Music

Sometimes, it's safe for me to relax in music. People wonder why I pace and why I get nervous when I'm around people. It's because I can feel the Many-Armed-Knight's breath on the back of my neck, and if I relax, he and his liege will come to the forefront. Don't worry when I'm pacing or shooting my mouth off; worry when I sit or stay in one place and become silent. Silence isn't something I hear often. If I don't put something in its place, I will hear them louder than anything else. If I shut my eyes, it's often all I see. Right now I'm listening to Stevie Ray Vaughan and typing desperately to keep my eyes and ears occupied against the hell that fills all gaps and creases. Those gaps and creases will quickly become crevasses and lacerations if I'm not careful. However sometimes, the effort is too much to hold them off, and they come. I get tired, and pained, and sick to death of my misery, then I leave. I go to Void, which oftentimes seems the only place I'm truly welcome, and the only place where I am understood. The choir is loud, but right now, the music is louder. The Many-Armed-Knight is behind me, but his robes don't block my vision as I type, for now. I don't want to stop writing. Even as the black silk and velvet close in, the scent of sweat and sulfur surrounds me, and the choir screams in a language I wasn't meant to understand, I try to resist. Misery will join me on this side of my senses; why should I feel unwanted, unloved, and dirty when I can feel the smooth face of pain without the uncertainty of waiting for a new tomorrow that never seems to come? Stevie Ray Vaughan just sang "Voodoo Child." I know at least one way to take the rest of tonight.