Sometimes when I can’t quite figure out how to write an idea I get my guitar and play it (badly) and often the strumming brings words out and I will sing (extremely badly) any thoughts that come out of my head.
No I can’t really write music, I just strum a long and see what flows. My guitar playing is…. bad. So I don’t have music to this, and no, I really, really, can’t sing! So it will have to remain written only.
This anxiety has filled my lungs with the sea I can’t breathe And I’m supposed to make a recovery but when I leap up to the surface I can’t breathe A fish out of water in society
And all the people talk about the likes of me ‘what and who should they be? I love freedom look at me but lock him up he’s a freak.’
And this anxiety has filled my lungs with the sea I can’t breathe I leap to the surface a fish out of water in society and I can’t breathe.
‘We should open up the circus he can be an orca in a tank bang your hands and feet against the glass provoke him and you’ll see he will seethe and that will confirm our beliefs
And this anxiety has filled my lungs with the sea And I can’t breathe And I’ve got to make a recovery in this fucked up society and I can’t breathe
You’ve got to be super sane to fight for the rights of your people Because if you don’t act like a ducks back if you let them see the slightest crack they will shake their fists ‘see this is why we can’t talk to the likes of you, you’re too emotional mentally ill.’
So I guess we’re supposed to be robots but then haven’t you heard of the uncanny valley? we’d still be too human for you!
I’m a freak A fucking freak if only I could own it I’m a freak A fucking freak A fucking pretender an agitator A fucking freak trying to be normal A fucking freak Is that a bad thing? I don’t know I’m a fucking freak But they call me a fucking sheep I’m an alligator A fucking agitator A pretender A fucking freak
I’m an accumulation of freakish things A caricature of society A reflection of mans insanity.
She existed only in the periphery of their vision. No one saw that in her was reflected truth. But maybe they had sensed it and that was why they never turned. She was a mirror, a fractured caricature of the society they tried to withhold. They treated her presence like the absence of something long forgotten. She was the earth and the bubble, the ecosystem that sustained them. Yet they dare not look. The roads they paved both physically and metaphorically were scars upon her arms and wrists. And she bleeds away her sustainability while they continue to carve and crave more and more. And while the Jays perch upon her oak crown and paint the forests, they cut them down. And sometimes she could forgive them, they were after all animals themselves. And some trees got put to good use but then they started to cut too much And the land bared it’s bone.
Shut up buttercup and lay in the grass We’ll watch the Jays fly past his blue feathers not so covert the king of the oaks Watch him fly and gleam all that he knows His dinosaurian voice And moustachioed wisdom calling to us the harshness of reality as we lay back on fields of yellow soft beneath our skin yielding to our unrelenting bodies in this monstrous yet wondrous world
Self help books sell ghosts to haunt your head falsely lead to expectations of something better, further ahead
All these ideals and narratives We need to shed yet letting go is so hard when you’ve been sold the ethereal beatitudinem the golden ghost to which you could apparently become host but, or so I’ve been told happiness lives only in our heads
I’m too small to contain this Shits about to blow I tried to tell you this but I fail to communicate when all this shit accumulates and each piece never goes away so I’ll be stuck with this every day and then more on top It’s just the way my brain is wired Don’t know why all these feelings that ebb and flow they’re all painful no respite empty full nothing and everything I want a lobotomy so tired this is the trend in my brain and it won’t end