Broken compass

The sharp tip of irony's spear has pricked my tender tissue yet again. Indeed, consider me thoroughly pricked.

Just as I got done howling from the rooftop about how the band dynamic had been steadily losing its appeal in my eyes, I find myself at an apex of new possibilities of just such persuasion. Ones with not only plentiful musical potential, but a veritable house of mysteries as far as social relations are concerned. A group of gents, yours truly among them, who know one another only vaguely and on face value, yet play together as a well-oiled machine nearly effortlessly with half a handful of rehearsals. Very few ensembles can match our instinctual compatibility as a unit of resonance and harmony; certainly none that I've ever been a part of. I would be stone cold mad not to at least consider the possibilities such a gathering of minds might come upon in the short or long run.

But then we come to the mother of question marks and one Jason Doyle Ward begins to backtrack on his hind legs instinctively and at once: are we socially compatible? Is there enough musical common ground? Will personalities clash and matters of taste become beachheads? Will my love it or hate it vocal sound cause some sort of rift as it has done before? Will people tame their egos in favor of a healthier atmosphere yet to the detriment of the music? Having had little personal interaction with the rest of the quintet makes these questions echo and resonate even more wildly in my top knob. My faith in the human blueprint has been shattered more than once and, truthfully, my estimate of who is and isn't trustworthy has been proven little more than a broken compass, a complete hit-or-miss endeavor, on many an occasion.

My scepticism, well-founded as it may be, makes me cringe and want to rise against my own instincts. There's something here. It could work. It deserves the opportunity to come to fruition or fade to black without being nipped in the bud. It is certainly not my call alone, but I'd wager all of us feel the same way. But - and this is a very substantial, life-lesson but - if I allow optimism to creep in and find it yet again unwarranted as everything turns sour, it'll only serve to alienate and embitter me that one step further on my way to becoming a joyless recluse detached from the stream of humanity. But we'll have to see if this tree bears fruit before beginning construction of the garden. At this point I'm just pissing in the wind, though I must say it's been a delightfully enjoyable wee!

While the past weekend offered a rich reservoir of positivity with no more than a teaspoon of negative vibrations, I find myself musing on the petty nature of some people. People I've come to know through various experiences and instances to be extremely needy for attention yet having very little to justify why we should all stop and stare. I know the type all too well and I'm sure you do too. One or two tried to gnaw away at me because they wanted the spotlight that happened to shine down on me for a microt. Another tried to take pot shots at me because they wanted to be in charge of a certain situation and felt somehow threatened. I see through it, because I want what you have is a mindset not unlike albino eyes - you can't mask that, at least not with amateurish manipulation, paraphrasing and other schoolyard tactics. Not with me in the room. I'll find you in my crosshairs just as quickly.

All that aside, last weekend's adventures were the best time I've had in months. The ride ended too quickly, but isn't that how it always goes? Unfortunately I fear it was also merely a brief breather before I find myself trying to decipher the lay of a strange, increasingly alien landscape once again. The landscape of a relationship falling apart.

This is the first time I've openly admitted this to myself and I'll be brief about it, as wallowing in what-ifs will do more harm than good. I don't believe I'm doing anyone a favor by writing this down, but I have to at least attempt to shift some weight off my chest before I buckle under the pressure.

I feel more and more out of place and out of control as the silence amasses and builds up to a wall of white noise. At some point it will overpower me and something will break. Our home doesn't feel like a home, but a shelter for two people who don't share a life any longer. We find solace in temporary jolts of love and harmony before drifting apart again like two pieces of driftwood floating around a seemingly placid lake. What makes it even more heartbreaking is I don't have the slightest idea how we got here. It seems to have slipped from my fingers without me even noticing. The lights are broken yet if I attempt to find my way out of this black space, I'm greeted with hollow words in the darkness about how nothing as changed. But it has. Something is amiss. Something has disappeared.

She doesn't listen to me anymore. Her attention is elsewhere and her focus hasn't been further from our relationship in all the years we've endured together. The aspects of our shared life seem to be little more than a chore and a nuisance to her, which serves only to aggravate me to the point of combustion, pulling the rift wider. My voice, my presence, is merely a distraction from more inspiring and intriguing affairs. A distraction most often met with disdain and indifference if I try to acknowledge said fact. Whenever she vehemently denies it all, I find myself unable to ignore the emptiness I see in her eyes when she looks at me. I am a vessel to fill the empty seat on the left, someone to ring up for groceries and sleep next to. Someone to be there, because someone needs to be there.

My presence interferes with some sort of new-found existence I have no part to play in. When I try to open the door I'm shrugged off and assured everything is all right - with no attention paid to the fact that I don't agree. Everything is not fucking all right. Not by an inch or a mile.

A friend of mine told me we're nearing the "famous" seven year crisis, whatever that means. I refuse to be a statistic, yet I fear we are indeed on the brink of some unforeseen peril that may well tear us apart. My heart feels strained and punctured, yet I also feel increasingly aggravated by being constantly ignored. She is not here. She has better places to inhabit, whatever and wherever they may be. We break apart piece by little piece, yet her composure stays intact. All this under what I can only assume is the assumption that I'll be here no matter what. That my endurance in the face of growing distance will remain unyielding and everlong.

It won't.