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pressure valve somewhere deep…

Caligula, take me away… okay, update for you denizens out there… shadowy, shadowy denizens… So, I am making music with my new friend, and he seems quite driven in a good-natured way that is difficult to find in an honest person over the age of twenty-five… his music is deceptively simple, and our first gig is coming up in less than two weeks… pretty heavy shit considering I haven’t played music with anyone for years, but I am determined to make it through this warp zone successfully intact… Let the naysayers be damned!… the musicians are magic-makers supreme, and their clothes are spun of the finest dream-weave… Am I out-of-step, but lost in time?… I feel a calling, yearning, to express, with arterial spray, a music display of epic proportion… and let’s not forget this whole tentacle rape business… in lieu of my inability to keep up with my myriad tales of wonder, I have opted to rape the plot with excitement so-to-speak, and thus have sent the bulk of my less loosed ends to the tentacle… these include any and virtually every story, except for a key few that I see a glimmer of hope for, and also the tentacle raping serves to become a suspended animation for the stories that become temporarily warped as such… Always with a possibility to be drawn from the amber again, but for now tucked away into a little pocket of fetish… and what of those unresolved issues that compels my relationship into disarray?… so much to do, but why do I take the pause, killing that time left to move more easily between tasks?… At times, I guess it might feel natural, to feel locked inside oneself… to speak less when spoken at, but what is this indifferent bug, that thing hatching eggs based and brewed in vats of guilt inside of the skull?… I feel helpless writing this now, as well feeling as though I am not ready, but ready for what exactly?… Am I scared of failure in front of a crowd?… I want to think that I am not at least nervous, and even I need to have faith in myself, to truly pull away from those negative impulses… I am merely following my path, as unique as it is, to the very end… We shall see what comes of all this petty discomfort… I feel sad also, and question the repercussions of my actions even as it would seem I dive right in… these emotions break walls affixed into place through repetitive action, ignorant sailing between these facets, and certain to stare deadly right through peril… I am working the day of the show, and the day afterwards as well, unafraid even though the appearance might at first seem threatening… tiring my tapping fingers, one last question, is industrial dance anything like apocalyptic folk?…

Thanks, khet.