The Author in My Life

A lot has happened and also nothing has happened lately. Beyond frustrated trying to actually do something, anything right about now. Is the anxiety making me hesitant or is the laziness making me anxious? The fear of failure has never been stronger and it feels like any chance I do take is likely to be a complete disaster, no matter how much effort I put into it.

Despite books, years upon years of wisdom, this nonsense won't seem to quit. It's like a bug in the software that never seems to be cleaned out. An exercise I've not done in forever, it's something that I don't even remember how to do. That, and it's painfully obvious to me how subpar the stuff I've done is in contrast to what's out there. You can't get good unless you're failing and trying stuff out a bunch but I'm so sick of the mediocrity. The lack of free time, true free time, is also a factor. And when I do have the free time I squander it all away on nonsense like staring at the fucking wall for hours at a time, thinking to myself "Seriously? What the hell is wrong with me?"

I'm putting a lot of unnecessary pressure and judgment on myself despite all my attempts and being vulnerable. The day job has been killing me in more ways than one. It's like this slow, deadly fungus that eats away at you gradually and over time it just gets progressively worse, so bad that you constantly feel like you've already crossed the event horizon with no real way back. The race is still happening and I'm closer to the starting line than I am at the finish, which is where pretty much everyone else is at. "Don't compare yourself to others," I get it, I get it. What happened to my priorities? When did appeasing others take precedent in my life when I used to create and put works out assertively? Did I just stop realizing how important it is? Or did the awareness of all the other stuff humble me so heavily into the point of discouragement, as if to say "You guys all already have this, there's no need for me to put myself out there."

Before the internet we collectively all found it easy to put ourselves out there. We weren't painfully aware of all the shovelware, the stuff being made that has essentially no perceived value. Years ago even shovelware shined. The classics now unfortunately only matter superficially, like sentimental little anecdotes that barely rise above the noise for more than a few fleeting moments. Temporary novelty. None of these are excuses, however being painfully aware of what's working against you is something that hurts more than it helps.

Perhaps anyone successful can be looked at as a complete idiot in some respects. The fool, so careless in their ways, seems to be the one that tends to be in the spotlight. They ask and they receive. Common wisdom is to rely on one's self and not be a burden, however almost all of those out there asking and receiving seem to be actually living their lives instead of being shackled down to the personal prisons. I feel stuck on this flat ledge, too afraid to climb to the next to change my situation because I tell myself that it's not worth the risk, to potentially threaten my survival. My inability to discern between the "necessary leaps of faith" and the "moments of petty gamble and luxury" is something that holds me back from escaping from my cell.

I've been conditioned to be convenient to the environment around me, at the cost of my individuality. The carrot dangles on the string in front of me. Always there to remind me of the hope of a fulfilling future that never seems to happen. I bring my attention to the present moment as often as possible and yet I can't seem to connect to what it is I really need to be doing anymore.

Perhaps it's that my hyper awareness has brought me to the point of emotional paralysis, in that I'm playing the role everyone wants me to play and I'm being rewarded in that there's little to no conflict in my life. Would a trust fund of immeasurable wealth be something that helps or hampers my overall life satisfaction and self-defined purpose? I'm redefining what it is that I want most in life. Having grand amounts of wealth has been one of those things that I don't really see happening any time soon, and part of me feels that it's not what I'm really after anyhow.

The cessation of my current career path IS something I deeply wish could happen. While no job is truly secure, my current one unarguably is stable in that it provides real, proven consistency in pay and expectations. It brings comfort in that my financial obligations are (mostly) taken care of, which includes the requirements for my children not to feel like they're living in poverty, and that I'm not necessarily any sort of financial burden on their mother. But despite the current situation "working" in some ways, I also feel like there are no real moments I feel fulfilled, like all the hopes and wishes I have, as meager as they are, are never going to happen. The things that motivate me most in life seem to be vanishing leaving only the melancholy and apathy in it's place. A machine producing enough to meet the minimum requirements to serve it's purpose.

It's the real part of adulthood that always worried me growing up. While I had lots of friends as a kid, as I get older I'm getting scared of losing them all and never actually being able to connect anymore. Social media, that double edged sword, has eaten what little hope I have left and I've become a slave to the brief, cocaine-high I feel each time I have these little interactions online, missing out on the whole real life experience I used to crave and to an extent still do. Social media solved problems but created so many new unforeseen ones. I'm not happy at all. I don't feel connected. My art hasn't been happening for so long that no one really acknowledges I ever was that person, let alone being that person today. I'm riding with the facade of those dreams of the past that only now appear in snapshots.

Perhaps it's time I make a huge stand in my life. I reevaluate my priorities and make the hard decisions I've been putting off on forever. If I want things to be different I need to swim upstream a bit and take all the beatings that comes with doing that. What I need is discomfort, to destroy and to put back together the "me" that I've been lately. I'm so fucking sick of being the sucker, the one people speak nicely of until I stop doing and being who they want me to be. I need to passionately assert myself in the face of opposition because who I really am will never make everyone happy and I need to be okay with that.

If I really want to be the author in my life, I need to start writing again. 

Obligated

I overthink. It's difficult for me these days to go into situations without having the blue prints ahead of time. This is why I stopped writing for awhile. The anxiety became barely manageable and so to cope I removed myself from as many responsibilities as I could. Leisure and socializing took the brunt of the downsizing because I have children and I convinced myself (erroneously) that being a parent is being a slave, and even then I still don't feel like I'm doing enough for them. It's anxiety again, in this case it's a fear that I'm not up to par with the parenting standards of 2016 and so everyone will hold it against me, including my kids when they are older.

See, there I go overthinking again. The kids and I love each other and are met with presence and all the necessities, so feeling like this has more to do with me than anything else. All the while I feel shame when I'm free just one evening to create and work on projects for myself.

Perhaps I should start seeing my wants/needs as valid rather than purely selfish in the eyes of those around me. I miss my days and nights of sitting there writing and coming up with all sorts of creative ideas. Performances were something I looked forward to beyond anything else, along with consistently being in the company of good people. Creative environments are where I thrive and for the most part that's where I used to be.

On the same token, I fear others wanting to control me. I started my own project to have absolute control over my means of expression. Being in a band and collaborating was usually a pleasant experience, though in terms of personal expression it was difficult due to all the hard compromises. Again, it's fine but it's not something I feel fulfills who I actually am. I've been faced with self criticism with not allowing others to collaborate with me and doing almost everything myself, and yet deep down I feel it's really the only way, and know it in my heart to be true. Tons of great musicians work alone, so why am the selfish one? Books are usually authored by one person. My fear of being coerced into collaborating is a huge factor in why I stopped playing. Over the years this fear has not diminished one bit, and if anything I've become even more protective over my personal expression. I've let others know this subtly and obviously yet it never seems to register. To be clear, I like collaborating though it needs to be secondary to my personal stuff and can't bleed over.

Others: "Let me write with you!"
Me: *tries hiding panic attack* "Yeah soon maybe."

It's become apparent to me that I have issues communicating. In social situations, people tend to see me as very approachable, an extrovert, and don't believe me if I try to explain that I actually need to be by myself often. I cherish social situations, especially shows and performances, and yet I also require lots of "me time," which I struggle asking for. My current day job eats up more hours than any of my prior ones ever could, even without overtime, and with what little free time I have I feel obligated to make sure no one else needs me first before I take time to myself. I feel like like time to myself is more of a luxury than a healthy requirement to life.

A good portion of my life was spent wandering aimlessly through minefields. After enough mines detonate you learn to perfect the art of tip-towing quietly. I've not run or even walked in quite awhile even though the hidden mines are so few these days. I'm an adult so I really have no one else to answer to. I own my home. My day job is tedious and I'm forced to behave, though outside of that my life belongs to me again. Old habits die hard. I'm still overly concerned with the well-being of others and fear stepping on their toes doing the things that I actually want to do. Jealousy comes into play more often than I'd like to admit in that I feel envious of those out there able to go places and work on things that I want to work on. Not specific things, just the type of things that I could be doing right now. I hear music produced by teenagers these days that make my old stuff sound completely pathetic. More pathetic is the fact that I know I'm capable of quite a bit of greatness if I'm allowed to be.

Allowed to be.

In my mind the critic still reigns king. My desire for escapism keeps me in my head all day where everything I do is amazing and all my dreams come true, but it's no replacement for the real thing. The real thing on most days feels like I'm asking too much and I don't want anyone mad at me. It's driven me to the point of full blown neurosis bordering on the psychotic.

It may be that I'm imagining more mines than there actually are out there. I feel judged constantly and when others aren't doing it, I'm doing it to myself. Even simple jokes and ribbing hurt like the real thing, though I have to pretend that I can "take a few punches." Extreme sensitivity while maintaining the facade of pretending to have it all together. I've yearned for others to just simply be present with me and usually all I get are people trying to "fix" me, which always ALWAYS comes across as condescending and patronizing, like I'm a 5 year old.

I'm not looking for people to fix me, I'm looking for people to hear me.

When I'm present with others and they confide in me, their venting, I actually get a good feeling. Conversely I'm bothered when someone assumes they know more than me when they clearly don't have any idea, and it's an insult to my intelligence. I have to tell myself that they mean to do well while it's obvious to me (perhaps not to them) that they just want to have control over me. But I constantly feel obligated to placate their egos, obligated to make sure others are okay with me, obligated to work for others until my fingers and have nothing to show for it, obligated to accept mediocrity and my life of servitude, obligated to destroy all my dreams and stay blind to the wishing stars.

Obligated to not be me.

Memories and Imaginative Futures

I'm trying to figure out where I was last year, because I can guarantee it wasn't Earth, and definitely wasn't in the Present Moment. It's felt like a bizarre theme park ride that goes back and forth between Memories and Imaginative Futures, and does it fast and jarring. The ride went on way too long and I was done with it pretty early on. Unfortunately I had to wait it out because the other option wouldn't have ended well.

Right now I'm here, and I'm still a bit woozy. While I know I traveled, there's only partial recollection of the events, which makes it seem like most of it was just too much, and a majority of it a waste of time. What good is a good time if you can't remember it? Or a lesson in which one doesn't retain the wisdom from? I bit off more than I could chew.

My fears compelled me towards flight. The Present Moment, while seemingly benign, seemed like it was wrought with the potential for mortal danger. Then again, isn't simply being alive a threat to survival? In my search for peace and the cessation of pain, I subconsciously willed myself into various environments of isolation. Empathy is felt with those who flee the fast-paced life of inner-cities. Perhaps not literally, rather the desire to escape. Isolation was not necessarily unhealthy until it became the only thing there was.

However I feel that I've taken a few lessons from it, and others may soon be realized, one of which is prominent at the moment. Pain is important. The bad guys exist and one needs to accept that. Nature is about struggle. Rights have to be fought for and consistent, regular upkeep is required. Seclusion is good, if not absolutely necessary at times when times get tough. When the recuperation is complete then we have to return to the world again.

Writing is much more than composing words or melodies. It's an action that brings one's personal realizations to life. It is those incantations that truly have power in the here and now. Often I forget that writing gives me the ability to take on the situations at hand. The comedian invites us to join in on removing energy from the negativity.

When I compose I become the architect that builds within this world the places I've found in others. Life is about discoveries, and sharing the discoveries. I'm inspired to design and update the flag that represents who I am and hang it in my front yard. I'm both part of this world and part of other worlds. As with all of us, my rich heritage needs to be expressed.

All experiments need a control. Events require perspective and context. Memories and Imaginative Futures are as necessary as the Present Moment, and are meaningless without it.

(Soviet Modernism) The Georgian Ministry of Highway Construction in Tbilisi, Georgia. Built in 1975.

I'm Doing It

There have been a few things going on behind the scenes. One of which is the resurgence of the band with a modified name. After over a decade, it was decided that Med Downline feels better. Medicant Downline will still live on as a legacy name and can technically still be used interchangeably, however moving forward the project will officially be using the new one. Change is stress and stress isn’t always a bad thing.

                Newer music has been in the works for far too long. I’ve writing demos upon demos of ideas that have been floating around since Test Subject, and I’ve even been incorporating riffs and keyboard lines from the 90’s when I was still using a 4-track cassette recorder and MIDI files played through my Roland XP-10 keyboard. I’ve become more honest with myself about what I feel that I should be writing and performing in accordance with who I really am and what I’m about. My art is definitely not for everyone so I’ve resolved to just keep on doing what I do and ignore anyone else who may not be interested. As an artist you tend to struggle with the balance between producing widely acceptable, attractive works and producing specific, unique expressive works. If you go too much one way you’re just selling out and it feels soulless, too commercial and impersonal, and then if you go too much the other way you’re pretty much making stuff that only you and a few die-hard fans who justify your bad decisions.

                I’ve found out who I really am and have (mostly) accepted it. My hesitation in completing and publishing has everything to do with holding myself back out of fear of non-acceptance. I really don’t want to waste my time on something that isn’t in some ways at least objectively good. We all have our tastes and opinions, which is fine and I accept that now, though I feel like I’m capable of producing work that one could at least look at and agree that, although not particularly their ‘thing’, can still be considered ‘well done.’

The new works also have to sound undeniably professional in all aspects, which involve benchmarks on the actual sound mixing quality, the quality of the subject audio recordings, and the overall variety of songs while still retaining a sort of similar identity without using tired clichés. This will not require an unattainable budget, more modest in terms of what has been spent normally on independent projects. It may require the assistance of multiple talents in which will help to insure all benchmarks are met even if I myself am not fully capable in all aspects of the process, as well as generally having a more objective perspective on the material at hand. While I try hard to stay focused and motivated, I must honestly admit that it may be necessary for others to make sure the ball keeps rolling when it seems like it’s slowing down again. Conditions must be right, or made right, in order to allow the project to come to an eventual completion.

My goal right now is to have something to hold in my hands before the end of the year.  It’s feasible to have something by the end of the summer. If I keep a relatively consistent schedule of working on the project then there’s every reason for this to become a reality. While my life in the past decade has become chock full of responsibilities I also acknowledge that much of it is unnecessary. I’ve wasted a lot of time playing out too much in my head, multiple upon multiple scenarios, and as a result I have nothing to show for it. Instead of taking chances I’ve played it safe and secure.  I did gain a lot of perspective and way too much inspiration to deal with.

Perhaps a lot of this was necessary to give me the right mindset in life. Artists come in all shapes and sizes and produce works for various reasons. As opposed to before, I feel like I’m now better equipped to create for all the right ones. One has to ask “What am I getting from this?” and I feel like I have a good idea what’s in it for me, and it’s on the healthier side of things.

In the upcoming weeks I plan to complete a few new songs ready for live performance and for final production. I’m confident in the direction I’m going and will be holding myself true to the concept of these works. No more blind acceptance of the Naysayer’s opinion or that in which my irrational insecurities try to have me believe in.

I know exactly what I like and I’m doing it.

Restart the Engine

It's safe to say that as a musician I've been on hiatus for just about a decade. Sure there were shows here and there, and the actual album produced in 2004 wasn't actually released until around 2010 due to various reasons, however I haven't felt like I've been productive for a long time now.

 

That's changing this year. I'm back.

 

Throughout these past years I've faced numerous obstacles in which, at the time, I didn't realize were hindering me. I crafted stories and excuses around what was happening, fooling myself into believing that everything would eventually just get better on its own. I entered the corporate life with menial cubicle slave jobs, telling myself that this was the responsible choice and it was "easy money." The costs/consequences were downplayed because I assumed that I could handle it. I then started a family with children, got a house, and tried "being a grown up." All the while I still maintained a belief that I'd soon be back in the music scene once the circumstances allowed it.

 

Years later everything began falling apart. The marriage ended in divorce only weeks after my father took his own life, and then I got canned from my first corporate day job. After being unemployed for a while and depleting every penny of savings I had accumulated over 6 years, I got another slave position that brought me back to the bottom of the pay scale again. It was degrading to say the least, and it wasn't enough. I maxed out every credit card as a temporary band aid to pay all my bills, and it obviously wasn't a sustainable way of life. I had a pension, which these days are a mythical creature in itself, and sure enough raided it as yet another ditch effort to stay afloat.

 

Throughout this whole thing, social media became more popular than ever. While Myspace began for me as a tool to help connect to fans, I ended up getting caught up in its popularity contest aspect. When Facebook then came around it got even worse. Without realizing it, I replaced my more wholesome means of creative expression (i.e. Blog Writing, Music, Graphic Design, etc.) with short, one or two sentence status updates and unrelenting link sharing. While it did feel great to reconnect with old friends, as a whole I was finding me getting more lost than fulfilled. Social media is an absolutely stunning and amazing technology, and with it can come the dangerous side of a double-edged sword. At least for me it did.

 

No one ever told me, or rather I was lead to believe otherwise, that severe depression is not only real but also something that gets progressively worse if it goes untreated. Right around the time all the garbage started hitting the fan in my life, I took a chance and began seeing a therapist. At the time I just assumed that perhaps it would help somewhat to utilize a few free visits provided by my health insurance. It couldn't hurt to be a little open minded, right? It was there that I was finally able to begin seeing the walls I had constructed, and was continuing to build, throughout my adult years. I assumed that my anxiety and depression had gotten unbearable because I was "being a whiny baby," but what I learned was that the opposite was the case. Any time I questioned my own wellbeing I'd be extremely dismissive, which others in my social circle would back me up on.

 

"You don't even have a good REASON to be depressed, so get over it!" "You just want attention!" "This is just another excuse!"

 

When I opened the floodgates to my inner turmoil, I nearly drowned in it. I felt still too far away to reach for help, and even if there was some available I was too scared to ask someone else to take time out of their life to lend a hand, mostly because I loathed the idea of being a burden to others as it seemed to be extremely selfish to me. It's sad to say but I could imagine a scenario in which if I were drowning at a beach I'd probably not even call out to the lifeguards because I wouldn't have wanted to bother them. Yes, their job is to save lives and I still felt like I'd have been wasting their time saving mine.

 

Another thing that I wasn't told was that when you open up about this stuff and begin to actively acknowledge and work on it, the war has officially begun. Political tensions are one thing, but when the actual fighting commences is when the death toll actually rises. On most occasions I was forced to retreat and cut my losses. Bills were going unpaid and the harassment was getting worse. My day job work environment was extremely toxic. I even doubted my ability to be an adequate musician in this world.

 

I stopped listening to almost all music for the first time since childhood, partly because I felt so inferior, partly because of a jealousy that boiled over into a seething rage, and partly because I was craving silence. Years went by as I would drive in my car with nothing but the sound of wind blowing. This was something I never talked to anyone about because it seemed too embarrassing to convey. I was told that I'd enjoy this song or that band but I could never bring myself to listen. Streaming Video services like Netflix and Hulu were available as a great alternative to cable, which I had cancelled because of a lack of interest, only to find that I was now adding movies and shows to queues that I would never actually get to. Still haven't!

 

While I remember daydreaming intermittently throughout the course of my childhood and teen years, I had now found myself spending all of my free time sitting silently in empty rooms, no music, no videos, for hours on end. I really wish I was making this up as this is something I find extremely confusing, embarrassing, lazy, wasteful, and bizarre. What did this say about me as a person? I knew I was a bit strange my whole life, though at least I knew how to get along with most people if I choose to. I used to crave parties, and really I still do, and yet I was finding myself opting instead to stay home making every excuse in the book.

 

I told myself that perhaps I'd get going on one of my projects that I was procrastinating on, only to become immediately distracted. Facebook had been a great source for reaching out and connecting to others, but it had become a vice for me. In itself it's a great technology that can be used for so much good, which is what I told myself that I was using it for, yet instead I was just going for cheap thrills. They were the quick, unrelenting stimuli with a growing, unsatisfied craving for more and more. My blogging/journal writing would only be visited once every few months as opposed to daily, if not at least weekly, in which I just wrote off as being an antiquated practice, whereas short status messages and witty Twitter musings were my new bread and butter. I didn't have time, I told myself, to write long entries, nor did it seem necessary for my means of expression as no one seemed to even want to read blogs anymore. (Or at least I stopped reading them and projected this on to others.)

 

Throughout this time I technically kept myself busy by writing, producing, and publishing slightly experimental instrumental albums. I recreated Test Subject as an authentic retro video game chip tune album that ended up selling about ten times more than the original album that took over a year to self-produce. With that I decided to publish a second chip tune album, this time with all original songs and also received notable praise. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing that I felt deep down expressed what I'd really wanted to put out, though it was at least a start. In 2014 I took it upon myself then to produce an album consisting of 50 songs, all under a minute in length, all done exclusively in one application on my iPhone during breaks and lunches at my day job. It was an experiment in the concept of writing in general as well as an action in a step towards getting back to my serious electro-rock band writing. At this point the band was lucky if we performed two shows a year, so this was like a small, lit candle in a very large and dark room.

 

It was in 2014 while producing the Micro Song Collection that I finally began to change in the right direction and was climbing out of this hole I was in. For years I hadn't realized how much more reactive I had become rather than proactive. I acted as if I needed permission from others to be who I am and do what I do. This wasn't always the case as my first album was pretty much a "fuck you" to everyone who said that my desire to make art was a worthless hobby, a bad obsession. Test Subject was a pun in itself in that it was meant to be an experiment to demonstrate that I am a capable, independent artist. Sure it was rough as hell; I had almost no experience or technical knowledge. While I connected socially with a few musicians, I pretty much figured everything out on my own through trial and error, and it was my drive to wave that flag of independence that got it produced and published. Not one day goes by that I don't see each and every flaw in its production; though over time I let it define me negatively instead of positively. It is now that I can fully recognize it for what it is and allow it to simply be, and to not let its flaws define me as a capable musician.

 

It may seem petty or silly, though it was in 2014 that I began to stand my ground with my points of view during controversy. I was berated and yelled at; though this time I allowed the truth to motivate me. I argued with others on social media and posted very specific stances on issues that I'm passionate about, knowing very well that there are those that disagree with me. I told myself to actively do this in order to prove to myself that my opinions matter and to stop compromising on who I am, with the caveat that if I learn that I'm wrong about something that I'd have to agree to change my ways and to not take it personally. I feel as if over the years I subconsciously took the easy path of not making waves in order to avoid conflict because the stress in my life was way more than I could handle. Now I know better. If someone wants to gloat about being right about something I was wrong about, then that's their business, I really don't care anymore. In fact, the fear of being wrong is one of the big factors in which contributed to my insecurities because I just couldn't take the poor sportsmanship of others, who'd relentlessly be triumphant in their righteous indignations.

 

"See, I was right!"

"So what? You're a fuck face and that negates the good you do for being correct!"

 

So this is where I restart the engine. I'm writing again and have big plans. Big plans that I'm acting on, that is. I'm greatly reducing my use of social media and instead focusing my efforts on my art and performances. I'm done being just useful for others to use. I'm excited. I'm a bit scared. I'm more focused. I'm determined.

 

I'm back.

Break a Plate

Cheers to being oversensitive to conflict and negativity.

"You're so sensitive..."

http://gloomies.com/2007/04/youre-so-sensitive/

 

When you've accidentally done something wrong, like break a plate or forgot a prior engagement, you feel bad about it. Guilt is the word we attribute that to, which is something temporary and specific to a situation. It's healthy in that it helps us to stop making the same mistake, to learn from it. With severe depression however that negative feeling occurs either when something triggers it or even just out of nowhere. It's called shame, unjustified usually, which is where you feel that you're a bad person even if you've done nothing wrong. Your mind tries to come up with 'reasons' why you feel this way, stories you tell yourself so that there seems to be a feeling of control.

 

When someone's ill, it's normal for them to stay home from work or school, perhaps also visit the doctor. With severe depression however, being ill is chronic and you tend to still engage in normal responsibilities, no matter how difficult it is to cope, because it doesn't appear to be a physical ailment. Unfortunately today, the general public not only doesn't accommodate for the condition but they also dismiss its legitimacy as a disease. No matter how many times you explain it, even provide documented resources, efforts seem futile. This ignorance, misperception, makes performing day to day responsibilities even more difficult, and saying, "It's frustrating!" is an understatement.

 

These events tend to be frequent and over time can be detrimental to one's self-esteem and personality. Anxious. Over cautious. Feeling less-than, belittled. Whereas most people attribute the bad feelings to external causes, (reasons) severe depression makes you feel like shame is inevitable because you're "somehow just a bad person," despite any your actions/reactions.

While it's no easy thing to live with, the one thing that would make it less painful is for others to understand and be, if not somewhat sensitive, at least respectful. There will always be stubborn people who stay ignorant, making every excuse as to why only old ideas are valid and new ideas are nonsense, however if the general consensus brings themselves to take mental health issues seriously then the treatment and overall wellbeing for those who suffer would be much better.

Astronaut

I fell in again.

The grey clouds speak in monotone, reflecting the environment of my inner space. Silhouettes of churches a other structures provide contrast between the soft omnipresent glow. The cars move past unaffected and driven with purpose while I remain here stationary. Watching. Not moving.

The cold winter air reminds me that outside is a void of life and that I'm basically an astronaut every time I go out there. An emptiness like the surface of the moon. The only thing that preserves me is the suit I wear to accommodate these conditions. Without it I'm as lifeless as the icy surfaces I tread on.

Times like this I have to force myself to remember the spring time. This is all temporary and I'm on vacation in this dead world. To keep myself alive and hopeful I have the memorabilia for the other world.

Consume it and remember. I'll find my way back.