Crashing Out / Wings
My website is going down for five days,
Normally I’d feel embarrassed, make myself feel like a failure about how broke I am. Or how inconsistent I am. One of the many self beliefs that seek to rot away my kindness and optimism. I’ve decided it’s okay. Because it will be up. And I haven’t given up. I have been colicking out all of this hate for what I was becoming. It took me so long to catch myself. I started to hate art. I started to hate myself. I fell into my abyss again. I foolishly thought I would be done with this chasm the rest of my days; sometime after I found love for myself.
I never knew I’d feel so much hatred for myself again. I still don’t really know how I want to move through the world anymore. It’s hard to talk about because I don’t wish to sound like a broken record, but it is my truth. When my mom died I lost what I thought was my purpose. I was going to be such an iconic phenomenon that I could pay for all my families, especially my mother’s problems to go away. Well. Turns out death is something you can’t pay to fix. What a fucking lesson right? I spent all this time genuinely believing this was my path and purpose. It gave me significant hope that I could repay slightly what my mom had done for me. She gave me not only life, but the light to sustain it. I have known depression since I was six, and somehow she was able to pierce through that sadness with her silver linings.
Some days they would be small threads, others they felt like flood lights and solar flares, giving power to my present, my past, and my future. Intrinsically, she helped me embody spirit. I have fumbled this feeling tremendously. I can barely find it anywhere anymore. And the moments I have of it are fleeting and constantly escaping me. I see it in nature, talking to chord about Harry Potter, Ember, Arya, Our wedding... I see it on the floor of Bring Me the Horizon, angsting, raging, and dancing with Rad. Learning that who we are now is closer to who we were then, closer than we were in our twenties… Writing the fifteen minutes I can stand to before my anxiety sends shocks of pain to my amygdala. Practicing guitar and realizing it’s not scary to learn more and continue to pursue what I love.
This world fucked me up too. How relevance changed into something I am disgusted and revolted by. Media becoming this religious cult of personality, with everyone blindly buying and consuming, corroding everything local and steeped in love. The seeds of corruption date back to Narcissus and I feel like my love and ideas are the echo. Desperate to be heard, And never will be by Narcissus.
The website will be back 10/14. I promise. I think Kid Cuebas is over, but I have an idea of what’s next. And if there were something I am asking you to learn from me, is that art is meant to be done for the sake of expression in the moment, in its purest form. If a method of creativity or expression doesn’t align with how you’d like to move, don’t feel like you have to do it. I lost myself when I lost my mom. And I am accepting that I am not the same person. But I would like to start loving myself again.
Addendum: As I post this, my job decided to pay me seven days early.
