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Mostly Dead

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sometimes it's just a matter of finding the right music... [Jul. 18th, 2003|07:51 pm]
Mostly Dead
[Current Music |Gavin Friday, Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves]

reaching beyond James, new music for me that reminds me of places I have been and stroll through more than I might want to these days (a gift of music I hope to say a proper thank you for one of these days, after I get through the distraction of todays loss of words), I find an old friend, Gavin Friday, once again...

first introduced by a beautifully creative child who swirled into my life for brief but everlasting thrills of passion and trust only to later disappear as suddenly as she arrived, as so often people do, the out of print music was a treasure she left... and then, a few years later, that treasure was left in those other trusted hands that held me under until I died... I spent years searching for a copy of the music and after another few, finally found one and ordered it and again it gone, this time stolen with the other stuff I left in trust with a self-proclaimed friend... another year passed and I found a copy overpriced on the net and gave up a few meals to buy it... and at times like these when I want to feel the agony of yet another blow on the bruise that should be, but is not quite numb, I put it on repeat until it drags me down into the darkness it was made for...

scream

as I play Phantom to my own Christine in my own opera in my mind... demanding more, demanding higher notes, deeper emotion, more life than I dare to face, yet still ache to experience... as I tumble deeper and deeper into the hidden passages that lead to the cellars, the dungeons, the pits of despair where my spirit has been buried...

I see no hope in those eyes as they close (Gavin)

but I still resist... I might have let it come and wash over me earlier, when my fortress was weakened by fatigue and whatever, but after the words were poured out, words that left me close enough to that inner security and euphoria that let me fall into a wonderfully peaceful sleep... that moment is gone... for I write the words and the horror they might express is released, gone until the next time I find the motivation and will to dig deep enough to experience a catharsis and healing... I write the words so that I do not have to carry around the baggage and so I can return to that place more rested to continue to cathartic healing process... I trusted the words and the medium I placed them in...

it's nobody's fault, it's my mistake (Gavin)

and then I do not trust myself to go back there and I do not trust the medium to save the words so I can continue the process... it makes sense to me, if only me... but if I truly do want to live again, then I do need to go back through the nightmares I've experienced (that still haunt my mind and heart and so on... the crap that buries my spirit in the darkness of the bottomless pits... there are ways to reach it and come back healed and cleansed... I've just lost the motivation to maintain the energy required to go there and return, so I flounder in procrastination, wallow in despair, and bathe in apathy... no wonder I so seldom feel cleansed...

here comes that sinking feeling
tear me apart
pull me down
(Gavin)

but I will not let it... and I use the excuse that no one cares because no one is here (in the physical space and in the ethereal reality to which I refer as buried, that secure euphoria, that energy level, that place where my spirit lives... I do not go there much because it is so lonely there and I do not want to feel the loneliness, I want to feel the human weaknesses and share the need for sharing with someone who can and will reach the place with me... but who will die with me... and who can go through it and be reborn with me...

as you search in vain for just one law abiding citizen
just remember that death is not the end
(Gavin)

and there are philosophies that proclaim eternal life through a variety of means, but I do not mean any of them... I do not refer to a physical death here... I refer to the spiritual death, the death of life force and individuality and freedom to create into the infinite imagination that I believe some humans are born with only to discard it when it becomes too much trouble, when it becomes too scary, when the isolation and loneliness of the experience of being an whole individual is too much to bear, when conformity wins... most everyone experiences it at least once, even if they never know, even if they do and yet fake it so well they fool their own consciousness...

to put your trust in a craving
never are you sure who lets you down
(Gavin)

many call it depression and stay there, digging a deep and safe hole in which they can feel sorry for themselves for giving up on the life they could create, on the being they could be... and they create a sense of powerlessness by giving up the power to think and feel positive energy, giving up the power to act, to do what must be done to come out of the hole, to forget how, to give in to the feeling of despair... to be swallowed by the safety of no risk, for in not reaching out and not trusting, there is no betrayal... no uncontrolled or unexpected pain...

so the day begins without faith
and ends without joy
(Gavin)

but there is more than numbness, there is the constant ache of unfillfilled dreams and hungers... the burning desire to love and be loved, to know and be known, to be the person that can be... the ache becomes comfortable, even comforting, for there are no surprises in it, there is security in knowing that the aching numbness will always be there to smother any chance at dangerous sharing, at experiencing shared emotion... no risk, no loss... except the self...

I followed all my dreams and illusions
I got what I wanted
not sure what I have
(Gavin)

and I do not want to stay there... and I know my way out... but though I have met many who appear to know the depths of that place called depression or insanity where irrationality rules, who has truly let go and been there for a time, out of control and going through the motions and giving up... yet to meet anyone who truly returns from it renewed and refreshed... the resurrection (and again I do not intend to refer to the commonly religious use of the word) is possible... I've done it a few times... I wallow deeper than ever now after the last betrayals gave me even more reason to give up on trusting humanity and sharing the secure euphoria... for that leaves me so very vulnerable...

to cut off and bleed
just for the need
(Gavin)

what can I say... I am afraid to drown in the blood again... I am afraid to trust someone to take the wheel and fly while I sleep, I am afraid I will be dumped out of the vessel of love and trust again... and yet, I still can actualize unconditional trust... I can still fly... I can still burst free from the doubts and fears, break the chains of apathy and despair, and clean off the irrational disguise of depression to soar above the human condition and share true love... I am that crazy...

I must keep myself alive (Gavin)

but to trust someone else to be as crazy, to do it?... to let go and allow someone the power to drop me from even higher heights than ever flown before?... that irrational leap is stalled now... the madness of living mostly dead seems so much easier than the madness of leaping... I can do the former all by myself, at least... and I know that my self-betrayal is not permanent... but what about someone else?...

and even without the music, without singing... but then, maybe you've never heard it... maybe you've never been there... maybe you have not lived or died... maybe you think you don't want to...

I do...

twenty years ago I was just a boy
time goes so slow when you're having fun
my favorite stars are out tonight
so I feel somewhat justified
another excuse to confuse, abuse, or forget myself

here I go

now I know

show me the river to drown all my sorrows
another blow on the bruise
another blow on the bruise

one touch of darkness
you know where you are
this is my, my old, my old true friend you know
old friends are the best friends cuz they know just who you are
they take you to the place where you hide your screams
and they leave you alone

swing low
swing high
my friends I never cry
way down
dig low
to the place where we must go

another blow on the bruise
another blow on the bruise


I'm just a once upon a time man
inviting you to a dream of mine
so welcome
won't you come
but just take your time

and when you go on back with those stories you've got to tell
just remember my heaven's another man's hell
the door's always open
the door's never closed
and the story is never told

so

show me the river to drown all my sorrows
another blow on the bruise
another blow on the bruise

you can take me in
throw me out
cut me up
shut me out
nothing you can do or say
will change my ways

I will never bore (I know what I'm for)
I come back for more
you all gotta sing
sing along
now

swing low
swing high
my friends I never cry (this song will never die)
way down
dig low
to the place where you must go

to the place where you must go



another blow on the bruise</i>



thank you Gavin

it is more than finding the right music (and words), it is a matter of letting the words and music reach into your core and take you where you need to go... and then, leave you alone to do what you must do... and then, doing it.


I... only want to say...

Gesthemane

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