. If ignorance is stupidity then may I wear the dunce cap and parade around recklessly.

Heed my call and run!

Run far to the east where you might escape this torment that plagues me! I see it consume a different individual everyday.

Many of them accept their call before they explode, throwing limbs in every direction. Those who accept don’t bother anyone else due to their own containment in depravity. Those who fight back cause commotion and get taken down quickly. Though noticed, they fade. Oh they fade into such obscurity that we create stories detailing a life that never happened! We create monsters out of them when all they wanted was to hold someone’s hand.

Even art is no longer expression but has become the wretch itself. It is spawned from minds that know no creativity or sound. They come from a place fueled by desperation to conform to a world that was created to conform to a world.

We base everything on the notion that we have something physical to hold when there is nothing. Built on a dream we crumble to despair, but despair not! For we can overcome this regime! Take up the sword and shoot your way through the barricades and children. They created their fate when the world was geared to them by others. They shall be the first to be extinguished.

Found Writing

Regret is a Stupid Word

She doesn’t think that I can see her, right now. She thinks I am out getting food or paint. I don’t remember the fucking excuse. It’s hard to remember anything while you watch the person you are destined to be with be with someone else. Especially when they don’t think that they are on display. To watch her tell him secrets that only her and I should share.

This really is all my fault. I haven’t been the perfect husband by any means. I cheated several months ago; we worked it out but there has been a rather large elephant in the room ever since. I am not the most beautiful looking person in the world. I look like garbage compared to Ted. Ted being my coworker and best friend for the last five years. On Tuesday nights, he doubles as the guy plowing the love of my life. Why did I cheat? Oh the millions of excuses I could come up with. Not worth me clearing up seeing as no matter how I put it, Karma is still gettin’ my ass back. Would I take it back knowing how all this would end? Of course. Wouldn’t you take back an action if you knew you would end up broken?

Back to Ted and my wife going at it. What else should I do? I guess I should just go to the living room and start collecting my DVD’s, CD’s and nice stuff and drive away. Should I leave her the car? A part of me just thanks God that there are no kids in the picture. Maybe I should just wait in the kitchen, having a coffee and reading the paper. They would walk through and I would just wave at Ted, ask him how his report is going, and watch him sheepishly walk out the door. Then the wife would sit there and go on and on about how if I was a better husband that she wouldn’t be talked into all of this. Then I would scream back and it would escalate to a point of shear stupidity.

Might as well just accept it and move on with life. I still love her and if she still loves me, then we can work around this. We can do this. We have to.

-March 11, 2008

I found this in the annals of stuff I have written in the past. I like it, though I can see several different mistakes I made. I have decided not to fix it because it acts as a kind of marker for where I came from. Ironically, in reading it over I almost feel that it is one of the better things (narratively) that I ever wrote.

Quite mature for a 20 year old…

You used to define me…

I was listening to Circa Survive, and worried that I moved on.

I was listening to “On Letting Go”, which is one of my favourite albums. The drums are the most deceiving orchestration, the vocals sore, and the brilliant guitar leads always lead to my surprise. Yes, over 13 years later and I am still surprised every time I play it through. You would think that, by now, I have learned every part.

That album is not my favourite of all time, but it has been high on my list since its release. I would probably put in on my top ten of all time; or, at least, I would have. I was listening to it today, and found myself let down by parts. I was almost bored by it, and found myself tuning out for the first time since I got my hands on the beautiful collection all those years ago.

I got worried that I was just bored of Circa Survive in general, so I immediately put on ‘Juturna’ to find out. By the song ‘Wish Resign‘, I was comfortably back in a state of bliss.

I have no idea why my attention has been taken away from that album. The track ‘The Difference Between Medicine And Poison Is In The Dose‘ was my favourite song for a very long time, and I feel like I have just divorced a part of my life. Maybe I am just being melodramatic, I am finding putting my dismay into text properly very difficult.

Anyway, I had to share that ‘On Letting Go’ has soft-lost a place in my heart. I still really enjoy the album, and ‘Living Together‘ is still a banger. I am almost positive that majority of my reader base doesn’t care, but it really upset me. Knowing that this was more than a FaceBook status prompted me to write this blog, which turned out to be a lot longer than I meant.

My Question

As my previous post announced, the 12th was my birthday! That makes me 32, according to when I was actually born in ’88. That part I am not disputing, as it would be very silly if I did!

My question lies with the fact that they pulled life support back in 2013 on my birthday (mildly poetic) and I was supposed to die that day. I think of that often, and now get reminded every year because my oldest friend’s fiance gave birth on that day to twins.

They are both quite lovely, by the way.

My question is simple: am I 32 or 7?

My good friend Chrissy reminded me that it would not be fair if I became younger than her. I really do have to question why anyone would actually want to be younger than they are? I take great pride in the fact that I am the age I am. My wife is two years older than me, and the changes in pop culture that we experienced are amazing.

I am now going to tangent, as I often do. Is it not strange and awesome that humans are the only species that I know of (leave examples of me being wrong in comments) that keep track of age? We have birthdays, anniversaries, laws and regulations around what you can or cannot do, and competition to see who is the oldest in some circles.

Maybe I’m just thinking too much about it. Maybe I’m onto something interesting. Maybe you just caught me writing another blog to delay writing my next book because I am actually intimidated to screw something up so to avoid doing that, I am just waffling until it mysteriously finishes itself.

You’re so vain

I do not know how arrogant this is, but I am listening to an old album while writing my next book. I think (because I cannot bring myself to bullshit) that I am almost done: maybe just a page or two left before editing. I think I am going to name the book “it doesn’t matter” in all lowercase because I am a douche. You would think, in a time of hashtags and trending, that I would write something and name it one word to keep things easy. I am, however, convinced that the aesthetic is fantastic.

Just released the first chapter of the new book recently. I hope you like it!

Just saying.