February 2018

Stage: Anger
Again.

As society and the justice system decides that criminals have served their time and the victims should be left to serve the criminals’ sentences themselves instead, we have no choice but to live with our sentence.

Lawyers.

“It’s the privilege of mass delusion.” Fucked Up

Four years — A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of Dylan.

“The ocean washed over your grave” Car Seat Headrest

The system has let me down. Justice must be designed to line the pockets of the lawyers and maybe maintain some sick kind of minimal population control, but it definitely has nothing to do with impact of crime on some upstanding members of society. Sentences are handed down and cast aside at the whim of a broken system.

There isn’t a day that I don’t think of Dylan.

“The ocean washed over your grave”

Let’s legalize all the drugs before we understand what makes somebody continue to turn to them even when they destroy other people’s lives. Seems that we have lost track of the things that are really important.  Or even what the goals and objectives were supposed to be in our broken, failed rehabilitation system.  It doesn’t matter now.

A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of Dylan.

When I have finished serving my sentence, you take whatever remains of me here:

Take me here as a huge, swirling snarl of musical noise and chaos takes place on the surface, while my crumbs descend into the peaceful, cool water to mingle with the crumbs of those I miss.

A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of Dylan.
“The ocean washed over your grave”
A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of Dylan.
“The ocean washed over your grave”
A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of Dylan.
“The ocean washed over your grave”

I love you, Dylan, and really fucking miss you. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of you.

Stage: Depression
Again.