sobriety is key, trust me.

This manic break was not caused by magical invisible liquor and drugs, but at least two others were - this one was just schizophrenia, like maybe 15 other stays in club med. I bounced back with a great wonder for the world, so this is sane me writing this note, sorry the entertainment is a little less.

These words are held like the others: When sanity comes back with flying colors, to fashion a rope from thread and light the next ones forward until they ask me to deserve this. These dreams are not like the others, these ones were written by him. They pause and tell me that with these places I become better than the rest. They tell me that with these placid lights, dripping balls of mass and quiet notions brought for me to place dilligently around the room, that I can be thoughtful. These partial notions are poor man’s drifting wine and roses, the silence that comes from believing in the noon-day sun. 

There is a beauty in these thoughts: A normallcy that writes the letters that come in the mail, scenes brought by little red books and foriegn weight. I can be certain there is a little red book somewhere, shining like a lantren into the waves - they must be stopped. Some place in the red little ghost they shine, water for the people and what we could know. They are my wandering minds, they are my shapeless hearts, they are the diamonds that wrap the elemental finds, bringing my hope down from shining matter and bringing silence for the others. I cannot wrap my ways through the devil. All I can claim is that I have had some sort of safe blessing for a number of years to avoid the eerie pains of silent water dripping on my foes, while I cry a painful weight, and ask forgiveness for whatever it was I did to deserve this pain. 

It was not until 27 years later I understood that I asked to be tortured for Jesus. Perhaps my time was going the other way. I leaped into my computer and went into a parallel reality in which there was no eye in the sky, which gave the evils a free and enabled warrent to spy on all of us for their own voyerism. It is an ill fate that dreams for me. This notion comes without any logic, and for the better cause without any truth. It was just something I dreamed in the world I always exist in. It was better than the dreams that I was on stage, more grandeur, more hope, I was a better person than I really am. It was a freedom to be magic.

This can be confusing - as I state a lot of crazed things on a regular basis. Some of these ideas can be substansiated, others are utter fantasy. It is like when I was hanging out with cows and they told me that it was okay to eat beef because it was simply what they ate and was mostly made of grass. They continued to explain that everyone was vegan, even if they did not know it. I wonder now if this was a dream or perhaps just something I made up to feel better about eating mostly meat. In truth, I eat mostly plants. Never water without roses, to see the world through those glasses. But perhaps I will never see, and live in the fake reality I do until I enjoy myself. I would be alright with that. I am very creative about what occurs here.

So therefore, be polite when a kid comes and says that he has a song, even if the song is no good. Tell him that he must keep playing every day, that if you do something every day than it is your occupation, and eventually you will be rewarded for adding something to the world. For my sanity, I know I log in to ynordu and hector berlioz and claim to be still around, which I suppose I am - and I know that I play music and listen to music and write blog posts and books such as these notations, I understand I am in a relationship and hope that there are people around that I can’t see (although I cannot be certain as this town I live in seems very real). I know that I have coffee if I need it and a roof over my head, I can walk through the woods when I like to, that I have been all over the world and that somewhere, people read these words and listen to my music and like them. That means I am successful even if I don’t see any of the spoils, even if I doubt that I am preforming anywhere else, all I ever play is downtown Penticton or my living room - this is okay, I have been elsewhere and played other shows. 

Even if I can see, which is possible (as I possibly live in two realities), I have all these things listed above. That can make me very happy. When I was a drunk, (which is reality and a sad notion if you were around me at that time), I had no clue what was happening, it seems, a notion mostly stated because of what seems to be true as a sober person. I was running from myself and telling myself that I had all these truths, I did not know who I was but hoped dearly that I was to one day be successful. I used to pray every night that someone was beside me. I did not believe there was anything but Penticton, and my mind would snap much worse than it recently did (if you read futher in the blog you will see what I am writing about).

Schizophrenia is an interesting discovery for myself. I am unclear as to where or when I was, but was hoping the best case scenario was true. Turns out both the worst and best was reality, perhaps they all were. Thank you sobriety, I thank you very much. I mean, if I can be this happy without drugs and drink, than there is a purpose to this whole mean old elf, because somehow I managed to make my life something special, only falling off sometimes when I wanted to run away - through stress I seem to check out and begin to believe I am a little loser kid who basically lives through the hard work of others or some grand sainted someone sort of angel from another galaxy who invented time travel and is at war with wolves. I suppose the truth is somewhere in the middle. The truth is, like most, I’m not really sure what’s going on.

thanks,

ynordu