iamthegb

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

Van Zant wrote my suicide note

Call me Free Bird, call me Easy Rider

Lord, let me go out like Fonda and Hopper

So tired of this monkey, that old backbiter

Like Steve McQueen, this is my escape

Screaming twin, smiling face, arms out wide

Heading for the train on one last ride

No more pain when I take that slide

[iamthegb]

George Straight is what you listen to when you fall in love. This is obvious.

Luke Combs is what you listen to once you settle down because it's what she likes, and it's the little things that make her smile.

George Jones is what you listen to when you've had your heart broken. This is also obvious.

Hellbound Glory is what you listen to when you wake up in a shitty one-bedroom, in a shitty part of town because your ex-wife took every fucking thing in the divorce, and now a Steel Reserve for breakfast sounds like a pretty good idea because why the fuck not?

[iamthegb]

It's National Texas Day

[iamthegb]

I'm still missing you this morning

[iamthegb]

I lie here awake

No sleep in sight

Alone in the dark

I killed all the lights

It doesn't matter

What's wrong or right

It's not important

I'm just missing you tonight

[iamthegb]

Thank God for tinned tuna

[iamthegb]

I woke up Sunday morning

With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt

But the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad

So, I had one more dessert

Then I fumbled through my closet, through my clothes

And found my cleanest dirty shirt

And I washed my face, and combed my hair,

And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day

I smoked my brain the night before

With cigarettes, and songs I'd been picking

So, I lit my first, and watched a small kid

Cussing at a can he was kicking

Then, I crossed the empty street,

And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken

And it took me back to something

I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way

On a Sunday morning sidewalk

I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned

Because there's something in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone

And there's nothing short of dying

That's half as lonesome as the sound

Of a sleeping city sidewalk

And Sunday morning coming down

In the park I saw a daddy

With a laughing little girl he was swinging

And I stopped beside Sunday school,

And listened to the songs they were singing

Then, I started back for home,

And off somewhere a lonely bell was ringing

And it echoed through the canyons

Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

On a Sunday morning sidewalk

I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned

Because there's something in a Sunday

That makes a body feel alone

And there's nothing short of dying

That's half as lonesome as the sound

Of a sleeping city sidewalk

And Sunday morning coming down

[iamthegb]

As I sit here now, watching the cigarette smoke slowly, lazily swirl upwards, I wonder why I even write this. It's not as if you will believe me. No one would. I wouldn't believe me either, were I not the one living in this hellish, endless nightmare. But I just have to get it out. I have to tell someone. Anyone.

I saw him again last night. The man at the bottom of the stairs. Just as I have seen him every night for the last year. Just as I know I will see him again tonight. Once again, he looked right at me. Me, sitting at the top of the staircase, smoking a cigarette. He, standing at the bottom. I didn't bother trying to speak to him. It wouldn't do any good. He never answers. I don't remember when I stopped trying to communicate with him, this man at the bottom of the stairs. This shadowy figure who is there, yet is not there at all. This man who looks exactly like me, but is nothing like me. How could he be me? I am me. But when I see him, it's like looking in a mirror, yet, having a stranger staring back at you from the other side of the glass.

I'm sorry, I've gotten ahead of myself. Perhaps I should start from the beginning.

It was August of last year when I moved into my little townhouse. I was in the middle of a divorce, and needed a place to live, preferably on the lower end of the economic spectrum. In the end she got everything, the house, the furniture, all of our friends. I was left with only my car, and my clothes. But, none of that is important. What is important is I was able to find my current home, in its typical middle class neighborhood, for the very reasonable sum of $500 a month. I say reasonable, but in truth it was an absolute bargain, considering everything around it was at least double that price, if not more. I had to jump on the opportunity.

The townhouse itself is nothing overly spectacular. But it is clean, and cozy, and furnished. I've never actually met my landlord. Everything was handled by phone, and the payments are all made via an online system. The day I moved in, I arrived to find the key in the lock, with a note taped to the door, apologizing for not being there in person, and explaining that another tenant had a water pipe burst, and he had to tend to that, as it was, after all, an emergency. I am fairly introverted myself, so it suited me just fine.

For the first month of living there, there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. I would go to work, come home, order takeout, watch a bit of television, and go off to bed. Then, one night, I began to hear noises. The stairs creaking. I brushed it off as nothing more than the house settling. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.

The next night, I again heard the creaking on the stairs, only this time, it was followed by what sounded like the kitchen sink running. I quickly lept out bed, and ran downstairs to investigate, but there was nothing. All the lights were off. There was no water running in the kitchen. Everything was absolutely still and quiet. I chalked it up to an over active imagination, and sauntered back up the stairs to bed.

The following night, I once again heard the creaking coming from the stairs. This time however, it was followed by the faint sound of the television, and a man's quiet laughter. I again hurried down the stairs to the living room to find... absolutely nothing at all. I began to wonder if I was going mad. Perhaps I needed some human contact outside of the courteous, forced good mornings from my co-workers, whom I had never really been overly social with.

The next evening, I decided to stop off at a bar after work. Maybe I just needed to be around people. I had a few drinks, listened to the music, and watched the people. I didn't really interact much. As I said before, I am rather introverted.

I arrived home around ten at night. As I opened the front door, I saw him for the first time. He was sitting at the top of the stairs, smoking a cigarette. He seemed both surprised and not surprised to see me, as I was too see him. His hand shook a bit as he raised the cigarette to his lips. I shouted at him, but he only continued to stare at me with that mix of frustration and slight panic in his eyes. He appeared to be writing something.

It was the same the next night. And the following. And every night, including this night. Just sitting, and smoking, and writing, and silently staring. He closes the door, this man who looks like me, but isn't me.

And he is gone.

I am gone.

[iamthegb]

What do you look like in my eyes?

How do I see you?

I see a desert sunset. A sky painted with reds, blues, orange, and purples of beautiful perfection.

I see the clearest midnight. Stars shining brightly against a blackened sky. The light guiding me through the eternal darkness.

I see the roiling passion of a raging sea. Sucking, and pulling me into the embrace of her heaving waves.

I see a rainbow after a storm. The promise of a better tomorrow. An end to destruction.

I see the peaceful silence of a snow covered wood in deepest winter. That hush I dare not disturb with crunch of snow, or snap of twig, or quietest whisper.

I see a meadow in spring, covered as far as human eye can see with blossoming wildflowers, and teeming with new life.

I see a cozy fireplace. That lif preserving warmth which keeps at bay the cold and lightless void.

I see raw magic, and the deepest mysteries revealed in ancient tongues, long since forgotten by men.

I see the ever expanding cosmos whirling around me as I rapidly plunge headlong, forwards or backwards, through time and space, too fast for me to comprehend. Yet, I know every speck, every particle, every atom intimately.

I see the hand of God working perfection into every flawless curve, every delicate hair. The bluest of eyes, which have gazed with loving understanding at my soul laid bare, naked and vulnerable.

I see eternity.

I see Forever.

I see home.

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

The Deepest Magic. Characters.

[iamthegb]

[iamthegb]

Opry. Connect. Noir. Rough

[iamthegb]

When your secretary gives you five pounds of pan dulce and empanadas every week!