The Blithering Ninny hello children, come over here and turn off that fucking television. come gather around and listen to this hopeful song. if your feeling down and out, this will turn that frown upside down, ummm-humm.... lately i’ve been thinking a lot about moving east. petaluma has been infected with a tech disease. yuppies are fleeing san francisco for something cute and quaint. the rent increases and cost of living is insane. here in petaluma, i spend a lot of time downtown. get a coffee at the bus stop, spend time at the playground. i’m in awe of the kids creativity and imagination. i’m envious of the raw honesty and ability to express emotion. and you know for what it’s all worth, were expecting another kid. i don’t know what kind of world, we’ll leave them to live in. this thought really bums me out, fills me up with sorrow. i have a hard enough time getting through the day, let alone tomorrow. i get this awful pain in my stomach and a throbbing in my head. i’d hoped by going to iraq, i’d come back dead. now i’m worried that something will answer my suicidal prayer. i don’t believe in fate or karma but watch me get cancer. i was exposed to burn pits and depleted uranium and if there is a higher power then maybe we’ll break even. experts say that i’m a candidate for early dementia. take a pick from Alzheimer's, Parkinson's or leukemia. i’ve excepted that my mind is a fragile place where i can’t even live. an ear and should is all i have to give. and i find myself obsessed with endings before things even begin. why can’t i just be happy in the moment that i am in? instead of focusing on the suffering, pain and dying. i really should be more grateful, really should be more grateful. really should be more grateful but i’m not.

Going To Fresno The heat is burning close to 100 degrees, a chem trail shower hangs in the breeze. The land of developments and endless strip malls. A home of gated communities and suburban sprawl. For the weekend I’m going back to where I grew up, half empty, half full, just a broken cup. Haven’t made the drive yet, I already have had enough. Going to fresno, going to fresno. You know, you don’t have to leave California to visit and get the feel of middle america. The factory farms are poisonous but hey, farmers water lawns in the middle of the day. A drought is a green light to waster away. Welcome to fresno, welcome to fresno. You know, you don’t have to leave California to visit and get the feel of middle america. You know, you don’t have to leave California to visit and get the feel of middle america. You don’t need a time machine to travel back in time. You won’t find culture, decent food or an open mind. You don’t need a time machine to travel back in time. You won’t find culture, decent food or an open mind. You know, you don’t have to leave California to visit and get the feel of middle america. You don’t need a time machine to travel back in time. You won’t find culture, decent food or an open mind.

A Cutter's Lament (The Cutting Song) self harm helps me focus and it helps me feel when i’m emotionally numb, it’s the pain that makes me real. granted, i’m a tad unstable, i do what i can to keep depression at bay. everyday is a constant struggle, keeping the post traumatic stress demons at away. this is a cutting song, a song in which to bleed, close your eyes and feel relief. this is a cutters song, you’re right where you belong. hello, this is a cutters lament not just about opening flesh. even if the bloods therapeutic, these words need a place to rest. this is a cutting song, a song in which to bleed, close your eyes and feel relief. this is a cutters song, you’re right where you belong. in iraq before a convoy, a razor blade would drag and crawl, my friend a familiar sensation, the only way to feel anything at all. this is a cutting song, a song in which to bleed, close your eyes and feel relieved. this is a cutters song, a song where you can cut, you’re right where you belong.

Dregs Of Humanity expectations, judgement and competition are the ruins of humanity. societal standards and conditioning, nearly ruined me. there was a time not terribly long ago when i couldn’t wait to die but i was a coward couldn’t conjure up the nerve to follow through with my suicide. instead i waded through a sea of depression and sorrow, silently hoping for an accident to take place. if there is a god let him or her strike me down because i can no longer stand the sight of my face. expectations, judgement and competition are the ruins of humanity. societal standards and conditioning, nearly ruined me. a few more hours to get though the day, pacing the laundry room. these pills that i take, the shit that i use that’s supposed to improve my moods. so many days pass where i wish i had the courage to take this belt from around my waist and find a nice tree, one i can climb, so i can sway from this hanging place. expectations, judgement and competition are the ruins of humanity. societal standards and conditioning, nearly ruined me. after years of therapy i feel sorta better, no longer fantasize about slashing my wrist or hurling myself off of a bridge. these days with hopes to go to iraq i wouldn’t enlist. i find myself content with what i’ve become even if i’m not who i hoped i would be. i am what i am, acceptance is key, no more second guessing myself based on society. expectations, judgement and competition are the ruins of humanity. societal standards and conditioning, nearly ruined me.

Home Is Nowhere, Nowhere Feels Like Home hello children, today we are going to talk about home, in an existential sense or if it has any meaning at all... it smells like it’s going to rain yet there’s not a cloud in the sky. i was lacing up my boots before the sun came up with no particular place to go. lately i’ve been thinking a lot about home trying to comprehend the meaning. is it a place where you grew up or currently reside where you feel most comfortable? i honestly don’t know, i never seem to feel rooted anyplace that i go and if i do it’s temporarily, a matter of time before i get the urge to roam i seem to feel better on the road, town to town just passing through but that’s no way to build community and have your kids grow up. i guess i was wrong about the rain, the sun is shining so warmly down on me. i can smell the lavender and hear the hum coming from the street and the birds are in full song. now would be the perfect time to be absolutely present in the moment and grateful for everything but instead my mind is off and racing, why is it so hard to be happy? it feels like home is nowhere, what the fuck is wrong me?

Draining Out (Depression Always Wins) God damn, another opened vein, the bleeding signifies the ending. Upwards, not across the wrist, you don’t crave attention. You’ve tried hard to beat this depression but it always seems to have gotten the upper hand. Beats you down, drains you out. You’ve done everything from medications to therapies but the despair never did subside. Beats you down, it will drain you out. The day drags on so slowly, the hopelessness has declared residency. Anxiety, another familiar face, just another squatter. You’re tired of trying to find that something, anything to fill up the hours of the day. Beats you down, it’ll drain you out. You’ve had your fill of words of encouragement, now everybody just looks annoyed. Beats you down, drains you out. You have in hand a razor, ready to dance it up your arm. Time to get your self-harm on. I’m guessing they’ll be no hesitation marks, you have this no nonsense way about you. Your problems are unresolvable, it feels safe to state, you’re damaged beyond repair. Your broken and ruined, feeling ruined. Much like summer leafs in the autumn, you have fallen and are withering on the soil. Beats you down, drains you out. Lying back against that naked walnut tree, your life is rapidly slipping away. Beats you down, you are draining out.

Who's That Bad Man In That Bathroom Mirror? whose that guy in the mirror, looking back at me? shit eating grin on his face, who could this stranger be? and this is why dear, i avoid mirrors. hardy-ha-ha, hee-hee-hee, I’ve tried asking him politely to leave. oh, what a handsome devil you are, do you come here often fuck face? so your place or mine? what do you say that we get out of this place? and i gasped while he laughed, he-he-he, haw, haw, haw, he’s now promising me the moon and stars. shadow boxing a round or two and the feller in the mirror moved with me. i tapped on the glass and it tapped back, our finger separated by the glass in-between and i laughed while it gasped. hardy-had-haw, hee, hee, hee, mister in the mirror you have no power over me. you could tell that its furious, its face turned red and eyes grew insane. with a razor, it whispered i should cut right here up along the vein and it started to dance and together we laughed. ha, ha, ha, hee, hee, hee. guy in the mirror, your like me. giggle, giggle, giggle, snicker, snicker, snicker, run that blade up your vein like a zipper. (inaudible), shattered the mirror, what’s a nice guy like you doing here? i’m glad that you asked, i came to wash my hands before eating breakfast.

Happy Father's Day (Putting Daddy Six Deep) Say, would you like another? Allow me to refresh your drink. What are you, now about six deep? I say this with a smile followed with a wink. I’m adding something special that’ll give your beverage that extra pizzazz. A not so mild hallucinogenic, so here you go hero, down the hatch. Of course the chainsaw looks real, that’s because it fucking is. It looks like you polished off another, have a seat pops, you look like shit. I see you have taken notice to the plastic on the furniture and the floor. Now there’s a look that’s not familiar, is that fear I see, for what’s in-store? Your days of abuse are over, gone with the wind much like your limbs. Say hello to satan for me, daddy. Now off to hell you go, I say with a grin. Now you’re really six deep, six feet, get it?

Opening Veins (Exsanguination Of Hope) my blood, my blood, where will you go? when i open up my vein? down the drain, down the drain of the bathtub. i’m bleeding myself out. my blood, my blood, where will you go? when i open up my vein? down the drain, down the drain in the bathtub. i’m bleeding myself out. there’s a battle happening inside of him, one of life and death. he’s loved and needed by his family yet he wants to bury a knife into his chest. demons, demons have followed me to remind me of horrible times. in iraq, in iraq were i participated in operation war crime. at home, at home, nearly a decade later, i still can’t escape the past. the trauma, the traumas are here to stay, now emotions are hard to grasp. my son, my daughter and my wife, they help in keeping me alive. without them, without them, there support and love, i’m sure by my hand i’d had died. my life, my life has taken shape and meaning has been found. my friends, my friends i thank you because in a sea of depression i’d surly of drowned.

Another Fucking Song About Depression my friend comes and visits me, stays with us from time to time. we met while deployed overseas, some relationships are hard to define. soon enough we were attached at the hip, inseparable devotion to one another. while in iraq we became the best of friends, a decade later our bond is stronger than ever. no need to make up the spare room, my friend sleeps within me. my doctors are concerned about us and so are my friends and family. they all say your bad for me, so i take their medications and therapy but still ten years later here you are, my friend depression you and i were meant to be. welcome back soldier, you returned in one piece, you survived another tour. you were stop lossed but now your time is up, a veteran of the war. welcome home trooper, you got your discharge, now your back in your hometown. how does it look? how have things changed? can a life for you be found? it won’t be long before the symptoms of combat appear and are profound. have you failed to adjust to the civilian life? and a hard time finding work? your relationships are distressed, suffering from post traumatic stress, slowly going bizerk. military culture created a stigma but you swallow your pride and reach out to get some help. the va, va puts you on a waiting list even though your a danger to yourself. veterans affairs gives you a death sentence, waiting months to years for mental health. the va, va puts you on a waiting list, now you killed yourself.

Anti-Depressant Death Sentence ssri’s are antidepressants but really they are a death sentence. the weight of guilt, the burden of regret are tremendous. the world’s far too big, far to big with nowhere to hide. have you heard the one about the guy on ssri’s who committed suicide? oh, you haven’t? well, listen to this, he took a razor and slit up his wrist. post traumatic stress can be loads, can be loads of fun, if you call fun resisting the urge to swallow the barrel of a gun and not pulling the trigger, leaving brains everywhere, on the wall, on the floor or your favorite chair.

Am I Lovable? the world is like a bag of flaming shit left on your doorstep and your foot represents the power of action and choice, you react to the fiery bag of turd by stomping on it repeatedly, congratulations you managed to make matters worse and what’s so funny about this is, is this isn’t the first time it’s happened. am i lovable, because i need to know. technology and gadgets will subdue you, surrender your privacy for convenience, let’s all wave bye-bye to actual human contact and give a standing ovation to an evolutionary decline and get on line and come to my virtual jumpy house and have yourself a good time. am i lovable? because i don’t know. no masters, no gods, no borders, no flags, let uncle sam occupy a hearse. the racist, sexist, homophobe, i can’’t decide which one is worse. there’s a drought going on, water your lawn and keep it puuurty to quench your thirst. so why is free health care and education, food and shelter viewed as a curse? am i lovable? because i don’t know and i need to know so somebody please tell me.

Grandma Rose Rose House, the tap and piano teacher who lives in the city of Los Banos. She overcame the obstacles and the stigmas of being a divorcee in the 50’s. Raising by herself, my uncle and mother. Grandma Rose was always kind to me, till this day she treats my mom horribly. We took emmett to met you, do you happen to remember? You said he looked much cuter in his picture. You told my mom that he looked cuter in the picture. Every summer when I was a kid, she’d take me, my sister and cousin to santa cruz. The boardwalk, the motel pool and uncle jimmy smelling perpetually of booze. I remember playing ouji board at your house with my older sister and our cousin. I also remember all those trips to reno you took with aunt mickey. Grandma Rose was always nice enough to me, till this day she treats her daughter terribly. We took emmett to met you, do you happen to remember? You said he looked much cuter in the picture. It took me awhile to see just what an asshole you are and how emotionally abusive you were to our mom. You see gram, I see who you are, we see what you are, you see grandma, how mean you are? Fucking christ, you’re getting really old, you’d think that you’d come around, try to make amends and leave this earth on a good note. I hear you’re nastier than ever, a manipulative 90 something ego maniac. Who gambled away everything she had earned, except tall tales and that bad attitude. You’ve always played favorites, even with your kids, you’ll never meet juniper or meridian. How did you get so caustic, bitter and toxic?

The Growing Old Blues sure i might be an all-american hero, sure this is true and getting older has really turned me blue. good god, turning 40 has helped me realize that it won’t be long until i die. i’ll be lucky, lucky if i can make another 40, the average male life expectancy is 72, i’m well on my way to a modest cemetery plot and a tombstone that’ll say, here lies the remains of awesome nate, insect critter food is now he’s fate unless he gets cremated, i’ve the growing old blues. well, i’m getting old, getting old it’s a matter of time before the grim reaper finds me. getting old, getting old, it’s a matter of when father death comes for me. you know the remaining hair i have left is thinning and turning gray, my metabolism is changing, this is all i have to say, it sure is funny, well, at least to me, how quickly life passes us by, the more primed and prone we are to just up and die. good god, the older i get, the more i enjoy the time spent. i’m awesome, i’m awesome, getting older isn’t all that bad, it’s great to sincerely quit caring what other humans think. there’s nothing more punk rock than to admit you enjoy listening to pink. free passes for public outbursts are great, i’m good unless i start to vegetate, give me a supped up wheel chair, growing old fucking rules.

Thoughtful Suicide (I'm A Mindful Kind Of Guy) Hey, I’m a thoughtful suicide, always thinking of others. I’ve got a mindful way to die and here’s what I discovered. If you have a death wish, make a to-do list. Hey, I paid off all my debts, got ahead of the bills. Come the end of the month, not just the powers gonna be killed. I’ll be dead and mr. Whiskers has been fed. I spell checked my bye-bye letter, proof read it a few times for grammar errors. I finished all the laundry and boxed up all my stuff. Post its on everything so you know who gets what. I’m a thoughtful guy, here’s my mindful suicide. The mail has stopped, not just the phone will be turned off. I dug a hole in the backyard and wrapped myself in a tap, in that big ass hole is where I’ll blow my head clean off. No major mess and by the way, you’re welcome. I gased up the car, the pink slip for the buick is yours. A note on the door will explain what’s in-store. To save you and your kids the traumatic shock of finding your dear old pop pop with his head blown off.

Memory Lane (They All Float Down Here) awesome natey used to manage a music store before he got fired from his jobby job, from his jobby job, from his jobby job, awesome natey was fired. wherehouse music didn’t like the fact that i topped new hires out at their pay grade, when yearly raises come there wouldn’t be enough to justly go around and that just wasn’t fair. i also didn’t care to enforce their dress code and rehired veronica who was not a citizen and even though my numbers were good and i was efficient at my job, they finally had their reason. so i was terminated and given a bad reference, thanks a lot assholes, thanks a lot assholes, it’s a shame you shits went bankrupt. it could be worse, i could be back in clovis, washing cars at red carpet, hours based on the season, rent dependent on tips, slaving under a hot ass sun, living check to check. since i couldn’t collect unemployment and pay my share of the rent, for the second time of my life, i enlisted with the army due to economic reasons, i’m a solider of misfortune. i’ll always remember san mateo when the towers got hit, half shit-faced at coffee club, pretending to be an airplane, crashing into lee and nick, pretending they were buildings. the first time around with the army, i was a 13 bravo, stationed at fort sill, a step up from infantry doing field artillery, okie blood runs through these veins. generations of brinlee’s come from oklahoma and texas so i guess it was fitting that my second go around landing me at fort hood but this time as a light wheeled mechanic. i thought i was a genius when i re-enlisted because i changed my m.o.s., became a 63 bravo but that didn’t matter, we were preparing for deployment, in iraq i spent my days as a gunner. super natey spent the first couple of weeks at camp cooke tagi, working the night shift being a fuel handler, doing routine maintenance and raiding conex’s. soon enough that gig would come to an end, a security platoon was put together and i’d be the 50 cal gunner on the lead gun truck convoying fob to fob. billy boy and rodney and me were given the name street sweepers, flo behind the wheel, blue on the radio, me up in the turret scanning for potential threats. hauling ass down the center of road, most cars would just move over and if they didn’t, they’d get encouragement, a bump from behind and run off the road. it was my job to get the drivers attention and shoo them out of the way and if they didn’t move, fire a warning shot and hope for their sake that they pull over. as a gunner it was up to me to act with discretion, most of the time i’d just tell flo to run them off the road and he did this as gently as he could for being in a gun truck. once in a blue moon our squad leader would switch up our duties and i’d be behind the wheel leading the convoy with some trigger happy asshole standing behind the fifty. i recall one time when we were on our way to the green zone, a particular car wasn’t moving, the idiot on the gun was screaming, started dumping with the fifty into the car in front of us. i was still going fast and the car suddenly slowed up, shattered glass and splattered blood, the backseat was full of people including a younger kid and we slammed into them. if anybody didn’t get torn apart from the fifty, i doubt they survived the crash, the impact and aftermath, i still see those terrified faces. i’m not saying i kept my hands totally clean, i’ve lost my head more than a few times, like that time in fallujah, there are some things that you just can’t come back, you can’t come back from.

I Hate Myself & I Want To Die, Right Now i took a razor and found my wrist, i danced it lightly up my vein in jest. and i imagined what it would be like to go beyond hesitation marks, to find the courage to end this. i hate myself and i want to die, right now. it sucks when it feels that you’ve run out of things to try out. living for me is more like method acting, Diazepam helps me forget what is happening. well, fuck my family depends on me so i got to keep these demons at bay. parenting keeps you busy, distractions come easy but this urge will surface one day. there’s a monster living within and it wont allow me to find peace. i feel fucking nothing when i should feel something. this depression is a disease, a toxic parasite that wont let me be. i’m incapable of bonding with others, like fog, sadness rolls in and it smoothers, rendering me numb and dormant, emotionally unavailable. hydrocodone can’t save me from this hell and this proximal separation has me at odds and it’s sad when Klonopin can’t bring me down, i need help down and i fear that nobody will be around to talk me down from this.