Hello,
If you’ve been following along with our little trip down memory lane, perhaps you have noticed that things have taken a bit of a turn for the… weird? The works have become angry and dark and what I like to think of as “Savage”, but a lot of it is just general insanity. There are many reasons for this, some of which I don’t mind sharing, others I will take to the grave; but I think I owe those of you who have hung in this long an explanation of sorts.
Back in the early 2000’s I had a few failed relationships, got kicked out of various bands, dropped out of college and with depression and some unresolved family issues hanging about my neck, I basically gave up on life as we all know it and became a drug addict. I turned off – pretty much making an active decision to be a bad person. It was some of the most terrifying years of my life, but some deeply ingrained survival instinct kept me from going completely off the deep end and I think part of that was recording my experiences in a collection of works I have chosen to call “The Malcontent”.
I have always loved words. When I was young, I haunted the halls of the local library like a wide eyed ghost, soaking in stories and facts, history and fantasy. During my teenage years, I took to writing poetry (to impress girls), which led to writing songs (to get girls), which led to singing in a few bands after high school and through college (to have sex with girls). “The Malcontent” is a collection of works taken almost completely from one notebook, in which I tried to write a song a day; as if capturing my pain and struggle was cathartic ministration, soothing the demons that drove me. I never wrote close to 365 pieces and I can’t really remember which year it was; still, it remains almost a complete snapshot of the depression, drug addiction, loneliness and inner struggle that I was living at the time. “The Malcontent”, is a collection that almost cost me my life and I literally have the scars to prove it. Sharing it here has become some sort of sweet therapy for me, because I basically sealed off these years a long time ago and moved on to much, much better things, but there is no denying where one comes from.
I am as shocked, surprised and disgusted with some of the stuff in this collection as the rest of you, but I will do my best not to censor, or alter the works from their scrawled originals. I will attempt to share this dark piece of personal history with the world, just for the fuck of it, really… oh, and it’s good typing practice.
Thank you all for reading with me this far, I think I just hit 100 likes and I am grateful beyond measure that so many have taken the time to read even just one small stanza. Please, feel free to leave comments and critiques, or just share your own insanity – we all have a little extra, I’m sure. I’m pretty new to this, but I thought I owed some little bit of background, as things only get stranger from here. Hope you have a helmet, a six-pack and a taste for self destruction!
Thank you!
Hokus Grey
02/10/16
Thanks for the background – definitely have been some dark pieces. I’ve been known to write some of them myself over they years. I don’t have a six-pack, (abs or beer), but I’ve got some good bourbon so fire away! Peace . . .
Bourbon is the drink of a refined gentleman. Thank you for following along.
I, too, prefer bourbon to beer and dark to the fluffy pink that too often fills the world. I’m not good at burying my darkness and it often leaves me awake at night scrawling my darkness across the pages in a manic desperation to release it so the ‘day’ world can see the smile they expect.
My space is simply to release all that tar that flows from the hollow I feel inside; anyone reading and actually liking is a bonus. So, I rarely comment or follow others and while I’m just another anonymous poet/blogger, you’re words are powerful enough to have gotten me to both comment and follow. Says nothing to you but means a lot to me, thanks.
Beer is a staple, bourbon is a fine drink, but rum is a passion.
Your words certainly mean more than nothing, as I don’t receive many comments and of course, we all crave validation that our expressions, our muttered prayers and our screams have been heard by someone.
Although, do you know what is more terrifying than being alone in the dark and screaming to be heard?
A voice from the dark answering; “I am here.”
Sometimes we get what we deserve.