Update the Second

Obviously, anything like normalcy has gone right out the window. If you came here for the books, you're gonna get a right rotten shower.

Although I'm almost at the point where I'm removed from the madness and self-pity enough to share stuff about books again. Because, believe you me, I do have stuff I'm interested in.

I was listening to Extreme Ways earlier, and Jesus, has this ever been so applicable?

Although, I had a feeling right now as if I was healing myself. As if there's a way past the mouth of hell and past those Extreme Ways Moby is talking about. And if you've been paying attention to what I wrote in the past, you might get exactly what he is talking about here.

To get back to the self-healing: It's not talking, it's not introspection, it's not the slow methodical reveal of self-knowledge.
Self-knowledge doesn't help, it never does, particularly if one is inclined to self-hate.

But flat-out escapism does help though.
What is escapism though?
It is the forgetting of self through the medium of not-you. Of being engrossed, being enticed, sucked in by truths and sentiments that are in no way informed by you.

Music is one of the best ways of doing it, and if you add drink to that, then oh boy, you're halfway done already.

There's nothing like giving yourself over to a mood shaped, crafted by another mind, no; to a team of minds, of minds feeling, expressing that feeling, that sentiment to you, through beat, through rhythm through beauty. But then even that word, 'beauty' falls short. Whatever you get out of this transcends nomenclature, description and labels; music shapes you, in the moment, your identity is effaced and exists only in that point in time, regardless of the darkness that has come before. Their input becomes your being. It is glory, it is magic.
Rage, sadness and self-pity become nothing, become melancholy, become love, become an endlessness of possibility.
A mind ready for rewrite. A blank page, exulting in its own absence of origins. No past, no future, no self.

There's only the rhythm and the mood. A blissful unawareness of self, this is the only thing that'll save us, that'll save me.

Nothing but potential.