STEAMPUNK20

In life, we have to trust in fate, humanity, and impulse. In other words, luck. I am no better than the parents that raised me. Yet, I am doing everything to rise above the teachings of my parents and overcome.

Honesty – to whom lives their lives by it – is the bond of the righteous. It is psychological gymnastics. Yet, it is also the weight of a gravitational pull, from which you can’t peel yourself up from the ground.

My integrity bleeds from the passion of my heart.

The same is with music. Music is organic, authentic, altruistic. I once heard that there are only two words that the heart needs (and needs to give) – nurture it. Just like that flower growing from a sidewalk pavement. The petals of sunshine are love and the roots are music. Nothing else matters if the heart accepts these.

Songs and bands I listen to, I covet: craziness, depression, and suicide. Elliott Smith, Kurt Cobain, Roy Orbison. Trent Rezner. Pink Floyd. They glorify, romanticize horrible conditions. Some are also suicides. Garbage in, garbage out.

My wife is starting to cope with depression by watching movies and documentaries on depression. I spoke to her, Do these movies help you or do they bother you? The same could also be said about my music, even if it is blown out of proportion.

I am collecting memories and pieces of time. Taking a look at progress, on my strength, on the missing puzzle pieces. It’s the little things that give life meaning.

I purge my thoughts, memories. This is how I manage the experiences of my faith and salvation. I build the bridge then knock it down. Build the wall. Take another brick away.

This is what it’s like to wake up with a moment of clarity. To inherit the first day of living. I was born with regrets. No, not really. I am full of contradictions. I am codependent and looking for my muse.

The suicide thoughts that invade my mind are disguised as regret – as real as you or I.

My cheek is on the bathroom floor just to see how low I am. I look up at the toilet so I can see how high I can get. This is not my time.

My health is failing. My bowels say, you can’t control me. My fate: Crohn’s Disease. Unless you have this disintegrating problem, you won’t have the epiphany of the chosen. I have chosen to write about this illness (Crohn’s) to put in context that what has not cared one spit about me. Yet, it runs my life and because of this, I have to live with it and give it the most respect (that it deserves).

Please understand, that time is finite, your next breath can be your last. Tick tock. Time is taken every breath from life. In the name of science, we’re breathing the same molecules as Jesus, Bronzino, Sigmund Fraud, Einstein, George Washington.

These words your reading will keep me alive. The incontinence of my mistakes are taking a hold of my soul. Poisoning my brain. I am so ashamed of having a chronic debilitating illness. One day, when I give up my last breath, I will be with my maker and never again the have the symptoms of an IBD (Intestinal Bowel Disorder). Let me take you there. I won’t need to tell you when we reach our destination. You will understand.

Reality hits.

Big time!