Music to slit your wrists to

-- from "songs recorded on a corrupt device"

Me on a date with the girl I’d later write this song about.

As soon as I woke up this morning, I knew it was going to be like this — one of those days where my head’s conflicted between up and down. I already know that down’s going to win in the end, because it always does. That’s the only reason it shows up in the first place. When I felt like this as a kid, I used to lacerate myself with razor blades. People make a big deal out of what they call “self-harm”, but I think those people are dishonest assholes. There’s a difference between superficial cuts that heal in a week and ones that require stitches. When I got older and felt like this, I’d pick up my guitar and write a song like sorrow. You can listen to it below if you want. It’s vintage music to slit your wrists to. One of the few things I’m really good at writing. I joked about it in Let’s go shopping. If you listen, though, you’ll see that the joke was more factual than humorous. That piece should have done so much better than it did. I worked my ass off on it. What a fucking waste of time. I guess maybe in retrospect I inadvertently offended everyone on the planet. Myself, I found the entire thing hilarious. These days when the spiral downward starts, I drink red wine and listen to music until I can cry it out. They’ve affectionately become known as my “episodes”.

I don’t know where it comes from or why. Is it some past trauma randomly resurfacing? Some piece of night that had to be compartmentalized so I could make it through the workday? I don’t think so. I don’t care about the physical and sexual abuse I went through as a kid. I don’t miss the dead people I used to know. I don’t miss the women I used to be in love with. All those things fade when enough time passes. I hate to sound like that, but it’s the truth. Do I just need to spend the day having sex until I feel better? Is it because it’s grey outside today? Or because it’s Monday? Why the fuck would Monday have anything to do with it? I don’t have a real job, remember? Is it because I don’t believe I’ll ever earn a living as an artist? Hell no. I never believed that to begin with. I just wanted to try so I could die knowing that I took the chance. Is it because I spend every day locked inside a small apartment located in an even smaller town where there’s literally nothing going on? Well, I know I belong somewhere else, I just don’t know where. But that’s not why. This used to happen to me even in New Orleans. Is it because I see no future for myself? The sense that my life at this point is only about waiting for the end? No. I was always waiting for the end.

Every time they gave me an EEG as a kid, they’d find that I had irregular brainwaves, and I guess the prevailing theory was that it explained my occasional erratic behavior. Other people would say things that made me want to stab them in the neck with a pencil, things like, Who ever heard of a happy genius? Genius isn’t a real thing, but I don’t feel like going off topic right now. The truth is not only that I’ve never known where it comes from, but also that I’ve never wanted to know. It was always other people, like my parents, who wanted to know. I never really cared. As far as I was concerned, when it happened, it just meant that I’d spend the day doing art. These days I think I enjoy writing comedy more than anything else. I’m not sure where I stand when it comes to paintings and drawings. But when it comes to music, there’s no way of denying that I lean dark. Speaking of which, here’s the song.

sorrow

this ain't sorrow
'cause i don't care
so put your fake smile on before 
you go back there

and i been dreaming
of something true
and i've wasted so much time trying 
to make it you

and this ain't sorrow
'cause i still see
pictures of all the lies that 
you told to me

and i been wishing 
for something true
and i've wasted so much time trying 
to make it you

and maybe the truth hurts
i hope it does
'cause i ain't happy here with you
and i never was