I guess, fundamentally, a blog isn't much more than a diary that anyone on the internet could theoretically read? Although Tumblr has definitely mixed up that definition a bit. I wanted to write here to document the feelings of stress and guilt that I feel in hopes of looking back later and feeling like I've reached some sort of a resolution on some of these issues; a place to hold myself accountable, in a sense.

Today, I've been thinking about the people I've bought music from. I have been feeling an unshakable sense of guilt about taking away things that were once treasures to people, just for some quick capital. It feels bad, almost exploitative? I'm not sure if it actually is, but it sure feels that way. I think this was sparked when I saw Marc Van Der Holst had listed Sweden by The Mountain Goats on Discogs. I had purchased The Coroner's Gambit and Nothing for Juice from him a few months (maybe a year?) ago, and he mentioned that he wasn't doing well. At the time, I remember wishing I could just give him money and somehow we could figure out how to clone those records. They're some of my prized possessions, as I'm sure they no doubt were his. But that almost makes it feel worse.

My mom sent me a lot of photos of Tiger today. Sometimes, when I think about him too much, I think about dying. It's not a healthy impulse, but even after almost 5 years, I still can't process that I'll never see him again. It doesn't make sense to me. I've had other family members die that I was close with, but Tiger's death still sticks with me. I can't shake it.

I always feel the need to say decisively that I am okay when I talk about wanting to die, because there is no part of me that actually plans on acting on that impulse. It's just a feeling.

One of the pictures really stuck with me, and I'll put that below. I was wearing the same exact thing today when my mom sent me the picture. I guess I haven't changed that much.


Pictured: Smokey (left), Me & Tiger (center), and Gunner (right). Of the three, only Smokey is still alive.

I broke sobriety again a few weeks ago. Work stress finally built up too much and sent me over the edge. I think I need to take a real vacation to distance myself from my job. Luckily, I've got one coming up at the end of the month; hopefully that helps. I'm thinking about messaging Marc on Discogs to see if he'd send me his address so that I can send him a copy of the repress of The Coroner's Gambit. I wonder if he'll respond.

I'm leaving for vacation today. I haven't really course corrected on the drinking or the weed yet; at this point, I'd say things are getting worse without any indication that they'll improve anytime soon. I get crossfaded a few nights each week now. It's my secret. No one else needs to know. I know I can't stay like this forever, but it's the only way I have to relax right now. I was doing really well, too. Almost 10 months of sobriety from weed and 1.5 years from alcohol; now back to 0. I wrote a song about it. That song is below. No one gets to hear it. It's just for me. If you stumble on here by mistake, you can listen too, I guess.

Runway

I'm doing surprisingly okay. I've cut back on my drinking in the past few weeks. I think I've had one beer since getting back from vacation. I had a performance review at my job on Tuesday, and negotiated a raise afterwards. It felt pretty nice to not feel like a pushover for once. I'm still getting anxious more often, but I'm making my way through it. I'm leaning pretty hard on weed in lieu of drinking. Something about it feels less bad. I started working on a new project. I wrote Runway, the song in the last blog post, before leaving for my aforementioned vacation, and then while I was on vacation I wrote two more. One was inspired by my reading of Crime & Punishment and is sort of a song about Marmeladov and Raskolnikov, but is also maybe a personal story? Tough to say for sure. The other song that I wrote during my vacation is about corn, I guess. Sometimes I write a song, and when I'm trying to record it, I end up saying "I wrote this too much like a Mountain Goats song." It's not a bad thing, per se; I'd just like to write my own songs that don't feel as derivative. Anyway, no name for this project yet, but once I have one, I'll update Current Projects with it.

I've had a very long week. Despite the pay raise, I worry that my job is a dead-end for me. I'd like to believe otherwise, but it's hard. My partner and I had a long conversation about this on Tuesday night, and ever since, I've had a lot of trouble shaking the feeling that I have no job security in the long run. Despite my raise, I feel more panicked than ever, honestly. I'm a bit crossfaded at the moment, so I don't particularly have the words to describe how I'm feeling. In spite of this. I bought a desk. Here's a poem I've had kicking around in my head about these feelings:

You deserve to buy a desk.
I mean it
You deserve a lot more than that
If I'm being honest


You deserve a copy of Come Come to the Sunset Tree
With artwork on it by John himself
You deserve a copy of Crime & Punishment
Translated by Sidney Monas


I dont know how
But somewhere along the way
You got convinced that you don't deserve
To have nice things
But you do

August 31st was 5 years since Tiger died. I spent it alone in my apartment wallowing in the knowledge that I'll never see my best friend again in this life. We adopted a new cat a few days later on September 4th. We named him Enoch, and are trying to get him acclimated to his new home. Yesterday, he lashed out and attacked Delilah. I've been in and out of panic attacks since. I worry that I am too emotionally attached to my cats. I know I am too emotionally invested in my cats. It's unhealthy, but I don't know how else to be.

I don't fully know what to type here. I guess I'm typing as an exercise. I guess I'm typing what comes to my mind like I have been doing with the collages. A rorschach test I guess. I feel a great uncertainty in my spirit. For several weeks I've had my finger on the pulse. For several weeks I've had my mouth on the sewer pipe. For several weeks, I've felt awful. That's growing up, baby. Nothing you can do about that. Maybe you can, but I can't.

I don't claim to know much. It's selfish, but after I watched your hour of ranting, I drifted to the song I wrote about you last year. I don't take any of it back, but I do wish I was less harsh. I feel that way in all situations-- not that I'm too harsh, but that I should have been omnipotent enough to know what I should have done. I had to write Delusions 3 to remind myself that I can't do it all, I can't save everyone, but also to remind myself that everything can't be my fault. I don't blame myself but it's hard not to blame drugs. When this happened last year, it was just a bit after Bonnaroo too. I don't think it's a coincidence. I don't think it's a coincidence and I'm sorry that I didn't try harder to ask you to get better. I don't know if I could've shaken your resolve.

When I talk to anyone about you, they all say the same stuff. The people who weren't there tell me that I should call you. The people who were there recognize the truth. I don't want to contact you. I've been trying my hardest to avoid talking to you since the day I moved out.

You are not a god, and I like to think that you are not the person you seem to be when you scream about your "argument" and about the tracking devices that they're putting on you. I know that you are unwell. You were unwell long before we ever met. I like to think that things could have been different. I am often reminded of the chilling moment of sobriety we shared after that long night in Mt. Washington when you, almost as if you had briefly woken up, told me that you hated being angry. You, so often unable to put words together, confessed to being a prisoner to your own anger and enumerated the times and places when it really took over. I remember encouraging you to seek counseling then, in vain, as none of us could have possibly afforded it at the time. You don't live with four other people when you are rich.

There was a point in your video where you said "I get the dates wrong but not the events." It reminded me of the Mountain Goats song, We Shall All Be Healed (not the album, but the live-only song of the same name), where JD says, effectively, the same thing: "I get the dates and the times wrong all the time. I'm too young to get the dates and the times wrong." Toward the end of the video, you mention that you want to heal people, and that there's still healing to be done. You said that you will be the last one healed. I would like to encourage you to reconsider.

Please let yourself heal.

I didn't immediately see the throughline between your tirade last week and the revelation I had on Thursday, but it's pretty difficult to ignore now. I wrote more about that in my notebook along with three more Compulsions songs. I've been struggling but I'm trying my best. It's not imposter syndrome if you really are an imposter, but it assumes a lot of everyone else to think that they're all lying to appease you.

I bought a few tapes while I was dropping mine off at a local record store. They were kind enough to sell them there. I felt guilty but I'd rather give a hundred tapes away for free to record stores than spend a single minute algorithm chasing. I've seen the way it's affected my friends' confidence, and I won't have my resolve tested by a glorified SDR. Working in tech has really opened my eyes to how loosely connected all of the strings really are in the back. Who's running this show? (see also: Delusions 1, from the new tape).

Anyway, I picked up a copy of Crash Test Dummies' first tape, The Ghosts That Haunt Me on a whim. After I listened to the big ticket items from my haul that day (Odelay, Stoned and Dethroned, and Boston, Mass), I popped that one in my deck and gave the first song a whirl. Not my type of music, and not in a subversive way either. The vocals had a twinge of the Hinder-esque affectation that would subsequently plague the 2000s (although, by all accounts, they preceded Hinder by 10 years with this release). I'd say it's Americana (whatever the fuck that means anymore), but Crash Test Dummies are decidedly Canadian. Is Canadacana a term? Otherwise, I'm content with calling it bluegrass, I guess. Anyway, I was ready to pass, but when I searched them, I discovered that they're still actively touring! Turns out, they were active for 20 more years after this release.

Now, I don't want to start any beef, since my lyrics are pretty contrived at times as well, but I could not believe my eyes. Let me copy some lyrics below for you:

Once there was this kid who
Got into an accident and couldn't come to school
But when he finally came back
His hair had turned from black into bright white
He said that it was from when
The cars had smashed so hard
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm

This is from their song Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm, by the way, from their follow-up album God Shuffled His Feet. I'm not going to dig in too hard, but I'm shocked that this was major label stuff at the same time that BNL were making their way through the independent scene. Was it the sanitization of developing on a major label that lead to the uninspired lyrics and sound? Or was it just really, ridiculously easy to get an in? My real honest take on Crash Test Dummies' The Ghosts That Haunt Me: not for me! Off the record, the lead singer kinda reminds me of Pauly Shore. Maybe a symptom of a lost era?