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thee30percentstudios · 2 days ago

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Creativity

I feel like I talk an awful lot about feelings, but not so much about using those feelings for creativity. I think the biggest problem I have is that I am not a tremendously creative person. I don’t go Into making a song knowing what I am going to do, generally speaking. I may have an idea of what kind of sound I want to make, like a big booming beat, or something thoroughly distorted and chaotic, but it’s not like I know going into a song that “This is going to sum up the emotions I feel about not having a dad any more” Lately I have been going out to smoke and when I can’t find anything to read or keep my attention, I launch AUM, then I start working on what the kick drum will sound like, or the hi-hat. I keep layering additional sounds until it feels like the beat has enough to form a skeleton for the section. Then I will add some additional noises, generally using Fractal bits or Relic Flow to make some strangeness. I will let this run for sixteen bars and add some randomness to it, so it’s not just sixteen bars of the same thing. I like to use filters on the rhythmic elements because it adds a lot of movement to the beats. I also tend to rely a lot on the mutation and glitch knobs in hammerhead (my current favorite drum machine because it can add SOOooooo much to a basic bar). Anyways, once the basic rhythms are formed I will use glitch step and glitch core to create the arpeggios for the beat. I have been stopping once I get some good aggression going because I intend to eventually bring those recordings into logic where I will do most of the editing. I generally move to the laptop at this point because I like to finish and edit on a bigger screen. I can’t really say what I do there, not because I am trying to hide my secret sauce or anything, but because this is where I have gotten stuck currently. I find myself in far less of a hurry to get anything done because at the moment I am still grieving the loss of Walter, and it feels like I have lost my partner. I’m used to looking to him to figure out where to go next, but without that guidance, I don’t know what to do or where to go. This is the problem with grief, it takes a while to rewire your brain to solve these problems on your own. I know I can do it, I just don’t have the motivation to do it. It’s a lot like this blog in some ways. I know I have shared it on Facebook, but I don’t feel like really pushing it out there. Not that I was ever going to advertise it, but I haven’t told many friends where to find it, because I’m not sure I am going to finish it at any point. I like the idea of trying to put out an article every Monday, and then posting random thoughts in between, but at this point I don’t know what I have to say, and why those thoughts are worth reading yet, I am just trying to get into the habit of making sure I have something written before the end of the week. But the last two weeks, I haven’t had any pressing issues that I really needed to get off my chest. I went back and scuttled my old blog to try and find things to write about. I feel like I want to build this blog out to cover all of my interests. But it’s hard to explain to people why they want to read my thoughts on mental wealth, musical creations and/or the tech I find fascinating. I know I can be very entertaining when I want to be, but lately I’m not sure what my point is, so I kind of feel like I am just writing to make sure I write, and that there is content here that somebody may want to read. I guess that where the creativity comes in. Or lack thereof.

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thee30percentstudios · 9 days ago

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really wish my response to the news wasn’t typically “How is this even legal?!?”

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thee30percentstudios · 9 days ago

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Father's Day

I don’t think it’s any secret that when I was eighteen years old, my girlfriend at the time gave birth to a baby boy. We both knew there was no way we could raise that child properly and so she found a lovely family to adopt our baby boy. Rather than face up to my responsibilities, I let her do all the work of finding the family and setting up the adoption. I did my best to stay out of the way and despite several chances to meet the family, I did not meet them until the day he was born.

So, for eighteen years, every Father’s Day was like a knife twisting in my heart. The pain of knowing I had abandoned my son in a much more final way than my father had abandoned me digging into me constantly. But when I was twenty-two I was working for one of my heroes and I decided to write a letter to this child to let him know who his biological father was. The letter was full of passion and pride as I did my best to explain who I was and what I stood for at the time. More or less.

When he was eighteen the two of us got back in touch. We met face to face. I met his adopted family. And I began to become whole in a way I didn’t quite understand yet.

Eventually I had a reconciliation with my dad, and Father’s Day took on whole new meaning. You see, for many years it was the worst day of the year because I felt I was an absolute failure as a father, worse than mine had been. Then it was why can’t my father be more like me and recognize how important this relationship is. But for a few short years, it was my favorite day of the year.

Being able to spend the day with my dad, knowing my baby boy who was now a young man was out there with his dad, but that I could talk with him and share with him and then report all that back to my dad. Share the wonders of seeing something you created tackle the world. See the many similarities that you shared, me and my offspring. I knew I wasn’t his dad, I had no responsibility to him, but he listened to me nonetheless. Seeing him struggle with so much of the world that I struggled with, and being able to compare and contrast with my dad. Almost every time I talked to my offspring, I had to call my dad and share notes. Ask him what I could do better, and how dad had handled me at that age.

And now my dad is gone.

But I still have the boy and I’m not sure he can ever understand how much it means to me that he lets me into his life, despite me throwing him out of mine. I am so incredibly proud to know this boy who is now very much the kind of man I can respect and enjoy. His parents did an amazing job with this life, better than I could have ever hoped to. He’s working, he’s married and he has a house for god’s sake! There is no danger of me ever owning a home, short of someone giving me one. I believe whole heartedly that what I want is to see my offspring do is to achieve more than me. Be better than me in ways that actually matter. And he has done that already, at barely more than half my age. I’m so impressed with him, because of who he is, as a man, as a father, already.

And all I want to do is tell my dad and share this moment of pride with him.

Last year, for a few months before Father’s Day, my father had been telling me that I had raised him. This was relatively shortly after the stroke; So I wasn’t quite sure where this was coming from or where it was going. Dad was a bit discombobulated at this point, so some of what he was saying made no sense as he tried to learn how to deal with the stroke. But on Father’s day I went to visit him for a lunch we were having at his memory unit. I showed up early so we could have some time alone before my brother’s family showed up. We were doing our usual rounds of the unit, chatting and such. Dad really had something he wanted to say and again he brought up the “I raised him” bit. I sat him down in the lunch area and asked him what exactly he meant. That’s when he grabbed me by the arm and looked me dead in the eyes and said:

“You raised me up so I could be the kind of man I always wanted to be”

It was one of the most beautiful and meaningful things he ever said to me. It filled me with a confidence and pride I had never known. If my dad were the kind of person prone to theatrics, I’m not sure it would have meant as much, but as it was it left an indelible mark on me. It helped me to understand my purpose. To understand that he needed me as much as I needed him, that all of the fighting and bad blood between us was gone, and that we truly understood each other.

It was also the greatest Father’s Day gift one could hope for.

I know I am not my offspring’s father. I am just a guy who loves that man as much as one possibly can. I will never have the relationship that he has with his actual dad. I just donated some genetic material. I gave that family some really good clay. They made the beautiful sculpture that he is today.

But one day, just for one moment, I hope to make him feel that proud of his genetics and his blood line and most importantly, I hope to make him feel that proud of himself as a father.

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thee30percentstudios · 11 days ago

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Developer Build

I’m working on moving a lot of stuff to my iPad, somehow just realized how much storage is in this thing. Like the idea of better taking advantage of that.

But in the process of onboarding apps I looked around and realized I have two of everything and I could do beta testing on these. That makes me very happy because anybody who knows me should know how much I love putting lipstick on a pig.

I’ll have some more on initial impressions as a non-developer eventually. May need to add a new section to the Koop.

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thee30percentstudios · 14 days ago

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I always write more when I am upset.

I just feel the need to express myself more with words when I am on a down swing. It’s been a reasonable good day and I felt the need document it, just for a change of things. Change things up for once.

The day started when I woke up later than usual. This was part of my plan because I knew I had a fasting blood draw. Meaning no eating before they take my blood, and more importantly, No Coffee until they take my blood So because it’s a late appointment, I thought sleeping in would be good. I woke up without any sense of concern because I knew the only important thing I had to do during the day was the blood draw, so just a day to do what I wanted.

The blood draw was quick and smooth, I only waited a few minutes in the increasingly busy waiting room, then she took my blood, then I peed in a cup then I went home. Quick. And smooth.

I spent the rest of the morning in front of the building chilling and smoking with some building friends. We shared stories and blunts. There was some excitement in front of the building when some randos were having some sort of celebration that involved twerking on a light pole. More stories, more smoking.

I had learned a new technique on how to manipulate drums this morning, which I plan on playing around with this afternoon. Haven’t decided if I want to walk up to the tennis courts to play. Would be a great day to go and sit at the picnic tables and work on music. Not sure if I am ready for music just yet. I’ve been on a break for a bit while I recalibrate. Want the next album to be faster and more aggressive. Which has been difficult for me in the past.

Got a great playlist I am listening to while I type this. It’s all covers of songs I enjoy. Got a real mechanical feel to it, just fits nicely with my mood. It’s a beautiful day outside, a little hot for my tastes, but sunny and lovely.

Anyways, I just wanted to write about something nice for once. I’m in a great mood and wanted to share.

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thee30percentstudios · 16 days ago

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Walls And Holes

I put these little walls up to protect myself. I hope that by somehow putting some space between me and other people, that it will keep me from getting hurt. I have this hope that by avoiding certain topics or politics or religion, that somehow that is going to keep me safe. Every time I get hurt, a new wall goes up. A little taller than the last one.

It started when I was young, when I used to think,

“oh, that topic and/or subject really upset that person and/or group when I expressed my opinion, so I just won’t discuss it with them anymore.”

But then I start noticing that that topic really upsets most of the people I care about, and the wall becomes a hole. A hole I can’t share with anyone, and that makes the hole bigger. I end up with so many holes I end up just listening to people, because I am afraid to say anything upsetting to people I care about.

As I build up more and more holes, eventually I end up with these blind spots, where the walls have gotten so high that I can’t see others for who they really are because I know in my heart of hearts that they just want to hurt me. They want to knock down the walls and stab at my fleshy bits. The parts of me that I used to share with others, but now they’ve just gotten so they retract when others are around so I can play the character of me, but never the real me, because the real me doesn’t want to be hurt anymore. The holes should have kept them away, and the walls should have repulsed them, but now I’ve gotten lost in the maze of walls and holes. Now I don’t even know how to find the real me, or even if I want to.

Isolating and hope

I find that I isolate a lot more than I used to. Even when I do socialize with others, after about a half hour, I am done. I just want to go back to my cave and play with my toys. The adult equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and screaming “BOLSHEVIK!” over and over. It’s not that I don’t like my friends and/or family, it’s just that I don’t want to be bothered. I know that, whomever it is, they are just a few weeks short of betraying me. Or dying. But the dying thing is new. I know everybody dies eventually, but I’m waiting for the third one. Death comes in 3’s right?

I’m supposed to be looking for hope. I just can’t find her. I’m not sure I even want to anymore, because won’t that just lead to more disappointment? I’ve been building these walls for decades now. They are incredibly high and only getting higher. I find that I don’t want to share anything personal with anyone because I swear it’s just going to end badly. I don’t want to share my music because I call bullshit on all my friends. Not to be a dick, but I feel like either people are so excited to know somebody who can make a computer go “bloop-bloop” that they think anything is good. Or they tell you it’s interesting because they don’t want to hurt your feelings.

THERE’S A WALL RIGHT THERE, YOU PRETENTIOUS FUCK!!

See what I did? I just made it so anything anybody says about my music is negated. If they say it’s good, they are lying Brilliant. Way to go, mr. Musician man! God forbid I expose those fleshy bits. I can’t even let that out. I know the thing to do is keep pushing forward. Keep making your own scene. Keep sharing until it hurts. But what if it hurts already, even without the sharing?

Ok, let’s try this again…

Honesty and owning guilt

For the last year or so I have become more and more obsessed with privacy online. Even looking into turning one of my old MacBooks into a linux laptop. I have been more and more worried about my info leaking or people figuring out who I am, even to the point of censoring myself when posting because I have become paranoid about the government reading my blogs and punishing me because of my views and/or beliefs. Being one of those lefty libtards has not helped things. Believing whole-heartedly that there is zero difference between smoking a joint and drinking a beer is not assisting my cause. Feeling pretty strongly that as long as what you do does not infringe on my rights, I could care less if you want to marry a goat, own a 100 guns and fire them at bowling pins, or have an abortion. I don’t think we need a tiny government, but I do think some efficiency could help. My point is, these beliefs seem to be getting trampled more and more by free speech lovers.

But isn’t it possible that this self-censorship is related to the walls I have put up? Isn’t there the slightest chance that my need to hide from the bad actors online is really just me hiding from my true self? I have begun to feel like the walls I have built have cornered me into thinking that my tribe isn’t actually out there. That the real reason I feel like every group of people I associate with aren’t good enough for me has to do with me not feeling good enough for anybody else. Maybe possibly I have become so scared of anyone and everyone else is because I am scared of the true self that is me? The parts of me surrounded by holes and then walls a thousand miles high.

My whole life I have felt a tremendous sense of guilt. I have tried to lay that guilt on so many events in my life that I have no idea if it was any of those problems or maybe it was all of those problems. Feeling like my parent’s divorce was my fault, feeling like I traumatized who knows how many of my classmates by bringing a backpack full of porn to school in fifth grade, feeling like anyone I have dated, with the exception of one woman, was just somebody who liked me so I tried to figure out a way for me to fall in love with them, Being a mooch off of society for going on thirty years now by not having a job…All of these are things that I have tremendous guilt over. Still. And each of them makes a giant wall of self-defense to keep others from getting to know the real me. Which, in turn, becomes a hole I can never discuss, because instead of hurting others, it hurts me.

I don’t know the answers. I am one guy trying to figure out how to be a productive member of a society that places major taboos around some of my defining characteristics. My grandmother told me when I was pretty young that she could see I was a non-conformist and always would be. My favorite aunt always said I was ornery, and both of these stuck with me. Not sure why I think they are related, other than in my need to rebel against everything. To speak truth to power, but in a compassionate way, so that maybe just for once power would hear what I am truth-ing.

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thee30percentstudios · 18 days ago

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I am utterly convinced that one of these little walks I go on is going to lead to another heart attack and ultimately, my demise..

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thee30percentstudios · 18 days ago

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How A Toothache Saved My Life

The original plan was to go out a few days ahead and stay with The Geek. Just kind of have a chill few days, enjoy ourselves and maybe do some sightseeing. I thought Hanging out, eating well, and just being present would be a wonderful thing to do for the first part of the trip.

Then I was going to go to the driver for the actual Birthday celebration. It was to be a Saturday full of riding motorcycles in parking lots, a character I knew was going to come down. We were going to have a barbecue; The driver was going to provide some delicious steaks and I was going to bring out some Jumbo shrimp we were going to throw onto the barbecue, thus SURF AND TURF! The rest of the trip was going to be spent somehow connecting with the former roommate, who had made delicious cocktails when I saw her last, seeing the children and her father the butcher. Hadn’t seen the butcher in quite a while so was looking forward to that. Then I would finish out the trip by going to stay with my aunt and cousin and hopefully having dinner with my other cousin and his wife on the backend before heading home.

It would have been grand, glorious, great, and many other G words.

Instead, it kind of unraveled starting the Saturday before. I got a phone call in the morning that kind of decided that I was going to my first local social event since covid started and probably before that. Haven’t really been doing social lately. But the birthday party for my friend actually ended up being a lot of fun. I had intended to stay an hour or so, but I ended up staying quite a while and having fun. I was up pretty late as a result though. Sunday morning very early my brother called to tell me that Dad had been running through the halls of the retirement home, screaming. So I spent Sunday with dad, talking him down as his blood sugar came up and generally enjoying the day. Just chatting and hanging out. Monday I went to mom’s house. I just didn’t want to go. It was a crappy drive over, but I had to get my laundry done. Winding up having a decent time. It was what I thought it would be, just kind of exhausting. Tuesday I dropped off the keys to the cat sitter, and my client had a hard drive issue. So it was decided to push the trip back a day so I could de-stress a bit.

That last bit seems funny now. SOOOoooooOOOooooo…

Thursday I woke up too late to leave early. Ended up chatting with The driver for quite a while before packing up and leaving. On the way out of town I bought a pack of emergency cigarettes because I knew the douche flute would fail as soon as I needed it most. I ended up smoking a full pack of cigarettes while driving out as well as vaping a bit in the first part of the trip. So when my chest started tensing up a bit during the drive, I just assumed I was smoking too much, plus I had drank two Mountain Dew Zeros! So of course my chest hurt when I was trying to carry my bags up the geek’s stairs. They are unnaturally steep. My bags are heavy. So when my chest started to really hurt and I was hot, I just presumed it was part of me being wildly out of shape. AND This is where I kind of have to rewind a bit. Because I declined to mention how I woke up at six AM with immense tooth pain the day I left. And by the time I got to Ohio it was pretty bad. I had been taking a lot of Tylenol that week for light pain. Thursday it was.. Bad as hell So I remember taking breaks periodically for cigarettes and Tylenol and mouth rinsing and such while the geek and I were chatting, . I noticed that the chest pain had just turned to pressure and was persistent. But I don’t remember saying anything about the chest pain because it wasn’t That Bad . I do remember thinking before I went to sleep I was probably having a stroke because my blood sugar was so off. I was pretty sure I forgot my insulin that morning and some of my pills, so I just figured that was what was going on. Friday I woke up because I thought the right side of my face had doubled in size. I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to talk it felt so big. I went to check in the mirror, I couldn’t really tell, though I wasn’t sure if that was just me. But god damn did it hurt. So first I spoke to The driver, I think? Talked or texted. But, he suggested I go to an urgent care. I called my dentist back home to see if I could get an appointment, and they were less than helpful, telling me the root canal was a referral and it would be entirely out of pocket. So I called my mom because I figured if it’s going to be out of pocket, we might as well do it in Ohio. So Mom suggested urgent care as well, and that I should call my aunt to see about having her dentist do it. Fine, I would go to urgent care to get the antibiotics; But I would go as soon as the geek woke up. I mean, the antibiotics did make a lot of sense. So we went, I described everything that had been happening to the PA at Urgent Care. Her response was that I was describing a heart attack and that I needed to get to the emergency room immediately. I needed some tests to be run on me and fast. I asked if I could just get the antibiotics and head back home Monday, taking whatever tests I needed in Maryland. At which point she replied that I would either go by my friend driving me or she would put me in an ambulance to go there. She also agreed not to charge me for my visit to urgent care. That was when I started seeing it as serious. Doctors don’t forgo charging you unless they think you’re going to die. So we went out into the waiting room, I said I wanted to talk to the geek alone so he and I went out to the car. I told him the PA thought I was having a heart attack and that I needed to go to the emergency room. I felt it was taken care of better back in Maryland and could we please just go to another urgent care so I could get my antibiotics. But the geek insisted, saying that if nothing else, I would have a great story to tell. This great story would become a running thread throughout the trip…

I insisted if we were going to the emergency room that I smoke a cigarette before we went in. Didn’t realize that would be my last or I would have enjoyed it more.

So we went to the ER. They did an EKG. Then they admitted me. The Doctor I had asked me for the whole story again. He listened and said that it was the job of urgent care to scare the shit out of people, and they had clearly done their job with me. Everything I described was kind of borderline, so he wanted to run a blood test, but it sounded like I would likely go home that afternoon with a great story and some antibiotics. He was a pleasant man, and I started to relax a little. This was all going to be fine, I was sure of it.

Until it wasn’t.

The doctor came back a short-ish time later and announced I had failed my test. I assumed this meant I was not having a heart attack and could go home. But I was wrong again. The doctor came and sat down next to my upper body. That move that doctors only do when something horrible is happening, like.. a heart attack. I had received this chat before, when I was having the Diabetic KetoAcidosis. Or when I came out of the coma and my kidneys were failing. I really didn’t want that news. I just wanted antibiotics for my tooth so I could go home. So Friday was spent in the emergency room at Grady Medical Center. The geek stayed for quite a bit until I excused him to go home. Not a whole lot happened except waiting for a transport. The cardiologist came in at one point and told me I was very definitely having a heart attack and this was going to mean I would have to make some changes. They didn’t know how much damage there actually was, but my Tripponan levels were high enough that they were worried. The nurses told me it was a good sign they weren’t rushing me to Grant medical center, but this was all splitting hairs because I was definitely having a heart attack.

Friday night after everybody had left, I started thinking about how badly I just wanted to go home and see my cat Remington. I was tired of being in hospitals. I was tired of changing my diet, I was tired of my body failing me. I didn’t want to be in a psych ward, or an emergency room or my own room in a medical center. I just wanted out. If I was going to die, I wish I would just get on with it, instead of having all of these idiotic close calls. I was so sick of all of it, of being hopeless, helpless and broke. For fuck’s sake, I of it was going to end, then let it be over and done, not just taking bits and pieces away from me until I had no enjoyment left. So I lay in my bed and cried my eyes out, because there was nothing else to do. I was chained to a bed. Again, and not in a good way.

Saturday was my birthday. I was supposed to be surrounded by friends I had known for decades. I was supposed to be riding a motorcycle in circles in a parking lot. I was supposed to be eating a delicious steak and Shrimp meal, grilled to perfection on a real grill. It was supposed to be a night of excess and enjoyment before I went home to get back to work. Instead the highlight of the day was getting medical transport from Delaware, Ohio to Columbus, Ohio so I could wait until Monday to get a heart catheterization and find out how bad all of this really was. But for whatever reason, be it my health or a bored doctor, I was to get my procedure on Sunday. Sunday they did the procedure. That was a new level of terror for me. The nurse shaved off some my pubes in case they needed to do a bypass or put the cath through my leg. They put the pads on my chest in case they needed to shock me back to life. Then the fun began. There was a monitor near my legs that I could kind of see where they were doing the catheter. They had an X-ray machine right up near my face to see what they were doing. For most of the procedure it was blocking my view and frightfully close to my nose. Proving that I am astoundingly claustrophobic. My god did that thing give me the willies. Halfway through the procedure I asked for more of the good stuff, at which point they started giving me Phentanyl. That shit is the bomb. Killed my anxiety and my pain! I wasn’t high like I usually get with the dilaudid. Just elevated for sure. It was an 80% blockage in my left main artery And they fixed it with two stents. So the rest of Sunday was spent with a combination of the geek and my aunt and after they left The driver came up and visited. The driver was obviously set back by the whole thing. He was as emotional as I have seen him. Just upset. I think he was realizing he was at that age where this is going to start happening (which I had hit a year earlier with Laurie), and he didn’t like that I was having major issues. I think he also was positive I almost died on his couch or something. Or that I could have. Either way. He was a bit of a mess. Monday I got released. Spent the week at my aunts. That’s probably another Journal entry. In any case, that’s the quick story of how a toothache saved my life.

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thee30percentstudios · 18 days ago

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Some recent photos, brought to you by Sunlit

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thee30percentstudios · 19 days ago

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🎵I Remember

To listen to this track, click here: i-remember.m4a

This is a song that came together on a warm and rainy day i n June while playing with my phone. I found the vocals in my voice memos app and had forgotten recording it. Wasn’t even sure what I was discussing when I first listened to it, but once I got the end I realized it was memories from my Near Death Experience in 2016. It was quite an event, and where all the 30Percent branding came from, so I feel like maybe I should get into that at some point.

For right now, we’ll just focus on the recording…

I had gotten a new plugin that was supposed to work as a tremendous vocoder (amongst other things) and I had been looking for a piece of me rambling on to use to test it. Once I heard the memo, I had a feeling that was the thing I needed. Clear enough speech to be almost understandable. Long enough that you could hear how it was being manipulated. Finally, creepy enough that it could stand up to a drum beat and little to no instrumentation.

I clicked through the presets and loved what I heard. It just needed some fattening in the form of delay or reverb. I decided to patch it off to another bus so I could run two different types of delay on it. Both a tape style delay and sweeping delay. That gave me chills. Then I needed a beat to go with it that wouldn’t be too rhythmic, but would provide some distraction.

I remembered I had created a beat the night before to run through a lot of distortion at a much higher tempo. Playing it this slow was perfect. Mechanical. Then I cranked up some glitchiness on the patterns, and it was a go. I recorded the original running through the whole memo twice, because it seemed awfully short at first.

Then I went and played some Diablo IV to clear my head.

But when I went out for my next cigarette, I listened to the track again. I put some more effects on it, and came up with what you have now.

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thee30percentstudios · 21 days ago

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This. That meditation has helped me so many times to pull myself together more times than I can count. I need it now more than ever.

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thee30percentstudios · 22 days ago

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I have never been to a Traader Joe’s and thought “gee, this seems like a place I want to come back and shop at. Ever.”

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thee30percentstudios · 23 days ago

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Curves for the 📷 challenge

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thee30percentstudios · 23 days ago

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Confessions About Frustration And Grief

For several years Now I have been dealing with grief. It is a No-holds barred, bare-knuckle match against an opponent you can not beat. Four years ago my roommate, who might as well be my sister died somewhat suddenly from cancer. I had been trying to deal with this grief by discussing it in therapy, but at certain points it just becomes too much and I seek an escape. As I was already on a medical marijuana plan, I would escape the grief by playing video games endlessly, attempting retail therapy periodically and/or getting high when the dark cloud of reality just became too much. As time went on, I discovered I didn’t need to escape quite as much, so I focused on finishing some games (as opposed to just murdering as many NPCs as possible) and trying to deal with the grief. Piece by piece. She was no longer here, and there was just nothing at all that could be done about that. I would drive by her tree, where her ashes were, and call out how well I was finally doing. I threw myself into whatever work I could handle, whatever projects I could stomach, and trying to let the grief just pass through me. But I found, over and over again, that by the evenings, I was so annoyed with the world that I would just end up smoking a lot of pot in the endless pursuit of getting so high that I could just ignore the outside world.

Musical Interludes

I had made a deal with myself that I wasn’t going to write any music at that time because the pain of losing her would only be amplified every time somebody brought up a track that was obviously linked to her. But three years into it, I started writing and experimenting with sound again. In July of of ‘24 I was asked to be the drummer for a man that I really respected. I thought of him as a jazz guitarist, and was very curious about what I could possibly do for him.

I am not a drummer. I don’t have the rhythm or the coordination necessary. So being asked to be a drummer was quite an odd proposition to me.

But, somehow, Walter had heard that I was a rhythmic genius, and he wanted to find out what I could do. I explained I could program a beat, and make it sound fairly human if needed. I was also learning a lot about proper dub techniques and was trying those out. Walter really liked the idea, and we arranged a time for me to come over and see what we could do together. I had known Walter for many years, he had been my brother’s hair stylist first, and then had been mine since I was in my twenties. We had discussed music many times over the years, and again, I really respected him. I knew that coming to meet him for music would turn into a networking bonanza, and would be well with it, if only because I loved talking to him. He had a way of making you feel special, like what you did really was worth sharing with others, and he seemed to believe in me. So heading over to his house was always a wonderful time. I enjoyed our chats so very much. When I played him the pieces of what I had been working on, he insisted I had to release it. He truly believed I just had to play it for the right people and the rest would fall into place. I had never felt such confidence. I put out two EPs, and an album at his insistence. I was happy to do it, and I wanted to see what would happen. I got decent numbers, nothing chart-topping, but enough to give me more confidence to try more. To do more. Between Walter and some of the rock stars I had met over my years just outside the industry, I felt like there was a point to all of this music making. I had somebody to bounce ideas off of, and there were sooooo many ideas. So many plans.

Fear and loss

In November, it started to sink in that my father really was dying. I started thinking about just how much he was supporting me; not just emotionally, but financially. That my safety net was going away and the only thing I ever wanted in life (to have a dad, not a father, but a real dad that I could relate to and enjoy) was about to be taken away. Permanently. I started to lose it, because my foundation was eroding.

That’s when I found out that Walter had stage 4 lung cancer.

I started escaping earlier and earlier every day. The video games were not enough anymore, and I started smoking the pot earlier and earlier every day. You see, I had been holding myself to not smoking pot until it was dark out. I was trying to get back to taking three hits before I went to bed, but as my world came crashing down around me, I started smoking earlier. First starting smoking at 7, then 4:20 and then waiting until my anger and frustration had overcome me completely, until eventually just doing wake and bakes whenever I didn’t have responsibilities for the day.

The Episode

In late November I had been visiting family and had some problems with my apartment as soon as I got there. I had just been enjoying my family so much, and when there was a break in the festivities, I had received an email stating that my apartment was unacceptably messy and that I was going to be inspected that Monday. This was on Friday. I couldn’t enjoy the family because all I could think about was the inspection on Monday. That I needed to go home and take care of that as soon as possible. I left early and got home at night. I began cleaning immediately. Grumbling to myself about how pissed off I was about the whole incident, placing the blame entirely on the management and the exterminator who had reported my apartment unacceptable.

Sometime around 11:30 PM I realized I was yelling too myself in the hallways while taking out the trash. This struck me as odd behavior, and I decided to go inside and get high. It was the only way I could think of to calm down.

It didn’t work.

I believe it was 2 in the morning while I was scrubbing the walls that it occurred to me that I was an old man scrubbing the dirt into awful patterns on the wall that maybe I was not quite sane in this moment. I began to realize I was not helping things I was just moving the grime from one place to another. I also realized that maybe I should take some responsibility in all of this, that maybe I should have been cleaning the apartment all along.

That’s when I decided to go to bed.

The day of the inspection I had worked myself into a full hypomanic mess. I was raving mad at that point. I had done all the work I could handle, but the apartment still looked a wreck. I decided to try and talk sense with the building manager and see if we could work something out. When she came to do the inspection I tried to offer to have a sit down discussion. Instead she offered to either fine me $1000 or have me vacated at her earliest convenience. I began seeing red, I became much less than my usual unpleasant self and in the end I asked her to leave in the bluntest way possible before I ended up violent.

I’m not proud of this, and posting this on a blog strikes me as a way of maybe taking accountability for my actions. I don’t think it counts as she will almost certainly not read any of this, but I am incredibly sorry and embarrassed by my actions that day.

I ended up calling the cops on my self and through one of the more amazing coincidences in the universe, the officer who showed up happened to be one of my contacts at Montgomery County CIT. I was taken to an emergency room where they removed my AirPods from my possession, leaving me effectively deaf. (This is standard protocol for someone who is mentally ill and threatening homicide and/or suicide. It makes sense in the macro picture, but it blows for the patient who can’t hear) I was eventually put in a featureless room and waiting for transport to a behavior modification facility. Which sent me further into my mania.

The facility itself was not my favorite that I’ve been to. I made a lot of comparisons to the prison riots I had experienced in another facility in Delaware. I signed the AMA as soon as I could and 72 hours later I was headed home and away from the madhouse.

I learned from this experience that emergency care for the mentally ill has lapsed quite a bit over the years and I don’t want that kind of treatment ever again. The only good thing that came out of all this was that I recorded an EP afterwards that captured my experiences and emotions from the episode.

Coming Home

Upon surviving that whole experience in emergency care, I started smoking as much weed as I could. I explained to my dying father that I wasn’t sure I would make it without him. I tried to explain how much he had come to mean to me. And the old man just told me it would be alright. That I was better prepared than I thought I was. That he loved me and always would.

I was so distraught about the entire event that I began to think the only thing worth living for was leaving me. So I got incredibly suicidal. But I had tried so many times, and so many ways and none of it had worked. But then I had a thought…

“The only thing that has caused me damage over the years is when I ignore my diabetes and start with the smoking!"

So I started smoking cigars. First one a day and then many. I stopped taking my insulin. I started eating all the junk food I could manage. I ate anything and everything I wanted. I would start getting high at 11 in the morning and just eat junk all day. Eventually, the DKA kicked in and from late December to mid-January I lost 30lbs. I was peeing nonstop, but I was living the high life and the best part was, I was getting lots of compliments on how good I looked.

In January I decided to come clean and go see the endocrinologist. My A1C was high. 13.6! Not the highest it’s ever been, but definitely up there. I decided to see all of my specialists to get the damage report.

All I had done was raise my A1C. Everything else looked fine. So I stopped, because clearly this wasn’t going to end me. All I managed to do by trying to kill myself for three months straight was lose weight.

And then Walter died…

He had gone for surgery. We had so many plans. He gave me the original recordings of his punk band from the 80’s to re-master. I did everything I could to make them sound as incredible as I could. It was a routine surgery, he was supposed to be fine. But he passed before I finished. We had plans to work on my electronic noise and start an acid-jazz-dub band. We had real rock stars lined up to play or produce or whatever.

And now he was gone.

Death and loss

The day I went to Walter’s funeral I decided to see my dad first. Dad had always loved to see me dressed up in a suit. I thought he would get a kick out of me all dolled up. He really did. Dad loved it. He wasn’t feeling good that day so he would roll away from me and say how awful he felt, then roll back and look at me. His eyes would get bigger and he smiled so wide I thought his face would hurt, and then he would tell me how good I looked. We did this for an hour, rolling to one side and complaining, then rolling back and smiling.

The funeral was not great for me. I didn’t know who anybody was. I was scared. I didn’t feel like I should be there. I just wanted to go home. I gave his wife a hug. I spoke to two of his sons. Then I ran like hell to get home. I couldn’t bear the pain and I just wanted to be out of my head. I genuinely don’t remember the two days after that because I got blackout high. It was just too much.

Then a week after the funeral, my brother called and said my dad wanted to see me. The chaplain had been chatting with him and he asked if there was anybody my dad wanted to see. Dad replied “my son”. The chaplain asked if he meant my brother. My dad replied, “No, I see him all the time, I want to see Joshua.” I couldn’t see him that night, but I went as soon as I could. I wore a button down shirt and a tie just for him because I knew how happy it would make my Dad. When I got there dad was so weak he could barely speak. I just held his hand as long as I could. I gave him a hug as I was leaving, and dad whispered in my ear “I’m so glad you made it”

and three days later, Dad was dead.

I want to be perfectly clear, this is two of the most very important people in my life, dying in two weeks of each other. So how have I handled it?

I can’t play video games anymore, nothing is taking my mind off of the loss. I barely get off the couch, because why would I? I went to South Carolina to visit my alternate family, the people I have called my faux ma and pa since I was 10 or so. I smoked a lot of pot the whole time I was there. If there had been any harder drugs I would have happily done them. I’ve told stories of my dad to anybody who would listen, including a random homeless person I met the night dad died who had asked me for a cigarette.

Speaking of cigarettes, I have been smoking like a chimney. Going to South Carolina was just another excuse to start abusing myself. I’ve made dramatic mountains out of molehills wherever I could. I was incensed that somebody had parked a jeep illegally in my parking lot where I don’t even park. The fact that they left it there for days was something for me to be mad about for days.

I started making one song in the last two months, and it is nothing but a drum beat on several different drum machines with effects. I don’t want to do music because why would I? Nobody is going to listen to it. I set up a blog to voice my thoughts, which is probably the most productive thing I have done since Walter died. I’m thinking I may do a podcast that will be a long-form jam of the songs I have been working on, but I don’t have the desire to start any of that because I don’t believe anybody cares.

That’s the biggest thing. I know people care about me, I know people want me. around, I just don’t believe for a second that anybody cares about what I do. Is art worth doing in a vacuum? Sometimes I feel like the answer is a big yes, right now it feels like a hell no. I’m supposed to put myself out there and make new friends and find the others who feel like I do.

I just don’t believe anybody does, anymore. They all died, and now I am all alone again.

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