Write, erase. Write, erase. Right now I’m judging everything I’m putting down here and I don’t want to do that so write, keep writing, and to hell with making sense or having any purpose right now other than to get it flowing.
Hate, hate, hate. Thought a lot about my hate yesterday, how it’s like a drug, how I’m trying hard to not succumb to it again, how seductive just letting loose on everyone around me can be. How much this anger reminds me of dad (his cussing streaks are legendary). I woke up with hard, active hate aimed towards my sister: this morning I would love to hit her and hit her until her head is bloody mash and then keep on hitting the bitch because that’s what she deserves. *shudder* I am not a nice person.
Keep wanting to discount everything I feel. Keep seeing and reading examples of people in much worse situations than I am, struggling with much bigger problems. I’m such a weak fucking tit mouse for even needing to bring up my angst and paranoia in comparison!
Took a long look at myself last night in the mirror – naked. I AM losing weight. It’s just a slow process. I’m one of those people who gain weight pretty evenly on my body. Five pounds can get lost easily; it doesn’t pile up on my stomach or butt too excessively (I know I don’t give that impression: I’m obsessed with my butt size). It just kind of adds a little extra cushion everywhere. Hard to see it on, hard to see it coming off. Anyway, I’m proud enough of my self control at the moment. There’s been creme puffs in the house – chocolate covered creme puffs – and I haven’t been touching them. Yippee. I’m starting to once again break my habits of eating when I’m bored or upset. Usually that’s enough to take off the extra weight I carry. Once again, I hope this is the last time I have to do this. If I’m lucky with my RA and don’t hurt myself, if I take a slow enough time building my body back and reinstating good habits, maybe – MAYBE – I can sustain it this time.
I’m at that point where I want to tell MYSELF to pull myself up by my boot straps, to try harder, to buck up and all that shit. It’s fucking crazy: I’m becoming my own worst tormentor. Like, mom’s dead and I don’t talk to my sis anymore, so someone’s got to do it? Fuck! Well, I got to give it them for their brainwashing techniques. It fucking worked on me.
Something happened last night that doesn’t make sense. My bro and I were watching tv with the lights low, as per usual. Around 10:30 p.m. local time there was a bright flash in the sky to the SW of us. It was so bright it lit up the room and dimmed the brightness of the tv. I got up, opened the window. The sky was cloudy, but it didn’t look like thunderstorm clouds. I waited, and counted. After 10-12 seconds there was a very faint report, like thunder. None of this makes any sense. I grew up near tornado alley, and I know how storms look and sound and feel. If that had been a lightening strike, the thunder clap should have been a very quick follow up for the degree of light thrown into the sky. I’ve seen cloud to cloud lightening, and while that can light up the clouds I’ve never seen it act like a spot light thrown into a room. So this doesn’t match a goddamn thing I know about storms or lightening, and I can find NO mention of it anywhere on the internet this morning. I only caught this phenomena out of the corner of my eye, but my impression was of a bright spot of light not a generalized light up of the clouds or even the jagged outline of a classic lightening strike. IF this was some sort of sensory hallucination (and don’t think some of my experiences haven’t fallen under that scrutiny!) both my bro and I experienced it. Doesn’t make sense; does bear mentioning.
One step closer to new recordings. For all of my career so far I’ve been a sound artist, by which I mean I create and sculpt sound without thought or care to the marketability of the final product. It’s what every artist WANTS to be but so often finds they cannot be due to contract constraints or financial needs. My career began there, with complete freedom of expression. And I didn’t make a lot of money. Got a name for myself, oh sure. Got a cult following, yes. Have some extremely loyal fans. But I never managed to pay the rent from anything I did artistically. Now I’m trying to change that. I’m attempting to enter the commercial market (NOTE: I’m entering as a songwriter, not a performing artist.). So yesterday my bro helped me hook my computer up to the PA so I could play some of the stuff I’m trying to emulate. We needed to do it to judge the mix of my song. The bass on my mix was too hot; the high end cut too crisp. But of course, I had to hear something for comparison through the speakers I was producing on because otherwise I’d just be flying blind. So, lesson learned: no bass what so fucking ever. I mean, cut it completely (ouch). I’m a bass junky so that hurt. Also, no crisp top end: turn it down and EQ on a lower frequency. Ugh. Compact everything between the ceiling and the floor, and cut each track to razor sharpness. I’m lucky: I called my brother in to do this for me. And when he was done, the song was there: clearer than I had it, softer in many respects even tho it was a crisper mix overall. I bow to the master: my brother is and always will be, in many respects, a finer producer than I am even tho he’ll say the same thing about me.
…Through all of this I have been thinking of dad. Thinking of dad’s depression. Thinking of his eyes: blue, and always with a hint of sorrow. Just like mine.