#pqueueezy

What’s the weirdest thing ever is walking past strangers and taking in their personal scent, just for the matter of seconds. You know, like when you enter someone’s house or apartment and it smells just like them. I think scents can define a person to an extent.

It makes you feel a little bit like that involuntary insight into a house when you walk by at night, the light inside inviting you to risk a glance, just to be met with a brief scene that plays in another person’s life. You don’t want to be nosy but they forgot to close the curtains.

It’s like a medley of their life compressed into a single inhale of your nose. Or the essence of it.

Their perfume, their detergent, hair products, candles or incense sticks, a meal they just had, every scent their clothes and hair have been exposed to ever since they’ve last washed them.

And it makes me wonder- if we had the ability to dissect smells that consist of so many different ones only within seconds of having them linger in our noses, how much information would we gain about a completely unknown person? Could we dissect their lives just like that? I wish I had some kind of super power that would help me find out.

Looking at blood vessels reminds me of highways. Always busy, cars going full speed, like you’re supposed to when you have no (life)time to waste.

Constantly risking to crash, only to defeat our biggest enemy called time. Traffic jams like dead ends, they’re the clogged arteries our society doesn’t need because it has no spare seconds, minutes, hours  left for it. Once the traffic stops, a circulation that is not supposed to be disrupted, the purpose is lost. What are miles and miles of concrete without wheels wearing it away as years go by. A waste of space, trees could be growing instead. Life could be blooming in the same spot. A body without a pulse, blood vessels that no longer have crimson liquid circulating through them. It just equals to a sack of meat. Once the heart stops beating, the magic wears off and it’s all cruel reality.

It’s mostly that we connect the heart to either, love and emotions or body functions, like blood circulation. But it also makes you think, these moments that you’re looking at something, anything, but it’s all a giant blur and the focus is much rather on the thoughts in your head you seem to be seeing much more clearly that particular second. What does an organ have to do with love and emotion? Or are feelings just another vital function of our body? Why do we connect the two? And it wasn’t until last week that I actually became one of those people that open google and take ten minutes to come up with the proper question to ask, just so a search algorithm can give me the answers I need- about something that goes beyond artificial intelligence. I think there’s no place where my writing becomes as illiterate as in a google search bar. This website is like a cardiac pacemaker for lazy minds.

An update. I’m currently at home, sitting on my leather couch because that makes perfect sense when you’re feeling hot and your skin will stick to the material no matter what. Feels sort of like ripping off a bandaid. For as long as you’re not moving and are literally glued to your spot it’s kinda okay but as soon as you get up, it’s that disgusting feeling of the leather slowly parting with your sweaty skin. Better to be fast with that one because I can’t stand it. But this couch is still my favorite spot in the house. Anyway, I was just laying around and spacing out, taking little mind vacations and thought back to something that hit me a couple of years ago. I still remember that woman I once saw. Think she was a former heart surgery patient or something. Like, she had that scar right where the heart is on her chest and didn’t bother hiding it. She wore it like a badge of honor but beating death is honestly much better than that even.

Oh yeah, now I’m thinking about how I say and write ‘like’ too much. But I can’t ever seem to stop, so I guess we’re all just gonna have to live with it. Guess it can get pretty hard to follow my train of thought too. Because it changes tracks every couple of seconds before it follows the previous one again. Promise I’ll stick to what I was originally gonna talk about (or not).

I admire people like that woman, the kind that manage to look at you with a genuine smile you feel can move mountains, even though it’s obvious that they’ve been through a lot of crap- crap that is more substantial than the crises you’ve had in your life because eventually you realize everything that has ever made you stare at your ceiling at night instead of sleep, so hard that it almost feels rude even though a ceiling can’t exactly complain about being stared at for too long, didn’t even matter. But we have the tendency to make everything seem worse than it actually is, until we experience something that really shakes our foundation. They’re all just subsidiary matters. The weirdest part was that I felt kind of like a pussy for crying over heartache (and still do) next to someone that had something like a coronary artery bypass graft surgery. But I guess people will at least grant me a nod for saying that they don’t differ too much in a sense where they both concern the heart. But the most essential thought that crossed my mind that day, yeah I remember writing a blog entry about it as well, is that I think some people are more deserving of a perfect working heart than me and I wish I could give them it. Mine got beat more than it was beating in the past and even now it’s just heavy, like cement The Godfather would use to sink one of his henchmen in a river because they’ve been talking too much. For good. Or maybe it was that I didn’t know what to do with a medically healthy heart because I’ve asked too much out of it. Instead of being grateful that it was still at least beating without complications, I’d constantly cry over that secondary kind of damage that was being done to it. By others and myself. What do you need a heart for if all it does is being stuck in a chest designed for sharp pains and ink stains. But I know better now. I guess it’s about being more grateful for the good things that came to you in life and remembering that there are people out there that have it way worse than you, while you cry over the found and lost of love or money you have too much of or not enough. When I was younger I never really understood what everyone was talking about when they said it’s important to be grateful that you and your family are healthy. Now I completely got the hang of it and what it means. Heartache sucks, but it doesn’t make you need a transplant. You can get over it and as much as it feels like you never will and you really want to go back to the time where a bandaid could fix everything and love was something you didn’t care about while going on space adventures with your favorite superhero in your bedroom, there’s hope.

Broken hearts can be fixed as long as they’re still beating. Always remember, tomorrow could be the best day. The day to turn your life around.

Had fun chatting about our new music with Elvis Duran this morning 👊🏻

New FOB single is coming your way this June 🔮💜

Waking up in the morning like the time on the display of your phone matters. Why does it matter when there’s none anyway? You have sympathy for this touch screen. Not only sympathy, but you feel for it. There’s a small crack in the left corner, on the bottom. You dropped it the other day when you were trying to empty your pockets from heavy weight. Fine cracks that spread through the glass and with every concussion they claim more space and depth. It’s not only the collision with concrete that has an impact. It turned more fragile the second it was dropped and it’s a little bit like that with humans, too. An impact that left visible damage but if not handled with care the cracks become bigger, deeper, inevitable and it’s a slow process until the glass eventually shatters completely.  There’s a difference between cracked and broken. Three exclamation points. And when the breaking point is reached, of course, you make friends with regret and marry insecurity. Should you have been more careful? Should you have paid more attention to the fine cracks while they weren’t fatal? What if you’re your own cracked smartphone screen? Maybe you shouldn’t have dropped yourself so carelessly.

I’m gonna rant (obviously trying something new here) and leave a few lines that make the majority roll their eyes at me for being unable to ever let this go but if something is cathartic then it’s writing down whatever comes to your mind just so you can be rid of all the unnecessary ballast that’s slowly piling up inside your head and clogging your arteries.

Seeing all the cool kids online do their thing and although I don’t think I’ll (ironically) have my life together before I die and probably need constant adult supervision, I’m just here, unable to unsee the obvious. Oh yeah, this is not a vip invitation to a pity party, this is just me rambling. While you could imagine I’m used to being called every name in the book or being accused of whatever you can fit in 140 characters, I feel like some things are going too far. Yeah, I put myself out there, but I react to everything negative or positive written about me like a human person. I’m insecure but that’s part of being human and there’s a 80% chance that whatever I read will affect my current mood.

I don’t mind being the villain as long as nobody starts throwing my family, friends or band under the bus but since I’m a grown man with two great kids that require my protection, I’m starting to feel the knot that sits in my stomach grow daily. Shitty comments like that make me wanna throw up and preferably into the faces of the people that wrote them. Or dunk their head into a toilet for a while. Just to flush down the shit that’s in their heads.