I love to listen to music while I write it is essential to the process most of the time, especially when I am angry about something, I use it as a stabilizer, or maybe even a adrenal boost to the old system and I allow myself to get the horror show out that is just festering right there on the surface.
It doesn’t matter what kind of music it is really, it allows me to hyper-focus on what I am doing and that is the thing that matters. It blots out the entirety of the universe for that time and while it maybe be Slipknot screaming People Equal Shit at top volume making my head throb, or the soothing sounds of Stravinsky’s Elegy for Viola Solo, it is the vehicle for allowing me to focus and it is a grand and glorious thing.
Since the rest of the people in my house generally dislike the music I like, I try to wear headphones, even though I listen to music so loud they can hear it anyway, and just slam my fingers on the keyboard repeatedly until whatever demon I am trying to exorcise is removed, if only temporarily.
I wrote music once upon a time, angst fueled things that you may have heard if you went to the Warped Tour on the right dates in the right years. I can’t now, not only do I dislike the process of repetition that music demands, I learned my lesson when I signed away rights to the song that actually didn’t suck off of the one and only album the band in question ever produced. I don’t want to write music for money, it just feels wrong. Porn, Vampires, Werewolves and Serial Killers, those are all good in my moral compass, especially if you play the combine them all game.
Today I am listening to the aforementioned Slipknot, my anger towards the trash fire of a world we live in is pretty intense at the moment and I want to write this thing out and hug my kids for a few hours after their schools were in lock-down for the early part of the day because the hatred in this city and yes almost everywhere else, is a palatable thing and it spills over more and more often as the days go by. I will get it ll out like venom from the bite and then I will nope the fuck off of the Internet for the night and pretend that I live in a Ozzie and Harriet episode, even though they were fucked all kinds of ways.
The incident was handled well by the police department as far as I can tell, which is ironic as the track switches to Disasterpiece. They killed the guy, who would have killed more people if they hadn’t, and now everyone can go to bed knowing that they lived next door to a man who apparently wanted to kill his entire family. I can already see the Hallmark movie being written. Schools were locked-down as a precaution and there was no active shooter scenario taking place, even though there was an incident in the playground of one of the schools.
Where kids play.
Where you are supposed to be blissfully ignorant.
Unaware of dark forced trying as hard as they can.
A goddamn playground.
Two of my three are home now, gratefully hugged in the case of the Babeh Duck and a Manly Nod from the Elder Duck. The Connorface gets home in a little less than twenty minutes, hugs and kisses and laughs and trying to slow my heartbeat into the normal high range it is normally at anyway.
So I am going to go wait for him and smile when I see him and love him and smile at him for those of you who love him as much as I do.
For now, it can burn, all of it, as long as I have y little place that is only charred and marred the slightest bit.
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