Awwww, what a close friendship they had. Fully plutonic. Just two very straight friends. Good ol’ guy love, between two guys.

This but the exact opposite. I also have resting smile face. I’m so pissed off.

The amount of times people have called my trumpet a saxophone, or my trombone a saxophone, or my clarinet a saxophone, or my melodica a saxophone, or my saxophone a saxophone apauls me.

Never call someone a saxophone; not only is it rude, it’s a slur and against the law.

Basically, but the next step is to forgive and love that part as well. That part of you developed for a reason. If you can name what that part of you is, you might be able to look back to a time where that part of you was what was helping you. Now that you are living a different life, the game is to tell that part to step to the side and let another part of you take the wheel.

At least that’s what a gleaned from my conversation last night.

If it helps anyone in a similar situation, after a shroom trip two weeks ago, I realized my issue is a deeeeeep seated shame- my “Mr. Ethics” vibe is a facade and if you cross examined me long enough you would find out I’m rotten to the core.

I know this is false, but it’s so engrained it’s hard to shake.

In relationships, I’ll feel very anxious because I feel like “the jig is gonna be up soon, they’ll see you for who you are, you will hurt them” so I’ll usually drop and run.

4 hours later

Also I started this comment a few hours ago, but since have chatted with my friend over beers and he told me about “parts therapy”. Basically acknowledge there are many parts to you, there is no single you. There is the “superhero” you, the “deviant” you, the “artist”, the “lover”, etc. So in trying to identify this core I believe is rotten, I came up with “the sleezy politician”. I feel like I can manipulate people like hell- I can put on the charm to get what I want or to avoid risk. I can think of times when this version of me was necessary as a survival mechanism. Highschool was clique-city, and the theater department was a social minefield. My family had a heavy political side. Growing up I felt like I had a superpower to lie and get away with anything, it took me a while to realize it wasn’t a superpower but would hurt me so much more later. All that I learned through that is something I now need to undo, and that is to be comfortable with myself and not care about how others see me.

Ooof sorry I kinda word vomited but thanks for being my prep for tomorrow’s therapy sesh.

As it stands now, you could give me an amazing person to be with who would check all my boxes and would be a perfect match

And I would break up with them anyway in about 6 months.

I have a VERY avoidant attachment style that I need to shake before I can get into anything.

It’s one of those quirks of the human brain where we can make faces from almost anything. In a more romantic view, we are always looking for connection, so we always look for faces. It might even be that we use this as a survival method. Just like when you take time to shelter yourself under a bush to hide. It was late October, the leaves on the ground created a great cushion to keep yourself safe. You had been running and hiding for the last 30 hours, but now you needed sleep. It was a risk that you calculated. You could try to keep going, but delusion is what took Sam. You make the most discreet of breathing holes, and you bunk in for then night. You try to sleep, but you only can think of the shrieking Sam made as he was torn apart by those wolves. You tried your best, at least you try to convince yourself that. Why couldn’t you save your friend while you yourself held that spear? You who only fended the beasts off after they had done away with Sam? Is it true that maybe you have become the monster that you were running from?

But your thoughts are interrupted.

You hear the clopping of hooves. He was able to track you this far. You thought you just had to worry about the elements, but you forgot about the element of surprise. You hold your breath, trying to not make a sound. Soon you hear his horse trot away. Safe, for now. But you knew this was way too close of a call. You had to keep creating distance, if you can find the shore, you can find your boat. If you find your boat you are home free.

You decide to make a break for it. You jump and hop through the brush, trying to keep your bearings, but then you feel a snag.

The trap was released.

You didn’t have time to react. You were immediately flung upwards, and now you find yourself upside down. Already so tired, you don’t think you can fight this one, but you keep trying to free yourself. Even then, you freeze when you hear the footsteps.

There he was.

The man you wished to never see again. The one you swore vengeance on. The one who now stares up at you with a maddening glee. He still is splattered with the blood of Sam, and now he looks at you and sees his next victim. “Not like this” you think “not because of him”. But it is. It always was. I always has been him. He is

Shia LaBeouf

But honestly I think it’s a great thing we keep looking for connection in the universe around us.

[email protected]

Gonna say as someone who has had sex so as not to hurt the other person’s feelings and then felt like shit right after, and then became paranoid other relationships are doing the same thing- this hits hard.

Honestly it’s amazing how sleep, diet, and exercise really are effective at overall happiness. Studies show that one of the best things you can do is to get the heart rate up, but it could be anything. Yoga, bicycling, or even running. Running really fast. Never stopping, no matter what. “Not like this, dear God not like this” you think as you fling yourself further and further into the forest. There is a sudden chill in the air as a fog rolls in over the snow. Moonlight is all that illuminates the forest, and fortunately the snow helps show a path, but not very far. You look down at the ground and you can see the bloodstains that leave a trail right to you. You lift each leg as much as you can in agony as your ski boots weigh you down. You know you can’t hide, so the only thing is to try and get back to the ski patrol cabin. Someone is bound to be there and they could give you medical attention.

How you wish you had your skis. How you wish you didn’t lose them when that… Thing separated you from Sam and you caught an edge and fell. You remember that Sam had the backpack with food and water, so survival for you will be much more difficult.

You keep digging your boots into the snow as if they were ice climbing spikes. Suddenly ahead you see a soft orange glow- a cabin. Could it be ski patrol? No it seems too residential. Could it be a vacation cabin? No, it has warped boards and broken windows. How could there be anyone inside to turn on a lamp?

But between freezing to death and going to a creepy cabin, you choose the cabin. You keep pushing up and up until you get to the door. You enter the cabin to see the glow is coming from the fireplace, and sitting in front of it is Sam! “Oh thank God!” You exclaim, but Sam doesn’t turn around. Your heart pounds as you panic. “Sam?” You walk over to his body, but as soon as you touch him he falls to the side. You look and you see his hands were bound and his stomach was slashed open revealing his intestines. Well, most of them, there are chunks of his guts bitten off. You scream in horror as the harvested body of the only friend you had lays before you. Only last night Sam asked you to be his best man at his wedding. How are you going to tell the news to Sarah? She had already been through so much after having to deal with you and Sam being deployed for 18 months in Kuwait, and just as you finally get back from surviving desert storm he dies like this?

You suddenly hear a wet smacking and gnashing of teeth. It turns out there were three of you in the cabin. You spin around to see a man with blood all down his chin and wild eyes stairing back. He’s eating bits of flesh as if it was a bit of beef jerky. He takes a deep, bone rattling inhale through the nose as if to smell you. You never thought this would be how it ends. You realize now you won’t get the chance to tell what happened to Sarah. The ghost stories were real- it was him all along. You couldn’t believe it, but there he was.

Shia LaBeouf

I mean I can tell you when I finally sucked it up and started running, my happiness went through the roof. If you are on that path to feel better, know that I am rooting for you! Just one step at a time.

Honestly I got really high one night and had just seen the Shia LaBeouf song, so I decided to write my own fanfiction but sneaking it into random comments on Lemmy, and then I just kinda kept doing it. So no copy, but this is OC pasta.

I’m gonna coin the term “getting LaBeouf’ed”

You just got LaBeouf’ed.

I mean yea we want to stop erosion, but also going in a straight line is efficient. It’s all you can afford. You are in a dead sprint, forgetting the gash on your head. Down, down, down hill you go- it gets steeper but you try to use gravity to your advantage. You can’t let him catch you. You need to get to your car as soon as possible. What you and Sam saw back there was too much, and you both need to get as far away as possible. You are almost leaping with every sprint, but then you hit a patch of loose gravel and slip backwards, hitting your head on the ground. You feel dazed as you curl up grabbing the back of your skull. More blood comes out onto your hands, you know you are concussed but you also know the only way for survival is forward. You get back up and move as fast as you can. You look for Sam but in the confusion you lost him. You look around but the California landscape goes for miles, and you know this is where people disappear. You see far below is a stream, and all streams go down hill. You keep up the pace until you come to the waters lapping up to the pebbles around. You start moving down the flow of the stream as it gets larger. As you run, you see him- “SAM” you call out. He’s sitting on a log looking up, but he doesn’t turn around. You run up to him, the striped shirt you gave him is torn up. “Sam?” That’s when you know that somehow you’ve been outmanoeuvred.

A pike was holding the body of Sam up on the log, as if he was a lawn ornament. You best friend who you saved twice in Kuwait sat there, upright, but the life was long gone. You promised his mother you would keep him safe, but now you failed in what was supposed to be a small day hike.

Suddenly you see a flash of metal from the side of your eyes. Your concussion plus the sun makes it so hard to see, but you finally make out the figure who put you two through all this. Suddenly you vomit as you stumble to get away, but you become dizzy and splash into the shallows of the river. You try to get out when suddenly a hand grabs you by the hair and pulls you up.

There he is. Bloodied hands and all. You never thought you would be here. You never thought you would die by his hand. You never thought it would be today. You never thought it would be

Shia LaBeouf

But at the end of the day we want to minimize the impact of human activity in protected areas. Having switchbacks for stable roads helps avoid unnecessary maintenance that could be even more disruptive. Civil engineering is important!

I got so much financial anxiety from that.

Are you ok. Do you need money for food.

Women are so cute and I think they are going to be able to get together and get some food for the rest of the week so I’ll get them to the store and let them know what I can do to help them out.

👍

Do you live in the American Frontier of 1840? Gonna need to build that cabin fast if you plan on making it through winter.

I think it is fair to judge Biden by his record more than his accute gaffs. He’s old af, so on a minute to minute basis, he’s unable to keep a coherent thought. But if you look at what he does in a more macro sense, his administration has been brilliant. It’s the entire “I’m smart in my head but I can’t fully articulate it” situation. Basically he has solid philosophy, he just can’t sell it anymore.

Frankly, if Biden didn’t have to go into the public, he would be a great president for the next 4 years (with the support he has). Harris will be sharper in public, and I think she will take the Biden positions one step further.

Ultimately to win elections, Democrats need to be better story tellers. They keep pulling up statistics and data, but they need to create a more visceral message. The GOP fear monger with stories of “an immigrant invasion”, but Dems have yet to create a blockbuster “women dying of lack of abortion access” story. I mean those stories are out there, they just need better messengers.

English is actually an amazing language for improvising words. The Frankensteinification of our language is awesome for wordsmithing. The jabberwocky is a poem that fit best in the English language.

Also I had to fit “maybe we will” into two syllables for a song, and it works. “Maybe’l” gets the point across well.

The UK bit makes more sense, I can hear the accent.

I thought it was about the Teineman square tank man with the bags, and Tankie’s were on the side of the tanks. I mean it’s the same concept but yours goes back further.

That totally works for legato, but if you are going for that “mwAAAAAAaaaaaa” it wouldn’t really work. I may be mixing up my notation though - am I thinking glissando?

Edit: Also I know it’s common usage of “ta-ka” and “da-ga” but it reminds me of my trombone teacher who died in a car crash on the way to my lesson. Grant was awesome and the first teacher to tell me I was good at my horn. I miss him and think about him every time I warm up my horn.

Edit edit: here’s my eulogy I wrote for him (I’m drunk at an airport and emotional)

There is something special about the language of music- it is universally understood. Even if the time signature is foreign and the key signature is strange, it still is accessible to all who take a moment to hear it. It is a love language, and one that Grant was fluent in.

I met Grant by wonderful accident. I had played trombone for many years having been self taught. Lessons scared me as I had memories of frustrated sighs and angry faces telling me that I was not meeting some standard. But when I met Grant, it was apparent there was an understanding. He knew that music wasn’t about proving yourself a virtuoso in the Chicago Philharmonic, it was about emotional connection. It was about love.

We worked together to not only build on fundamentals that I missed, but to grow into the avant-garde. We broke the form together and made discoveries with use of my looping pedal and menagerie of instruments. This fit so well with his history. He would reminisce about his time in Chicago, just a few blocks away from me where he worked at a little known music store called the “Warehouse”. Many may not know the significance of this place, but in the 80’s it was a place of revolutionary music. It was the birth of house music, and he was there at the beginning

He knew music in the bravest way. He was not afraid to put himself out there- his brass funk group had videos that you can see where he was filled with happiness and the spirit of fun. He shared that fun with me. Possibly the greatest gift he gave me was the confidence to know that I was a compitent player. He was the only teacher to say he was impressed with my progress. What made him a great teacher was that he taught from a place of love, he made sure that I looked forward to practicing, that I was not afraid of the one thing that gave me the most joy in the world. That patience and caring showed through- I am confident many can attest to this as well.

Grant spoke the language of music fluently. He knew the syntax, the phrasing, and the love that built the connections to all those he touched. He poured his heart into mine with every lesson. I will cherish that learning and will fill others with his legacy. I will miss him, but every time I pick up my horn and take that meditative breath, I know he will be there telling me “relax Alex, find the tone, feel the music, you will do great”.

I don’t see where the post shows treble clef. I’m still on the fence on the slurs, although I could be mixing up glissandos.

You may be referring to the comment, but that wasn’t what I was referring to.