Boys Night Out Trainwreck
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Initial Diagnosis: Catatonic.
The wounds seem to be healing, and he seems to be getting along without his appendages, and I know he seems fine, But ‘seems’ can be a very dangerous word, especially in this business, it can be fatal.
I know he’s back there somewhere
This man’s tragedy has made him a prisoner in his own body. And it’s not just tragedy, it’s dementia, despair; it’s this hole I can see in each of his eyes, where all the events that happen in this real world kind of just fall through. It’s loneliness in it’s most crippling form, the kind that no amount of love, or human contact, could ever mend.
The patient was plagued by violent nightmares, terrible, deeply troubling dreams, which one night overflowed in to reality, and he murdered his wife, in his sleep. These people were in love, deeply in love. And it was that love filling those holes that I can now see behind his eyes. And it’s my job to try and fill those holes with something else. But with what? Hope? I can try to fill those holes with drugs, soothing words, but that’s all.
I hope his wounds will heal with time, but right now, things aren’t looking good.
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On some nights you’ll find me falling
On some nights I’m better left alone
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you’re buried...or suffocating...
.............or worse
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we are this dream - fluid and intricate
and your body turning blue as you lay directly next to me colors this one in bluish hues and darker greys
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so this is what has become of everything that I loved the betrayal and the blood became inseparable from the most beautiful nightmare I’ve ever had
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Make this a dream because I really can’t believe that she’s gone
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Watch in fear as he comes completely unglued.
Marvel as this madman, as this makeshift-monster rips through the room.
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I can’t breathe
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Numb to everything
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my name is evidence, my role is undeniable, unless I’ve become inadmissible in crimes of consequence I’m only as reliable as the defendant’s defense is defendable
I’m unwilling to be still and accept this evil as my own persona l and sentient will.
anymore, sensemurder nothing makeswhen ’s just a mistake that you have made
of his eyes... “It’s this hole I can see in each en in this where all of the events that happ ugh” thro fall just of kind d real worl
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When you wake up to white walls and endless halls there’s an emptiness that echoes through it all
Doctor, doctor what am I here for? ? Can’t you see that I don’t need this place
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e Yes I know what I’ve don S y dayE T andH I regrEet it ever right, could mak L gs S L e thin W if I A you know I’d find a way
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Doctor, I can’t thank you enough
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Doctor you won’t regret this.
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The first night after you’re release, no one expects you to get much sleep you’re the waking, walking dead
walk to the kitchen and grab a marker
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these nightmare lines, an empty heart we take for granted all the things that make us who we are
placency and that’s all I feel I’m the perfect picture of com
here lies clarity in a perfect grave comprised of perfect steel the perfect blade, was a perfect white against the perfect lines, from last perfect night
s low motion replaces real time as the horror fills their eyes
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I am a monster, clothed in crimson sleeves and perforated lines where my wrists should be
A warehouse full of workers scramble like a pack of bewildered wolves as my world turns black...
and I fall.
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it might not be the key To fix the memory of you and me
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There’s more to this than my Ex-love and my ex-limbs could ever in my life begin to explain
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E R Everytime I think of her F and what went on that night I don’t see it, instead I hear it.
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I need this song to be shouted out And to be heard by everyone Its like each word and every chord refuses to be ignored
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it might not be the key To fix the memory of you and me
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But with no hands and even less skill I don’t know how it ever will come out
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I think it’s her I hear It’s always been But if this pain can be arranged In such a way to bring out beauty Then, well, who am I to stop it? I’ll bring her back and I won’t stop until it’s done
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The saddest songs can sing themselves, and just sing along
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er, So if death’s the answ ion est qu then the trigger g pin is the the firin just I’m and
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these walls are unforgiving
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One pill will get me through the day but I take two anyway
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pills when I take threepla y the song begins to ay. aw go n’t wo t one tha
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Its in the back of my head and its everywhere and its all I can think about
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comatose almost
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I float between hospitals and halfway homes I take my medicine and make them believe that I’m a better man
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but still I hear the song W
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surrounding me and ringing in my ears.
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the perfect song will call for sedatives, sacrifice and sing-alongs
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It’s all about the song in my head
The one where the audience is all dead
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I’ve begged friends and family for forgiveness And now for the first time together we’ll witness Together we’ll live this song I’ve been living incessantly
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I wrote this song And the world will sing it To me it’s everything
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It’s all about the song in my head
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The one where the audience is all dead
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This halfway house is home to a madman. His ghosts, and his perfect song
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I’ve sensed her here, that we’re destined seperated. stayI know tobut
this is all my fault.
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It’s worsening, and my song demands an ending
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music this magnificent one and the same and medicine are they make life worth living; ing heal hearts worth
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Picture yourself in a nightmarish scene of such grotesque complexity that you’d kill to be dreaming. Your body’s been dying, while your mind has been trying to make you picture a life where you’d kill for your lover and a song in your head. The deaths of countless others merely set up the lyrics for your symphony. That’s where you’ll find me.
God, what’s happened here? He’s completely torn his entire apartment apart The smell is overpowering... a foul, pungent odor, Like rotten food or I don’t know, possibly something worse. But there’s something else that’s almost overpowering... I think its a woman’s perfume. Oh no... no! I found the patient, he’s lying on the floor in the center of the living room Completely naked, emaciated, deathly pale. It appears he hasn’t eaten anything at all for weeks The infection has spread up his arms, it must have reached his brain There’s bulging, bright red veins all the way up from his wrist to his neck There’s empty bottles everywhere... alcohol, medication... My god this smell is sickening! There’s blood coming out of his mouth, nose, ears... He’s not dead yet, but he’s close I failed, this is my fault! And somehow, he’s smiling at me, I think he’s whispering something, No, not just whispering, I think he’s singing...
This is the end. This is death.
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We were inseperable.
Artist: Album: Booklets by:
Boys Night Out Trainwreck Brian Culmo Š2015
a story in 12 parts, revisited 10 years after the original release Music: Boys Night Out 2005
Art: Brian Culmo 2015