Truth:

I am an escape artist.

I escape the averageness of my life by floating away into the darkest thought and emotions of humanity.

I write and think the ugliest things, fixating on the nuances, the different shades of the blackest parts of my imagination that I fear too much to expose through art. Through a muted, muddled form of truth telling that is art. This awareness of my issues, but inactivity because of it, is the only art I've perfected.

I escape expectations. I shock and destroy them. I rarely live up to them, I come at them from unexpected, misunderstood and scary angles. The expectations, assumptions, that I am a happy, wholesome person - untainted and undamaged by the past tend to last only as long as I find them useful.

I may truly be some of things, sometimes, but I doubt its truth. the whole truth. an untainted truth of an aspect of me. But I am not also totally destroyed or devastated by the past, even if I have convinced you of it. Truth: there's just not a lot in my past to be emotionally destroyed from.

I escape this truth through exaggeration of the past, acting well upon it in the present, consistent and persistent, as a broken human being.

I am such a good artist, that sometimes even I believe it and escape reality into it.

I'm scrambling for my Ipod. That Truth is one I'm not ready to deal with. I have to eliminate the quiet,  the silence thats wormed its way into my brain and convinced me I need to try be honest about That Truth.

I can't do it. Not tonight.

.music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. .music. 

My brain is about to explode.

Damien Rice.
Dave Matthews.
Dave Matthews Band.
David Banner.
David Grey.
David Usher.

Deadmau5.

I forgot how secluded and cut off I've made myself until I was drowning in a wave of electronic deja vu.  Escaping this hermitage I've built for myself by withdrawing even from it. again. 

Strategy: Eliminate the downtime not governed by a truth or a lie, just existing. I hate existing. Truth: This passive, lukewarm, failure, excuse of a human frightens me.

I'm furiously trying to blink away the anger, trying to escape these whispers. Some are in my voice

"Cut her out"
"every lie is a white lie"
"choose your own truth, make yourself"
"Creativity at its best is destruction at its best"

Some are others speaking, repeating what I knew much before anyone confirmed it:

"Destructive Tendencies"
"Obsessive"
"Chronically manipulative and selfish"

Focus. a consistent beat. Escape into someone else's abyss, forgetting about the one I have created through exclusion, denial, withdrawal and Ego.

That Truth haunts me still.


I'm still escaping, still not making an effort. I know the next step is to turn off the sound, live in the world of noise. I'm just not willing to move forward. I live and breathe and create the past, I exist in the present and ignore the future and any consequences that may come from these habits.

Truth: It does bother me to realize how much time I spend escaping. Some call it daydreaming, but that puts too much of a light childish spin on it; others saying zoning out, but thats too passive. I may not admit to myself what I am doing, I don't believe I actively seek it out. I have difficulty pinpointing what triggers me to mentally escape myself. Once I am forced to admit it, once I know I'm going down that path again - again - again - again - again - again - I choose not to stop - again - again - - -

By creating this blog I am trying, sort of, to stop. I lost it though, the desire to sensibly and logically express what I do and why. I'm much too detached and clinical sounding now, so I will leave the music on repeat, ignore the noise of my roommate, and escape these ambiguous twisty grey thoughts that almost always lead to too much change: to be honest or to create a new set of lies.

And so I'm experimenting. I will write Truth through the only way I know how to, the only way I've experienced the world. Through a story of playlists.