My brain won’t shut off…so there’s this.
It’s a rough cut from the recordings that John and I are currently working on.
I wrote this song the night after I almost got raped by 3 guys in some bathroom near Philly Summer 2011. I got drunk and down on my self, and made an ass out of myself with this sound guy I’d been hanging out with.
I was horny, and had just started my period. I was really fucking tired, but the mobile stage was being used to supply the music for the after party, which meant sleep wasn’t happening until the party was over. So I did what I generally do when shit’s not going the way I want it too, and I hit the booze, hard. Snuck off with the guy to a bathroom off site in a park somewhere, and was half naked when 3 guys decided they wanted to be invited to the party too.
Honestly, I don’t know how I stumbled away unscathed from that incident, or a couple dozens of other incidents like it that have happened over the course of my life. I’d say I live a charmed life, but once you start seriously thinking in that direction is when the wheel of misfortune will prove you wrong.
I’m sure because of the things said in my drunken ramblings that the sound guy thought I was more into him than I really was. I liked him as a friend, he was a nice guy, but I wasn’t attached to him. Just really lonely, and he was safe. Really, he could’ve been anyone who was a nice guy and was safe, and I would’ve made just as big of an ass out of myself.
Booze tends to fuck everything up at some point.
So here I sit…another day sober. The first two months were great, but these last 2 weeks have been gradually getting worse, and now it’s starting to feel like hell.
The song is called Adicksin as in “A dick is in” and “addiction”. It’s about my addiction to sex and alcohol, and the craziness that ensues when I lose control and allow both to rule my life. So far I haven’t been able to sing it without thinking about that night, in that fucking bathroom.
I wish I could have a drink. 1. Uno. A.
But ‘A’ drink, especially when I’m upset, leads to losing count of how many I’ve had, and losing track of my surroundings. When I think of this song, I think…do I really need to raped by 3 random dudes to prove to myself that I’m stretching the weight of my limitations severely. Poor decision making sucks. Period.
I’m having some serious difficulty right now. The last couple of weeks when I’ve been home, I haven’t gotten nearly as much done as I should have, and my lack of motivation is growing. I find it weird, since I’m still functioning, still making it out to Z.B. practices, still doing everything I normally would…but everything seems much, much slower. I haven’t been on time to anything. I look at the clock and I wake up with plenty of time, but I just drag ass and wind up getting a late start anyway. At the forefront of my mind is this strong desire for a beer or a mixed drink, a glass of wine maybe.
But that’s not me. That’s not what I want. I do not want a fucking beer. I do not want to crash my truck into anything. I do not want to make an ass out of myself, or run down the street yelling nigger in the faces of dark skinned people. Who the fuck is that cunt anyway? A bitch looking to start a fight, a bitch that hates herself in that moment. I’m not a fucking racist. I have so many fucking nationalities in my blood, and I fucking hate racism.
This is the 4th time I quit drinking, and this time it’s for good. I tell myself that every day. Today, I will not drink. I’m not drinking, no thank you. So far, so good…but it’s anything but easy.
So much is running through my head right now, got a couple of 14 page letters from Eddie that I finally opened. My cousin is in prison for murder and has been since 2003 I think it was? I think I’m the only one that writes him. Some letters are harder than others. He hasn’t written me in a bout a year, so when I got 2 letters back to back and super stuffed, I really wasn’t sure what to expect. I never do.
I’m pretty sure my reply is going to piss him off, but he got fucking snippy with me, and I’m sick of the bullshit. How can you be pissed off at me for not wanting to help you on your case? Then you turn around and start telling me how I’m going to hell if I don’t change my ways, and spend 5 pages telling me about god and all of his wondrous miracles. He was also upset with me because I refused to sell his artwork for him. His letters kinda read like a sociopath sometimes where everything is really nice and friendly, then there will be these spurts where it feels like the last 2 sentences were just for the sake of spite and anger. Why I still write him? Because solitary for almost 10 years is probably pretty lonely and boring, and even if we don’t see eye to eye on the world, I know he appreciates the company my letters bring him.
The later I stay up, the more damage done I guess. Just came clean with a cousin as to why I’ve kept my distance, and I’m being called a liar.
I am an asshole, I admit it, I accept it. I make mistakes, I work on them.
Everyone loves my honesty until it’s directed at them. They praise me for how bold I am, and then shit hits the fan and they can’t weather the storm. That’s when I become too much. It’s okay for me to write a song about my grandmother that’s talking about how she helped to fuck up my childhood, but I write a song about how I feel about you, and suddenly it’s not okay anymore. My words are rarely taken as a concerned friend or realized as “if I didn’t say anything, it means I don’t care.” If directed at you, they are perceived only as insults meant to cut deep and cause damage. If my words cut deep and cause damage, then the wound is shared.
I get angry about shit, things affect me, they bother me. I don’t understand why the majority of the world is desensitized to such things, and why people prefer to yell and argue instead of talking shit out. I often write to work shit out, but the only time that ever worked exceptionally well was with my mom and with music.
Most people want more from me than I will ever be willing to give, and there will probably come a point where I’m going to hurt your feeling, you will hurt mine, or both. If we can get through it, then that’s where the relationship really begins and has a foundation to stand on.
Booze though, we got a very long, unstable foundation, and I want no fucking part of you. That fucking voice that keeps telling me I want a beer, you’re a goddamn lie, and you’re doing this to sabotage me, I’m not going to put up with it, and I will beat you.