Music, and talk.

There will be no cards...
Like my dear friend says, pain, followed by more pain.

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I added a trigger warning because this piece dwells on such a deep and dark topic. Various interpretations surround his lyrics. Some have stated blue is the optimism of the sky, others the beauty of heaven or the freedom of the open sea. To me, the definition is the other meaning of blue - melancholy. It speaks of a man who sees where he is, and asks the child he was how he took this road - as if that child alone knows the way out. It speaks so resonantly to me that I have no doubt as to what he is saying - to me, at least.

While this could easily pass as a contemporary work today, Nick Drake actually recorded this in 1969. He committed suicide five years later at the age of 26.
TRIGGER I am talking about experiences when I was not sober. I allude to it, and am not specific. You probably will know what I mean, but maybe not. I don't want to explain specifics. I don't think that's helpful. But, to explore my old dissociative era, and look at the way I'm headed now, I'm bringing this song and talk about it into this specific post. I'm not sure I need more than this one post to explore me, to see me in my evolving state of attachment? I'm using this post to see it better. I post my thoughts like I'm thinking out loud. This is my window into my thinking. Thank you.

Anyone who went through, or is going through a university experience, and did it the way I did, this is the kind of music we would have had on during a long evening to morning. I had a few friends whom I spent a lot of time from 1987-1989. During those three years I solidified my need to escape and shape my experiences around music sound, and other enhancements.

I enjoyed the new techno, electronic club music, but would never be able to go to a club (ever). I enjoyed some bands, and did go to at least 4 bars to watch them and two houses which had basement band set ups.

It was a time I never thought friends would want to be with me. I felt so much shame about my body, and two of them for at least a year, made some effort to figure out my sexuality. I knew about them, but I at that time couldn't. I was so frozen, and wired to escape, I triggered into a pit of being turned almost completely off.

I wonder if it's like a fugue state? I guess I can't really know? It's hard to describe, because I wanted to shut my mind off, and not think, just be in the sound with buddies and not have any responsibility. Well, the responsibility was to not get sick, not get weird and make a scene and act sort of cool.

I had somewhat convinced myself that I had just a touch of cool, but I didn't have any of the experiences of most anyone I encountered. It seemed everyone had had money to do things and did them. When they talked about High School I had too few experiences to reference. I quit in my Junior year and got a GED. Anyway, I didn't know what zines, and bands, books, and movies, Florida, or California, or wherever anyone might mention? I didn't know how families vacationed, nor the stuff? So, when any of them might talk those topics, I was lost.

I liked to get wasted, or do a mind altering experience with music like this. These nights were my favorite and I remember at least two of them very well. A few I can't really get figured out, but really, who cares? The weird point of this is I escaped how I was an outsider among the outsiders. If that's really a thing? What do I know, back then I didn't figured out why I was doing what I was doing.

Now that I see it, the focus has really become clear. I'm a bit more sad, but also have 18+ years of sobriety building toward progress. I will like this music going forward, there's really no doubt of that. At age 57, my music taste is still into a genre that I don't find many my age would ever care about. To the video:

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Melancholy and angry makes me laugh,
takes me to that place without grace
where I once met you, and we could
say what we knew, and together we grew

There's a road of cracked asphalt and gravel
heading into those dark wooded spaces
paths into the out, where the out is what is

That path to the lost sublime
those flashes of dense green
the mats of moss, and droplets fall
the age of the lost, far gone lost

I edited this a bit from when I first posted it in this thread. I'm in my head, and this is what's there.

Decades ago, I was on the run. My early 17th year. I had tried running myself to death for a few weeks, about a couple months prior. Running so hard I wished I would die. Quit school. My 4th in 4 years.

I had been raped about the same time the previous year. Then, my dad met a new woman, dumped the one I knew well and whose son I was pretty good friends. He married her in about 2 weeks of dating. We moved into her house with my brother and 3 new step siblings I had just met.

Soon I quit the new school, and started running to collapse. My dad tried to force me to stay home. One evening he came home just as I was walking up to the front steps from a run. He pushed me inside and punched me in the face! I ran away, but the next morning he found me and forced me into a psych ward. I spent a week doing art. He cried for me to forgive him, and I went back.

I got a job. Worked a month and ran away after I got my first check. I waited for my 2nd check and used it for a bus ticket from Danville, Illinois to Chicago and then on to a possible home in Minnesota. I didn't have a home though. So, mom put me in hell.

Well this song came out when I again returned to Minnesota from Illinois back in 1991. That was when I graduated. I cried over and over. It still gets to me.

Soul Asylum: "Runaway Train"
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I've places in my mind; compartments
those set aside to escape, will you visit?
and meditate
and compel a level of groove
settling in, comfy, groovy.

Chiilin' :cool:

In my later 20's, by then retraumatized, unstable, dissociation was my everything. Not thinking about me a necessity for survival. I immersed myself in music and everything distracting. Weed and drinking integrated in all my decisions until 39. This song is, like that era of my life.

The first song is my moniker. Ceremony. I've listened to this song nearly every day for 3 years and am not going to stop. I've listened to this album since '87-'88. Two of my long ago friends were part of the music I listen too. If I could have more friends like Tim? Sigh.

This man is supportive of all with Depression, and I've followed him. This is off his first album. It speaks to me.

This is a difficult dysphoria day. I'm the one putting adrenaline into me. It's a mind boggling thing, how it just takes over.

Peace and love bring me to poetry, the natural, soft laying velvet. A moss bed in the forest, across the slow flowing stream, water dripping from the ledge above.

My body is a constant mental battle ground
The energy, the time, the soul of me
bends in the winds of turbulence
Shaking my fist at the firmament!

And I go on, each quacking moment of me
Tears of rage and inadequacy; a fire
Sometimes fomenting the Phoenix in me
Rising up, shaking off the shackles. to. see. me.

I've had LGBTQIA in my thoughts, and it's been going well. I'm very aware of concerns, which the talk part of this thread welcomes. The music fits sometimes too closely, and in this case that's true. There's a lot of old angst in me, being a non-participant in life, living along the fringe for many years. There's a few places in time where I struggled against that loneliness with drinking and a lot of pot, while I listened to hundreds of bands on CD or Tape, or occasionally live. Bar or Basement, or an extremely rare concert. There were some few times I could be me, who I knew me to be. Then, to leave that space, and revert to the person society and my understanding of expectations shaped me to be. Such a good boy, man. So good, kind, generous and caring. But, inside I hurt so bad, raged so much, and wanted the church people to hear it in my screams. That would have been a sight, so totally not my persona. And what is a persona, a construct of expectations imposed by family, friends and societal norms. I bent to the storm of my twisted self, and it didn't break me. It came close, but there is resilience in anger, raging in control, musing and not obsessing about the lack in so much of what is.

Venus DeMars noted she sang this about Mathew Shepard. Violence took him too young, 20+ years ago.

If you can ignore the early use and silliness of using helmet cams, I can. I have more to say at the end.

The lyrics:
"Jigsaw Falling Into Place"


Just as you take my hand
Just as you write my number down
Just as the drinks arrive
Just as they play your favorite song
As the magic disappears
No longer wound up like a spring
Before you've had too much
Come back and focus again

The walls abandon shape
You've got a Cheshire cat grin
All blurring into one
This place is on a mission
Before the night owl
Before the animal noises
Closed circuit cameras
Before you're comatose

Before you run away from me
Before you're lost between the noise
The beat goes round and round
The beat goes round and round
I never really got there
I just pretended that I had
What's the point of instruments
Words are a sawed off shotgun

Come on and let it out
Come on and let it out
Come on and let it out
Come on and let it out

Before you…

There are so many memories stored in us, some dream like, some faded, some clear as the day lived. It seems like I've spent a lifetime recalling memories, and hoping I add more along the way. What's usually missing is someone else. When others have issues, have their own memories and lifetime recalling and hoping to add more along the way, will they be with? or without?

And did anyone else think "me"?
Is there an adversary in thoughts, the kind that rankles and feels like if that kind of circumstance were other than it were, that would smooth thinking out.

So, did you catch all that? :cool:

When I was in my late 20's and almost all of my 30's (less 9 months), I would go off to get high. It could be a few good beers, or some hits on my brass one hitter. I owned a dugout, which had a nice slide lid to put cleaned buds and my one hitter in. I could go for hikes and stop on occasion for a hit. The problem with me, I was always paranoid of being seen doing it. I almost always did it alone, or in my car driving some scenic back roads.

So, why does this matter? I'm long past those years, and sober 19+ years now. There are memories in those years, and some of them keenly felt. Not all bad, but so much missing, it's now like I was missing. Living a more authentic me may have been ongoing, but with my stifling wife, and the guilt of what my role must be, I had no choice to be an authentic me. I had to hide me, and give the present what I thought was expected of me. And when I was scared out of my mind, I would hope there was a retreat? Retreating was an avoidance of pushing myself into circumstances which my hidden realm of me couldn't be me. I had at least two friends, a couple, who sort of know me. They still try to reach out to me, and that's so precious, I hope I won't ruin it. My aversion to asking for what I need has kept me very isolated, and the long ago memories have shown me what I had done to survive the mental anguish I longed to avoid. I can look at it now, and this year, I'm getting closer to me than I've ever been.

And the fake of things is bothering me. The fake isn't something I can write here, they are after all my thoughts of what that means. That is meant to be meaningless, but I know reading the word "fake" will invoke some intuitive pondering in the curious. I can be drawn out, but it won't be in public. Message me, and we'll see if that word means. So, there are so many I want to talk to and we're all so busy.

Be whatever you're able at a present moment.