There’s no reason to write this text. There is no motive…I’m not inventing or even attemping to re-invent. I’m not original or profound…..i just want you to know more about the songs in my head….these authorless melodies give me a sense of place….sounds are always with me and have become my home.….it’s where I live and we can be together here…..i constantly walking around, up and down the stairs, in and out the doors….a new sound tells me where to go…... Thirty minutes later I’ve forgotten and its on to the next step forward, or back.

….i go back a lot, back to hallways where I looked back and thought "where the fuck am i?" where did I go, did really go anywhere….a hanging low ended melody rests for a few beats…. Like Slacker, all roads lead to the same ridiculous question.

…now one told me not to be here, so I’m just here, and that’s the short of it. The long of it lies in the parallels.

…I used to be the metal director at the college radio station. I loved the hell out of some grind….death metal, whatever…..as long as it was brutal, I could usually identify…..viceral would be the word I would use today, but at 19, my feelings were brutal. The reality of living in a trailer, gay and married, raped and burned down to a match thin existence…I would dare myself to fuck what little left I was holding on to….diving headfirst into the memory of someone else’s blind desire hoping to find a shred of living flesh in anything…. Thank god for Streetcleaner, the Nightblooms, Clandestine, Symphonies of Sickness, and To a Frown. ..those sounds forced me to feel the dichotomy of my inertia that had rooted itself so far down that it had to be dragged out….the sounds that made me feel like even you could be my future lover...like candles and incense would bring you close enough to touch …I was taken to worshiping the moon and laughing maniacly on acid, pissing into a burning fishtank……to the observer I was saying "fuck it", but if I had listened to myself it would have heard strings, racing with aniticipation…..it all seemed so empty and prepared…my heart wasn’t cold but my blood was bitter, and it nourished a scared, paryalyzed infant….an orphan whose father had gone too far and never came back, got lost looking for mothers milk…… I would ask "where have I gone?...huh?....somebody tell me....have I been burnt up and discarded?"….i was constantly floating somewhere in the corner, dissociated..

....sometimes I felt like I needed to feel….to really feel…for melancholy and reflection…I would re-read the stories of breece d’j pancake, conjouring up obscured images of desire and loss… thinking that he understood from somewhere above the tree where his brains landed. Tragedy seems romantic when you think you have nothing to live for….living life in a black reflection.…no expectations, just the memory of dreams, or something.

………one day I woke up….some girl said something to me at the bar and I was so pissed…..I remember ivy telling me we’d go chill out at the gym, smoke some weed, listen to some music….really pissed off…I remember wanting to cry and scream,….i remember being drunk to the point of remembering everything…

..we walked in the door and turned on the lights…..all I could see were heavy bags hanging from ghosts of my memories. ……..

…stepping into a ring of blood, the contenders took no pause in punishing each other for it was a long time coming….a well deserved switching.

…..now its time to peel away the layers….first pain… easy…..fuck pain. Close your eyes and walk forward….skin is regenerative…..pain is a memory of living…..life forced anger…..don’t think ….yell….scream….cry……emote…..just don’t think…, react…...then sadness….sadness clings and stings… slow and salty… retained as if necessary….impossible to purge…Its everything….it’s what makes oceans its what forces us to make changes, to hold on to the tiniest sliver of light under the door, it’s what makes me want to talk to everyone, especially strangers, it’s the seed for all that is good…..its where we feel the same way and we are the same…..it’s where punishment would never be sufficient.….it was a draw so i decided to kill myself and move on….i decided that all the inventions and re-inventions weren’t worth a damn thing….i am and will always be an invention, so tonight I am the clockmaker and the clock. I swallowed the cogs….i took my bloody knuckles and went home…..i decided I was full of mistakes, and that next time I would do things differently…I went straight to bed, hazy and wasted, no dreams to dream…I died.

…walking carefully through a beautiful swamp now, I walk as carefully as I can through it….every step is submerged, and with anticipation I take another step….at the same time, humid and arid….i breathe it in and it makes me feel high….i can’t believe I am up here…..i try and recognize what it is…identify the smells, the changes in atmosphere….the realization that something has changed is a reason to take another step…..i fall down onto a road….

…I walk forever….the road is long…the road is long and hard and cold and there are no signs and there is always rain and darkness…but there is always a change and the change is sometimes a cloud and sometimes rain and sometimes heat and sometimes I fall down like rain on a mountain and I cry and the tears flow down to the stream and down the mountain, making a song, singing louder into an all out pitch as it falls into a brackish pool and mixes into the ocean… ..in my hand I hold a photograph of clothes on a line on fire; guaranteeing nakedness forever.

To be completely honest, I still don’t remember who won….I remember punching until I couldn’t punch anymore….i was exhausted. I was all cried out and bloody knuckled. I had encountered every enemy I could imagine