Haven- A Different Intro
Updated: Mar 2
Haven’t really went pen to paper in over a year, well I did go pencil to paper but this is the first time I’ve taken the lyricism to a screen since 2018. Not going to retell that story again, even though it’s a confusing enough tale to recap for the next 10 years and never really understand the sudden nuances of it. The important facts are this: things have been really fucking twisted for my whole life and most likely either the same or extremely gluttonous in my past lives, but realistically I can’t even figure out the concept of being a human being alive in 2020 let alone having lived before. The finite brain cells (slightly reduced by chemicals allegedly) can’t piece together the right sections to build the solid, easy to understand structure that Id like to objectively view from the outside. What I can figure out however is this, I don’t want to do the same shit I’ve been doing, and if that means I have to change every goddamn thing in my life I’ll do it.
Not being a huge fan of promises or theology I’m reluctant to include some abstract “right hand to God” pledge but I can say I’m motivated to switch it up and start living. The good thing about spending the first part of your life dying is that I’m neither afraid of death, and I’m in a position after multiple crash and burn maneuvers to live life backwards like a twisted and wrecked Benjamin button. Fuck. I wasn’t trying to bring a Brad Pitt movie reference into this so soon, but as life will show you every day, sometimes a lot of weird unexpected shit happens when you least want them to. I refuse to go back and try to edit or change either my writing once its been put on paper or my fate once its been set in stone.
Life of an internationally travelling, criminal minded, drug enthusiast with a life problem seems like it should be full of sadness and heartache primarily, and they do make cameos more often than I would prefer, but the tradeoff is the flip side is an incredible sense of freedom and elation. Not saying the elation comes from the drugs, because those are just a caveat to the lifestyle, I mostly just mean that the contrast between agony and bliss are more obvious to someone in my position, distance between them makes the heart grow both fonder and stronger with every defeat and redemption, to the point where being wreck less becomes my prime addiction, even above drugs, masochism becomes your chemical lifetime companion.
I’m no stranger to abuse throughout my life but only just realized the connection and the fact that I really fucking enjoy, even when I don’t realize it, pain=emotion=you’re truly alive. How to incorporate that into a less stressful lifestyle is still to remain a mystery but I would like to learn. Every person who moves past the wall of platonic small talk is at risk of becoming an unwitting victim of something that I don’t fully understand myself. The wall is not a defense mechanism to protect myself because truthfully there’s an urge built into my psyche to be destroyed on every possible level, the wall is like those built around leper colonies and war zones, the wall is not for my sake, its for other’s. This may sound, self-deprecating, sad, or riddled with huge boils of self-pity, but it’s important to realize that these don’t even come into play with this analysis. Matter of factly I can say that I’m happy today, living a low stress lifestyle and that fulfills me, or at least it feels like it does…
I have a thing inside me set on taking over the world, and I can feel that my moment is coming, however having a pet tiger living inside you is that a wild animal can never be tamed, only given suggestions, you can lead a carnivore to water but you cant make it not devour you. It’s a race against the clock with much optimism that the proper outlet will happen before it turns into a full-on explosion leveling everyone and thing around me. This race is exhilarating and horrifying, like all rollercoasters, they are fun in 3 minute time slots but the majority of the general public could not survive in such conditions for longer than about an hour before the g-forces strip away their sanity and control of all bodily functions, I thrive there, whatever the fuck that skill means, I have it. “PTSD” has been my original mind set for as far back as I can remember (or not remember) so these “horrific” things that have happened feel and look like home to me. My world view has been seen through a pair of blood splattered glasses with little bits of stringy adaptability dangling from the frames, skewing some things, and filtering others into a more interesting less usual version than most people don’t get the privilege to see. Privilege is such a loaded word in a world where you can no more cuss at people in traffic than you can smoke cigarettes unjudged. But what I mean is that this gift of chaos has literally morphed into something that I’m grateful and happy about, I wouldn’t trade it for the all the processed cheeseburgers and filtered selfies that are the only other options I’ve been presented with.
I don’t mean that in a way that shits on either of those human expressions, just stating the fact that I am not cynical because of past or future experience, I’m just able to exist without fear of fitting in or being suddenly destroyed.
My mind is feeling like an elephant trapped inside of a shoebox as I try to interpret the many thoughts jockeying for a limited spot to be dealt with and discarded or incorporated. More concisely spoken, or not, it wants to expand extremely badly, and I attempt hourly to include all these competing clouds and puddles of random bits and pieces into the dialogue that goes between telling me to advance or fall back. I would like both of these options but as of this moment I would like to advance and will continue to chase these options like a fiend on roller skates behind an oxy truck. This isn’t a nuisance mentally, actually the importance of this process is that without it I would not be able to notice or appreciate anything around me. This tropical storm of mental energy is what bridges the gap between complete degradation and giving up and the happiness I feel now, with out distraction, my mind slides into a numb spot built over 27 years defined by therapists as “trauma responses”.
The human body is such that my brain has built a direct injection system to balance out something that otherwise would leave me in a catatonic, vegetablesque state drowning in a puddle of drool.
If you will, and if you’ve made it to this point, I would assume you will, come with me on a quick field trip. Its 1969 and the government and societal norms have been not only challenged but they’re started to morph and twist into something as yet unrecognizable. Its at this moment you step into a room and someone offers you a drink. Being as that there’s an acceptable ritual of social and functional alcoholism well ingrained in the country at that moment you decide to accept. Next thing you know the walls are not only breathing, but you are breathing through the walls as if the very structure of this building has become your only source of inhaling or exhaling. Integrated into the room you start to look around and notice some things, the complexity of facial features, the texture of the atoms buzzing rapidly through every surface and the air itself. The music playing in the corner becomes the shape that your whole cerebral interactions strive to conform to, No one has taught you to feel and see these senses this way, just as no one has ever explained how to have a pulse or breathe to you, these things come naturally.
The experience is both mind blowing, expansive, and comfortable in a way that you’ve never felt before. At the precipice of realizing that you are about to understand everything you’ve ever had questions or theories about a thought crosses your mind “This is not normal” the switch in momentum couldn’t happen quicker if you were a train conductor slamming the break on a runaway locomotive and redefines the whole night, the bliss of speeding towards something outside what you have previously imagined becomes the main source of your fear. “something is wrong” “I’m crazy” or more likely “I’ve been drugged” bounce off the inside of your skull like air raid sirens off city buildings, the experience that had the potential to change everything has just become the experience that reinforced every negative concept that’s been programmed into you through the social structure. Why is it that the presence of others causes not a feeling of support and community instead of persecution and doom? That’s because the frantic need to be a part of “normal society” that all insecurities are amplified when you miss that mark.
Now join me back in the present, I have never been normal in the sense that means both something and nothing all at once. I have always been experiencing life in a different way and the concept of not conforming is not a fear or instinct that I have developed. The sensation of fitting in feels as uncomfortable as if I had drunk that mystery beverage in 1969, in a sense the trip is not coming from the drugs or the crazy times we exist in. The discombobulation, and extreme confusion comes from trying to come down from a 27-year long trip. If this doesn’t make any sense trust me, I know the feeling, Even the frantic 808 beats that my mind provides wasn’t enough to put this down on paper. I had to pump extremely loud music on top of that, but the goal is to both expunge these thoughts from my already cluttered consciousness and add insight into what my internal life is like, Putting these invisible things into a visible format seems like the only thing to do to balance the things that drive me to advance and succeed and also pull me towards destruction. Life’s comfortable while teetering on the edge of a cliff, it’s the solid ground that makes me sweat a shake like a child in a haunted house. Until next time.
“junkie”” criminal”” writer”,
Travis Muffhuggin Ryan