I don’t feel like writing today. This is another one of those forced efforts, like taking a shit and pushing so hard you feel the blood vessels in your head start to swell with pressure. Everything I do is awful and I hate myself.
Regardless, this year is already off to a fairly positive start. I’m hoping to fix a great deal of my problems by keeping better track of my goals and keeping myself accountable, and thus far I’ve been successful enough in spite of the burden of my own insecurities. It just seems like words don’t come to me as freely as they once did when I write and I’m bound-up mentally with rust and shame. Nothing flows evenly anymore, and the jagged edges are cruel and bite harder than I can take.
In so far as music is concerned, I would call my present state of interest unhealthy at best. There is too much power in music. Our masters have learned this and harnessed it to their own ruinous ends, and now the cancer they created is self-replicating and ineradicable, a propaganda-automaton whose sole mission is the dissolution of honor, goodness, and nobility and to ensure we all suffer as much as possible before our disposal. We turned eyes toward heaven while our ears were still packed with so much shit from the gutters we couldn’t hear the real oppressors when they entered our homes and our hearts. They didn’t even need to break them down: we gave them the keys. The underground has been uprooted and there’s nowhere left to hide besides jealously guarded inner-space dimensions, and I’ve my doubts about that, too.
God help us.
Towers of Rust 