  I remember that time I had mono, it was in seventh grade. I remember I was at my dad's and one day there was a storm. My mom and sister came over and sat with me. I was running a berserk fever, 106 or something, she was putting a rag on my head and I was screaming at the top of my lungs. I started hallucinating at the storm, it scared the shit out of me, I threw off the blanket, I got cold, I put it back on, it was making me sweat, over and over again. I stepped outside for a while and felt good, and then it started to rain and they were afraid of me getting pneumonia so I got dragged back inside.
Plus I was cold again. I shook like I'd never thought possible, trembling from head to toe, and painfully, no less. And when it was over, it was over. I woke up one day and it was completely gone. But I was really weak for a long time, and I lost a lot of weight, like 20 or so pounds.
POOR BASTARD is the CD based off of songs that have influenced my thought over the past six months, some of which have been posted in Tin Haven or Bad Vision. And I just burned the CD so copies for everyone. I dunno where she is, gone I guess. And with that, the beginning lines of a new, and soon to be famous post. There was the "dark marks" one, there was the "thank you for being there" one, there was the very cryptic one at the end of November, "I'm not at liberty to say what happened, but just know that I am really confused right now,".
I sounded like a child there. And now, this... Is anyone out there? Is there anything good at all? Because lately it seems that even the best made tapestries have to unwind, all the metals will rust, everything is going to die even as it lives and lives after its death. It seems like some big cosmic trick, that somethings never last..."somethings never last they tell me, sometimes lies are what we are" I wrote for no reason once, and now it's beginning to take shape. Everything I've ever written, no matter how inconsequential at the time, has come to being, has become reality, the feeling from the song takes substance and becomes my life, not just because I am hearing the song, but that the world is affecting it all, making it all spring to being, and the subject matter in the song becomes true. My Solution was the start of it, the feeling of cagedness, I tried to off myself once, I left it to fate. It was just after I wrote the song, I had my dad's pistol, I put it to my temple, I pulled the trigger.
And fate said, "CLICK", and no more. And since I have never thought of suicide as an alternative to ANY situation, because that is NOT the end of the road. Things didn't work out with Leigh Anne and me, and they really aren't right now, but that's no reason to make myself dead, because if I am, what can I do about the situation? What is the point in creating my death? To end pain? And then what, when the immortal soul carries on, I still live with that pain, but then, it multiplies because there is nothing that can be done for me, I am dead, and the living care not for the haunts of the dead. So the points so far...somehow, I have known what was going to happen to me through my songs, and that suicide is no longer my option.
I remember where I was going before this now... The other songs have really come to be after that, Bitter was rewritten using the term "sunshine"; Leigh Anne referred to herself as "an undiluted ray of sunshine" thereafter, and the first lines of Bitter : "Where did my sunshine go, I think it's ever-fade". I wasn't taken aback. The others songs have come true, why shouldn't this one take substance in some manner or another? Red Flowers came true, Shut Up came true. Veil came true, and still is. All the songs have come to life to haunt me. It's like harnessing a demon, the demon takes his toll eventually. And unfortunately, all the songs have no semblance of hope, they only portend anger and fear, sorrow and the end of a dream, of a life, of a history.
The only hope I have is in the earliest version of the song Oh Morose , because in that I was finally standing with myself, not trying to pick up the pieces of myself. And in the new one, it's about being beaten down by my devils...and it's already happened. What the hell am I trying to say... Is there any semblance of good, of change, of things taking a good discourse from the norm? Because the worst is reaching a brand new low for me now, and at the same time I am numb. Why? What happened to me, shouldn't I be sad that I can feel misery? But I answer, there is no misery left for myself, that is not the way to go. In a way things are better, in myself they are better, and outside they are getting worse. The winds of change are blowing again. And my book grows thin of these pages. 
