Do You Ever Get the Fear?

Oscar Lowe's Notes

Upon A Strange Dream

Two nights ago I had the strangest dream. I was exiting the forest outside of my house, but it was alive...with the sound of music! Not that blaring noise of popularity today, and not the orchestras of yester-year. But a mighty parade of sound that bounded across the boughs and slipped over the streams as smoothe as silk. I was leading it, a great figurehead ratta-tat-tating with chest out and shoulders back, chin up to the sky. The trees and were the brass and strange creatures of unknown origin were my marching companions.

I am unsure of them, these strangers. They seemed so familiar. They seemed to know me, why? Why would they follow me into this strange world in my head? Such honesty of emotion. How could we be so true? How could anyone?

I tried, last night, to resume this dream. It was like standing at the doorstep of a house you've only seen in a picture before. I was reaching for the bell but was suddenly twisted. Suddenly the woods were a cage to my men. The only thing in unison were our racing hearts as fear mused us along amongst the brambles. Why did my symphony betray me? This place that was a home was a prison. And these people that were around me were not my friends.

"Breathe Oscar, breathe. You can save us. You can end this," he says.

"Who are you?? What do you want from me?!"

Safe to say, I won't be revisiting that dream again...

God, what does it take to get a drink in this place?

-Oscar












(Bonus Round: What song did I just refrence?)

Let Her Sing To You

So, here's a story about a story.

I was inside of my old house, inside of my head. I was walking around and I sat down and pretended I was still walking. It was vacant, and although cold is usually the feeling, the Florida heat was making it ever so slightly above bearable temperatuess. I closed my eyes and felt a sweat droplet on the tip of my eye lashes. I tried to close them harder and make it fall off but it sat at it's perch happily and refused to vacate. I didn't open my eyes again for a long while.

I pretended I was still walking around the house, observing the rooms, dark and hollow. Everything was so much bigger, it's like the place ballooned out or warped unnaturally. The house seemed ill at ease.

I don't know if I got up or not, but I went into each room, and saw ghosts of my past inside of them. I watched a young me in the bathtub with toys, laying out at night by the heater, playing cards with her in the kitchen. I, even describing it now, can't help but feel that circular tingling sensation you get about your eyes when they want to start watering. I imagined every Christmas. Every god damn one. I watched us grow up at lightning speed. I watched us at our happiest, giving eachother trinkets of what we saw. In me they saw music or games. In her we saw cooking or literature. I imagined our various trees. It's laughable now, sitting in an empty house, pretending it wasn't empty.

I thought about Mr. Brightside, and how it's true, that someone will drive her down the same streets that I did. Someone will live in this place again. And I hope that I'm still around. I made a pact to break in. To tear all their furniture down and throw it out because it's not how I remember it. I will show my son where I grew up and describe it so that the ghosts I feel flickering in and out of my reality, will become real to him to. I want him to know what a place it was. Because let me tell you, it was.

I felt ignorant and selfish, but I tried to put it into a song, it's all I could do in a house by myself. And I showed that song to another girl. She said I didn't have to but I wanted to. I was so impressed that I could trap that emotion, bottle that sadness and reopen it at will. I almost didn't make it through the song for my voice breaking. We both stared at the ground for a long time afterwords and she said simply, "I'm sorry."

I've played that song so many times now I don't even begin to tear up. It's scary. It's like the only time you could ever understand what I was trying to say was the one time I couldn't even say it.

Maybe that's the point.

Anyhow, if you ever hear me play a song, you'll know what it's about now. If I seem tired or weary it's because I'm searching for that weakness again. I revel in the hollow walls. I live in that moment, alone in that house. I live in that place, watching endless scenes of myself and my loved ones at Christmas time.

And for me, that will last forever.

Just Shh

You know it's really funny, me talking to you like this. I never imagined sitting down at a table somewhere nice where you have to roll your cuffs up with you, of all people. I mean, as much as we knew eachother, we never knew eachother. You heard about me and you made opinions and I saw your stares and I wondered what you were wondering about. I watched them grow with a passion of dispassionate, cool disgust. I am the embodiment of everything you detest aren't I? I find that amusing. I think it's crazy someone could be afraid of me or my potential, but maybe it's because I know myself personally and don't hold great stock in either of those things.

I just....

I hate you

So

God

damn

much.
I don't even know if you know how I feel, felt, ever might. You passed judgement on me before I entered the room. I tried impressing you. I tried ignoring you. I just think honestly, my life wouldn't be better without you or anything, just, I think it would be better if you were dead. That's all.

Like I said, crazy we're talking this all out now. I don't even care anymore. I cared too late. I let it get to me after I lost the fight. Your tiny jabs. My waning ego. Your smug smile. Now it hurts. And now I don't even exist to you.

Don't You Ever Get Lonely? (Happy Tales)

Sometimes I forget why I signed up for the armed forces. It's like, damn, this isn't my front porch, this is another country. These trees don't grow back home. This aint my song they're playing, this radio don't play songs. This gun don't shoot dasies or pinecones. This grime won't be washed off for days at a time.

It's funny how I don't confuse birds for airplanes anymore. Or stars for satellites. It's a strange strange world we live in, but it's oddly the same from the one in the history books. Six strings of comfort hold my hands steady, and I play a tune in my head while I caress the trigger.

"...and no matter what I do, this chariot will bring me back to you...."

Back On My Grind

Happy news everyone! I found my inspiration again! I felt compelled to write more music, and I wanted something faster and more agressive. Oddly enough I wrote (in my opinion) one of the prettiest slow pieces to date. But the words flowing through my brain were some of the most overtly wrathful I've composed. Who knew that hate would be my new muse? How exciting!

New songs very soon.

Until then, here's a drawing I did a few weeks ago, and photoshopped today. He was my inspiration for the recent extended Oscar Lowe post.

I'm So Starving

I'm completely at a loss right now...this is the second night in a row! I know this probably doesn't matter to my readership, but this is seriously bothering me! I'm going to go draw, but those usually take an hour so today will be over by then. I've been working on this song a lot and I guess I'll just post it even though I did it about a month ago. I even mentioned it in a blog here once. This is where I am right now. It's also named after a seperate blog. Everything connects with me. One day I'll lay the whole story out and everything will make sense. Sorry for the lamesauce everyone.

Endsville's Midland Press
There's a young boy walking down an old street at 4 am
He just wants to get some sleep and I just want to be him
There's a bridal dress, there's a heap of regrets
And other disconnected things that will all surely pass.

And he said "I'll find a way out"
But I never heard him say how
Or why you would hate this goddamned place
Oh you're so beautiful

so ill lead you to the trespass
i'll find you hiding behind the shot glass
you know this night could never not last
you know we're going home

So I'll love like no tomorrow
With an hour I can borrow
I danced my blues away but sorrow
Is knocking at my door

And she said she could forgive me
For the sake of fidelity
A plastic ring could mean eternity
To your little girl

so ill lead you to the trespass
i'll find you hiding behind the shot glass
you know this night could never not last
you know we're going home

so i find you wrapped around my shoulders
this mountain air couldn't get much colder
don't let it slip until we're older
you know we're going home

A Word From Our Sponsors

Hello! My name is Tyler. I am the author of Sometimes I Think I See Things Other People Do not. It's a blog involving short stories or drawings. Sometimes I plan them or relate them to a project I've been working on. Most of the time I make them up at 11:30 at night as an exercise to keep my...which side of the brain is the non math side......

Whatever.

I don't really have anything special tonight. I still kind of feel like the patient from my last post, like a hollow container filled with bouncing and rebounding ideas. Some of which I should really keep to myself. Now I know how the electron cloud feels. Wait what? That's an intangible object composed simply of the defined boundaries of the electron's travel distance. That didn't make sense.

So about me.

I'm just a ordinary cat, I'm into art and fuzzy rabbits, kinda smart with a big heart, and you can have it! Just kidding. That's from a song. Imagine you can float. You can float a little bit above the ground, not far but still float. Would you sacrafice never touching the ground again for that little bit of floating? Imagine you get reincarnated as a bug, and can only move on if you inform human you, that it is in fact you. Do you consider the lives of the small and squishable before you cut them short? It could be your own. I usually tell bugs to do something un-bug-like. They usually don't.

One time an ant ran in circles for like 3 minutes. I let him go outside.

What if you've been video taped since you were born? What if the camera is in your eyes, and one day, everything you have seen will be shown to a studio audience of your peers for judgement? Are you proud of what you do in the bathroom? What if the mirrors in your house are all one way mirrors and you just didn't know? Maybe you're unstable and the people you're around are assigned to keep an eye on you. They just don't have the heart to tell you.

What if you froze in time just then? Or passed out? Or fainted? Or switched personalities? Or broke into song? Unless there's a clock around or someone to look at you funny, you'd never know. Funny how conciousness defines who we are despite spending a large portion of our lives in a sleep. What does that mean for dreams?

I only had a few recurring dreams, but it was more like a progressing story. I've had some repeat locations. I've had repeat themes. My dreams are crazy. My aspirations are lofty. What's worse is I believe they will all be achieved.

I suppose this boils down to me being a very, very, normal teenage boy. College kid feeling confident in his stance on things and exploring the vast world of new ideas that has been presented to him. How very novel. How very noble when I arrogantly assume that I am above such things and shun those who are not. I'm not crazy or obsessive compulsive *adjusts glasses*. I'm not depressed and I don't have an anxiety disorder. I'm absolutely normal, and that kills me every time.

Welcome to my stories.