I love my life in silence. I’m a quiet person. I think a lot and that requires an existence away from a lot of outside stimuli. Too many people make too much noise. My thoughts become their words. Whatever discoveries I may have been on track to make, become jumbled images of graffiti in my head. And it’s not the cool graffiti you see on the sides of trains, it’s bathroom stall graffiti—penis jokes and poetry.

However, sometimes I find myself seeking out the noise. Sometimes I require high decibels of distraction to force me out of dark times. I drown myself in noise to dull the effects of overthinking. The cadence of Jazmine Sullivan helps me forget. The tempo of GIVÉON erases the memory. The refrains of Semisonic induces the amnesia. It’s a problematic coping mechanism with a delectable time signature.

I’ve been having another “emo” week, as you may be able to tell, so I’ve been avoiding silence quite heavily. Blasting music to the point that it hurts and retail therapy have been a welcome bandaid to the slings and arrows I’ve been shooting at myself. Taking the long way home helps too. I’ve also taken this time to start cleaning up my habitat, the Jamale Pen. I’ve been living the creators life. I’m a “clutterbug.” Basically my room is covered in the wood chips and unfinished human meal pellets of stress and disorganization. I’m practically a hedgehog, right now, just not as adorable.

It hasn’t been all guns, though. There has been some roses. I’ve seen a butterfly a few times and I’ve had a decent share of hot wings. So that’s something. (Mmmmm…hot wings). I think I’m just missing something. I need an escape—and not just a mental one. I think me and my “writing,” may just need to hit the road, soon. Maybe I’ll run to the corner store for some milk and cigarettes…lol.