Hung by rope
with the name of Hope
hold you close to me in dreams
covet Cupid’s wings
I’ll be candid. I have a Billie Eillish problem.
I don’t have anything against her. She is supremely talented. Inarguably cool. Undeniably successful. And basically, doing everything that I wanted to do, since like, forever.
I mean, okay. I get it. I have a lovely singing voice. I have perfect pitch. I am very musically inclined. I composed, performed and produced two CDs of original music. So, of course I should be a fringe performer in the adult industry making what amounts to an average of $6 an hour. Obviously, all the criteria is there.
Get a A in that Marketing Course you took at the for-profit college that ripped you off and derailed your future? Be sure not to use that.
Also, a solid grasp of your native language really goes to waste here, so you can use the spare time you have from not being able to afford to go anywhere to forget words with more than three syllables. If you find, however, that doesn’t really take long to do, then by all means, dispense with those three-syllable words themselves, as well. You will not miss them. Okay, well, there is ONE that is useful. Okay, TWO. But the rest?
You could be busy hitting the bong and killing the brain cells that store that information in the time it takes to even CONSIDER that question. Get to it!
(And find my fucking lighter, please.)
Additionally, a great sense of humor that you can let languish and die is always a bonus in this position. If fueling suicidal ideation is in YOUR five-year plan, you simply cannot do without the slow downward spiral being dead inside provides, as it will eventually diminish your ability to laugh at life’s follies. You will find this monotonous lack of cheer and the lack of energy that comes with it NOT AT ALL INFECTIOUS. And that’s what it’s all about, amirite, friends?
No, but seriously. Billie Eillish may be famous and rich and internationally beloved and very attractive and successful and happy and able to travel and get her hair done in a salon on a regular basis, but MY job lets you get high and masturbate all day, and in the final analysis, isn’t that what “giving back” REALLY means?
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It’s bad enough that when you have PTSD, your mind wants to revisit awful things in the past without your consent, just intruding upon whatever it is you happen to be doing or thinking about and saying HEY YOU REMEMBER LIFE IS FUCKING DANGEROUS RIGHT? REMEMBER THIS BAD THING HERE? LOOK AT IT! LOOK AT IT!
I mean, that’s kind of a bummer, right?
So why does that happen? Sometimes it just happens for no reason, actually. But other times, it happens because there is some sort of trigger.
“Trigger” is a very loaded word these days. And while my life has been full of them, and they are not very pleasant, you will not be finding any posts on my blog that say “Trigger Warning”. Why is that? I feel that triggers are a very personal matter. I mean, I’ve been raped a few times, but if you say “rape”, it does not trigger me. I am not threatened nor am I offended by conversations involving sexual assault. One thing that HAS triggered me, in the past, which I am now telling you about because it does not bother me anymore, is music by The Who. In fact, music does this to me a lot. And so does a lot of television and other media. And while I know some things for certain will definitely trigger me, sometimes I have no idea a trigger is coming. And sometimes it is not even a direct trigger, but rather something that (to overuse the word) triggers a thought which goes to another thought and may even go a thought or five past that until finally, there it is.
So you don’t always know where these triggers come from. I think that, because of this, I have alienated myself from a very large and diverse amount of media, in an attempt to shield myself from FEELING and THINKING.
I came upon this insight in a brief chat with my roommate, where I was telling him, you know, I watch the same stuff over and over and I really need to knock this off because it’s making me intellectually lazy. And he mentioned that his brother, who also has a form of mental illness, does the same thing – watches the same movies and shows over and over again, eschewing the new for the well-worn and familiar. And it occurred to me that what I am doing, and what my roomie’s brother may be doing, is trying to protect ourselves from the violent intrusion of these bad thoughts.
So the shows I watch over and over are like a visually stimulating security blanket, in a way. And the security blanket is wet and heavy and I’m ready to be free of it. I have to face these thoughts. Avoiding them does not make them go away. And, as I have often heard, the way out is through.
And also, I’m fucking bored. My brain is kicking my ass because it wants quality input. As a sound engineer I once worked with was fond of saying, “Garbage in, garbage out”. And to quote Lisa Simpson, “I’m losing my perspicacity!”
If you are like me, which would be highly unusual but I allow that it’s possible, and you have hemmed yourself in, information- and arts-wise, this might be something upon which to reflect. This condition is not only limiting, but it is neurotoxic. Your brain engages in neurogenesis, the creation of new brain cells and connections and so forth, in a big way when exposed to novelty. NEW STUFF. Further: if you don’t want dementia, keeping your mind active and engaged in the world around you is important. If you don’t want to “grow” an old mindset, then too, you need to get the new stuff in there.
It can be overwhelming, trying to catch up. Completely catching up is impossible because of the amount of data that is available to us. But every little thing counts, and the effort is worth it even if a perfect end result is not achievable. Action is better than non-action in this instance.
I don’t have any pithy insights on this. I’m just highlighting it because this is something I have noticed in my condition, and in observing it, I hope to change it.
Long afloat on shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
‘Til your singing eyes and fingers
Drew me loving to your isle
And you sang
Sail to me, sail to me
Let me enfold you
Here I am, here I am
Waiting to hold you
Did I dream you dreamed about me ?
Were you hare when I was fox ?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks
For you sing
‘Touch me not, touch me not
Come back tomorrow
Oh my heart, oh my heart
Shies from the sorrow’
I am puzzled as the oyster
I am troubled as the tide
Should I stand amid your breakers ?
Or should I lie with death my bride ?
Hear me sing
‘Swim to me, swim to me
Let me enfold you
Here I am, here I am
Waiting to hold you’
Stick pins into you… Sleaze Sister Voodoo!
Big ups to Doug Stanhope for bringing Times Square back to the forefront of my memory – it used to be incredibly hard to find but now, hurray for YouTube, it’s online! I have not watched this in ages. It’s a classic. Of course my favorite part is the Sleaze Sisters. Interesting sidenote – there is a band now called Sleaze Sisters and they do the songs from the soundtrack – are they a tribute band or are they just not very original? And would they ever consider giving nootropics to insects? I hope not. I mean, to the second thing.
His catalog is so massive and groundbreaking and wonderful. What to say? We have lost an immense talent, a graceful and clever soul. Godspeed, Mr. Jones, and thank you.