God, I need a cigarette. Now that I have decided to quit, for a very good reason - so I can sing - it is hard to actually quit. What was easy - has been easy so many times before - is a damned chore now.
My lack of a good smoke (or ten) has made me a bit... twitchy and grouchy. Last night, I was thinking... "well, I'll write my way out of it." Didn't really work, but was a good idea. Besides, it is good to unleash, in the written sense, from time to time.
I heard a great line in a song this morning. "I am an impressionist." The song was about a painter, but the lines that followed, describing seeing something and painting one's take on it, made me really consider how that applies to me.
We are all impressionists, to some extent. But my storytelling - my songcraft - is decidedly less so, I think. Maybe I should try to be more impressionist. Less detailed.
I read an article this morning, in the Indy Star. It was actually an interview with the Pacers basketball coach, Jim O'Brien. Obie mentioned reading a book called The Last Lecture. I looked it up on Amazon. Very, very cool concept. Sometimes, professors are asked to, or just do, give a "final lecture" at the end of their semesters, to impart wisdom and things of great import to students they (likely) will never teach again. Well, in the book, this certain college professor, Randy Pausch, had recently found out he was terminally ill with cancer. So, then, he decided to give his final lecture - his actual FINAL lecture, knowing that, yes, this is my last chance to impart wisdom, to leave my legacy. The book sounds like a fantastic read. It also sounds a bit like Tuesdays With Morrie, and excellent book written by Mitch Albom that I would recommend to anyone.
I thought this was particularly coincidental, considering my "stage speech" post from last night. It has a certain existential twist to it that I find delectably evil.
The sad thing about books like those, and times when people try and remind me that "all will be well" or to "live life like no tomorrow" is that it is hard to sustain that kind of energy throughout every day of your life. I like optomism, I do, and I can play that card, usually, most any time I want. But that doesn't mean that sometimes it doesn't ring false. It does ring false, sometimes, in other words.
Change and growth are inevitable.
I wonder what my last words would be, what my last lecture be. Would it be full of the kind of metaphors for living life to its fullest, the ones that sometimes fill me with hope and other times turn my stomach?
I think it would be full of stories and songs. And I think most of those stories and songs would be good, positive, uplifting, hopeful.
Yes, I view myself as a songwriter and as a storyteller, and sometimes when I think of that, I think that I deal in lead, like a gunslinger. That's because sometimes those songs are driven by and made to resemble a bullet straight to the heart.
That's only because that is what matters. I deal in dreams and hopes and fears and love because those are the things that move and drive my life. I write how I write and sing what I sing because that is the fuel that, well, keeps the ember burning, to borrow from last night.
I am reminded of the scene in Almost Famous, where William is on the phone with Lester Bangs, and Lester reminds him that, "we're not cool." I'm not cool. I am an ordinary, lonely soul, documenting what that feels like so you've got someplace to go when you feel lonely and ordinary, or when you are on cloud #9 and want to stay that way.
I deal in lead, people. If you're not ready for the bullet, then you better get out of the war.
10.14.2008
Won't let the light escape from me...
I should be in bed. In fact, I was. I just couldn't sleep. As is so often the case when I don't fall asleep quickly, my mind begins to think. And that means love, god, and etc.
I said a little prayer. More like, asked a few questions, the same one from, what? 2, 5, 10 years ago? Does it ever change?
So I said my peace (piece?). Then turned over, and had a little vision. A stool, a stage, a mic and a guitar. Out there, the faces, maybe just one of those faces, of someone I have loved, another love crashed and burned. Or, perhaps, someone who loved me who I didn't love back. I asked myself, on that stage, how I would introduce a song (any song, really) about love, love found, love lost, love whatever.
What would I say to them? To Jessyka, Katey, Jess, Dana, Becca, Melissa? To Tara, Rachel, Kathy, Stephanie, Bethy, Lynette... to any of them, past, present, future, almost, never was?
It is funny how love works. Its funny how we, as human beings, turn it into such an impersonal, inhuman thing. There have been times when I have loved, and really, truly loved. And sometimes, that love hits a brick wall. There have been other times when I am that brick wall that someone else's love is smacking against, futile and twisting and empty because I am not reciprocating.
We really are callous, selfish people. We tell one girl that we love her, and she disappears for 6 months - won't call, won't write, disappears of the map. We tell one girl we like her, and she seduces us, sleeps with us, fills our head with hopes and dreams, and then disappears... dead? Or just too chicken to say she doesn't want to see us? Does it matter? Does it hurt any less? We do this while another girl over here needs us... while one won't stop texting, while one won't stop calling, and while one won't stay out of our business. We ignore them, we ignore their feelings, even as we bitch, moan, HATE, HURT over the fact that these other girls are doing those same things to us.
Now, change "we" and "us" to "I" and "me." Change "one girl" and "another girl" to "you" and "you."
Or take your pick of a handful of the people connected in each of our lives.
Life isn't hard. But love is hard. And we make it harder... we add religion, jealousy, past relationships, a lifetime of hurt and hope and dreams that no one can live up to, no one can cure. We pine for those that don't want us, and cast aside the ones that do want us but whom we don't want. Everyone has been the hurt and the hurter.
And maybe this is what God means when he says that man is evil. It sure feels like it.
I sit and I think... maybe I ask for too much. Maybe I want too much, or what I want isn't what I should want? But I am selfish. I haven't dated a girl who was my type - one quick crash and burn fuck-up aside - since college. Of the handful of girls I have dated, and yes, cynics in the audience, of the handful of girls I've slept with, too... I haven't wanted, loved, needed all of them. I manage to destroy and hurt the ones I don't want and need... and I managed to let myself get hurt and destroyed by the ones I did need, I did want.
Have you ever felt like, if only you could've loved someone more? If only I could've loved more, then so and so would've stayed, would've loved me more, would've worked out. DO you have any IDEA what that fucking feels like, to stand there with your broken dreams, bloodied, defeated, dead on the floor? Have you ever cried so fucking hard that you lost your breath, that you almost passed out for lack of oxygen? Have you ever hurt so much that the only way to sleep was whiskey, vicatin and sleeping pills, all together?
I have. And that is where these songs come from. That's where they are going. That's what they are about, the lives we lead, the pain we cause, the joy we hope for. Love is a wonderful thing, but it's a wicked thing, too.
Maybe that's why I write. It's the only way I know how to humanize love. It's the only way I know how to deal with my best friend falling for my dream girl, for my close friend feeling tossed aside, for my roommates too busy with their girlfriends to hang out anymore. Mostly, it's how I deal with what is left inside of MY hopes and dreams.
A tiny glimmer, a small spark... lies deep, deep down. Ashamed. Afraid. But hot. Burning so hot it hurts. And God, wherever and whoever he is, I thank him it is there, even as I wonder if/why he punishes me for these broken attempts at capturing some kind of Eden here on earth.
I won't let that darkness swallow it. Won't let the light escape from it. But it IS hard. And ever time I see your face, or your face, or your face, I am reminded by how easily you cast me aside, how easily I cast you aside, all in the name of sex and god and love and happiness.
Ashamed. Afraid. But hot... still. The sad thing is something, some time, has got to change. Have you ever watched an ember in a fire? How beautiful it is with its orange glow? What becomes of the ember? If you add to it, it flares to life, becoming a consuming fire, hot and bright. And, if you don't, it dies. If you don't it dies.
I don't want to compromise. I don't want to settle. And neither do I wish to be selfish. Neither do I wish to be callous, uncaring, a brick wall.
I will not be ashamed. I will no longer fear. I will go down fighting... with guitar in hand, with throat sore from singing and roaring, with fingers bloodied and bruised. With heart on sleeve. If the ember dies, so be it. I'm going to make damn sure you don't ever forget the glow for the time that it lasted.
I said a little prayer. More like, asked a few questions, the same one from, what? 2, 5, 10 years ago? Does it ever change?
So I said my peace (piece?). Then turned over, and had a little vision. A stool, a stage, a mic and a guitar. Out there, the faces, maybe just one of those faces, of someone I have loved, another love crashed and burned. Or, perhaps, someone who loved me who I didn't love back. I asked myself, on that stage, how I would introduce a song (any song, really) about love, love found, love lost, love whatever.
What would I say to them? To Jessyka, Katey, Jess, Dana, Becca, Melissa? To Tara, Rachel, Kathy, Stephanie, Bethy, Lynette... to any of them, past, present, future, almost, never was?
It is funny how love works. Its funny how we, as human beings, turn it into such an impersonal, inhuman thing. There have been times when I have loved, and really, truly loved. And sometimes, that love hits a brick wall. There have been other times when I am that brick wall that someone else's love is smacking against, futile and twisting and empty because I am not reciprocating.
We really are callous, selfish people. We tell one girl that we love her, and she disappears for 6 months - won't call, won't write, disappears of the map. We tell one girl we like her, and she seduces us, sleeps with us, fills our head with hopes and dreams, and then disappears... dead? Or just too chicken to say she doesn't want to see us? Does it matter? Does it hurt any less? We do this while another girl over here needs us... while one won't stop texting, while one won't stop calling, and while one won't stay out of our business. We ignore them, we ignore their feelings, even as we bitch, moan, HATE, HURT over the fact that these other girls are doing those same things to us.
Now, change "we" and "us" to "I" and "me." Change "one girl" and "another girl" to "you" and "you."
Or take your pick of a handful of the people connected in each of our lives.
Life isn't hard. But love is hard. And we make it harder... we add religion, jealousy, past relationships, a lifetime of hurt and hope and dreams that no one can live up to, no one can cure. We pine for those that don't want us, and cast aside the ones that do want us but whom we don't want. Everyone has been the hurt and the hurter.
And maybe this is what God means when he says that man is evil. It sure feels like it.
I sit and I think... maybe I ask for too much. Maybe I want too much, or what I want isn't what I should want? But I am selfish. I haven't dated a girl who was my type - one quick crash and burn fuck-up aside - since college. Of the handful of girls I have dated, and yes, cynics in the audience, of the handful of girls I've slept with, too... I haven't wanted, loved, needed all of them. I manage to destroy and hurt the ones I don't want and need... and I managed to let myself get hurt and destroyed by the ones I did need, I did want.
Have you ever felt like, if only you could've loved someone more? If only I could've loved more, then so and so would've stayed, would've loved me more, would've worked out. DO you have any IDEA what that fucking feels like, to stand there with your broken dreams, bloodied, defeated, dead on the floor? Have you ever cried so fucking hard that you lost your breath, that you almost passed out for lack of oxygen? Have you ever hurt so much that the only way to sleep was whiskey, vicatin and sleeping pills, all together?
I have. And that is where these songs come from. That's where they are going. That's what they are about, the lives we lead, the pain we cause, the joy we hope for. Love is a wonderful thing, but it's a wicked thing, too.
Maybe that's why I write. It's the only way I know how to humanize love. It's the only way I know how to deal with my best friend falling for my dream girl, for my close friend feeling tossed aside, for my roommates too busy with their girlfriends to hang out anymore. Mostly, it's how I deal with what is left inside of MY hopes and dreams.
A tiny glimmer, a small spark... lies deep, deep down. Ashamed. Afraid. But hot. Burning so hot it hurts. And God, wherever and whoever he is, I thank him it is there, even as I wonder if/why he punishes me for these broken attempts at capturing some kind of Eden here on earth.
I won't let that darkness swallow it. Won't let the light escape from it. But it IS hard. And ever time I see your face, or your face, or your face, I am reminded by how easily you cast me aside, how easily I cast you aside, all in the name of sex and god and love and happiness.
Ashamed. Afraid. But hot... still. The sad thing is something, some time, has got to change. Have you ever watched an ember in a fire? How beautiful it is with its orange glow? What becomes of the ember? If you add to it, it flares to life, becoming a consuming fire, hot and bright. And, if you don't, it dies. If you don't it dies.
I don't want to compromise. I don't want to settle. And neither do I wish to be selfish. Neither do I wish to be callous, uncaring, a brick wall.
I will not be ashamed. I will no longer fear. I will go down fighting... with guitar in hand, with throat sore from singing and roaring, with fingers bloodied and bruised. With heart on sleeve. If the ember dies, so be it. I'm going to make damn sure you don't ever forget the glow for the time that it lasted.
10.13.2008
I suggest we learn to love ourselves before it's made illegal
So... things are... different. I can't complain - I had a good weekend. But, you know, nothing happened, other than me talking with Cory about the same shit we've spent the last two weeks discussing. He doesn't have any answers yet. I don't have any answers yet. And while I want to punch Cory for A) being vaguely stupid and B) because I am jealous of what success might mean for him (not about the "who" - I couldn't care less about who it is, it's that thought of it being the thing we keep searching for, to final grab it and have the "fairy tale" junk work for once).
It's just that this curse of what I want - sometimes, what I think I need and, sometimes, what I think I deserve - can't be laid to rest. I want to take things easy, to release my expectations, and let come what may. But then I start to think... why should I lower my expectations? Just because I haven't met someone who can live up to those expectations, why should I lower them? I stop, then, and think, "well damn... it's not like those expectations are that high." And, they aren't.
One could accuse me of having my head up in the clouds. And yes, I have made my fair share of mistakes. I don't ask for perfection. Only... substance. Conscience. Taste. Moral value. Self-worth.
I don't want a consolation prize.
It's just that this curse of what I want - sometimes, what I think I need and, sometimes, what I think I deserve - can't be laid to rest. I want to take things easy, to release my expectations, and let come what may. But then I start to think... why should I lower my expectations? Just because I haven't met someone who can live up to those expectations, why should I lower them? I stop, then, and think, "well damn... it's not like those expectations are that high." And, they aren't.
One could accuse me of having my head up in the clouds. And yes, I have made my fair share of mistakes. I don't ask for perfection. Only... substance. Conscience. Taste. Moral value. Self-worth.
I don't want a consolation prize.
10.10.2008
The queen's prize awaits...
Ok, so yeah, I didn't announce that this is "GbV month," and it is not, and I did use the lyrics of another band to title this entry, that band being GbV and not Pearl Jam. Sue me.
Last night was fun. I busted ass on the elliptical at work, then jetted home and got cleaned up. Cory and I talked set-lists for our upcoming shows, grab a bite to eat, and the practiced. It was soooo good to practice - not just with Cory, but period. And I think I may have found a key to get me back into performing... I really enjoyed singing last night.
Really. Cory had a copy of a show we played as Souls Harbour with Chris and Kim, and while there were moments that were fantastic, there were moments where it was decidedly less so. I sounded good every once in a while - good, but not great - and simply terrible most of the time. The rest of us weren't really much better, except for Chris, who somehow got the shaft and didn't get to sing as much. We watched enough of the tape to cue up a song that I can't remember how to play, don't remember the lyrics for, and have someone lost the sheet where all of that was written down (damnit). We had both had enough just listening to snippets by then, so we moved on to actual practice.
The thing was, I was astonished when I opened my voice to sing. I mean, here I was, listening to myself (albeit 4-5 years ago), my voice all pinched, nasaly, out of key and off pitch. And then, now, I open my mouth to sing, and voice was... it was startling how much I have improved. And, I mean, this is something Cory has pointed out a few times recently, but I don't think I had anything to compare it to. To be honest, I still thought I sucked as a singer.
Not that I am Josh Groban or Nina Simone or Nancy Sinatra, or even, you know, Harry Connick, Jr. No, I am just me. But I am enjoying that fact that "me" is a much better singer than "me" was five years ago, and you know, probably two or three years ago.
C and I banged through 14-16 songs, just trying to get a grip on what sounds good, what would make a good set, what we both felt comfortable with, and, you know, what wasn't in the key of A. Apparently, I have written a LOT of songs in the key of A major. Damn. But oh well, songs is songs and that's what I do.
Not everything we played worked, but enough of it did that I am really excited for the upcoming shows in Bloomington and Indianapolis.
The queen's prize awaits, and she better be ready, because it is back, improved, not new. This is old soul kind of music, acoustic rock and roll in the grand traditions of our forefathers (Pete and Uncle Neil, I am looking at you).
For those about to rock, we salute you.
Last night was fun. I busted ass on the elliptical at work, then jetted home and got cleaned up. Cory and I talked set-lists for our upcoming shows, grab a bite to eat, and the practiced. It was soooo good to practice - not just with Cory, but period. And I think I may have found a key to get me back into performing... I really enjoyed singing last night.
Really. Cory had a copy of a show we played as Souls Harbour with Chris and Kim, and while there were moments that were fantastic, there were moments where it was decidedly less so. I sounded good every once in a while - good, but not great - and simply terrible most of the time. The rest of us weren't really much better, except for Chris, who somehow got the shaft and didn't get to sing as much. We watched enough of the tape to cue up a song that I can't remember how to play, don't remember the lyrics for, and have someone lost the sheet where all of that was written down (damnit). We had both had enough just listening to snippets by then, so we moved on to actual practice.
The thing was, I was astonished when I opened my voice to sing. I mean, here I was, listening to myself (albeit 4-5 years ago), my voice all pinched, nasaly, out of key and off pitch. And then, now, I open my mouth to sing, and voice was... it was startling how much I have improved. And, I mean, this is something Cory has pointed out a few times recently, but I don't think I had anything to compare it to. To be honest, I still thought I sucked as a singer.
Not that I am Josh Groban or Nina Simone or Nancy Sinatra, or even, you know, Harry Connick, Jr. No, I am just me. But I am enjoying that fact that "me" is a much better singer than "me" was five years ago, and you know, probably two or three years ago.
C and I banged through 14-16 songs, just trying to get a grip on what sounds good, what would make a good set, what we both felt comfortable with, and, you know, what wasn't in the key of A. Apparently, I have written a LOT of songs in the key of A major. Damn. But oh well, songs is songs and that's what I do.
Not everything we played worked, but enough of it did that I am really excited for the upcoming shows in Bloomington and Indianapolis.
The queen's prize awaits, and she better be ready, because it is back, improved, not new. This is old soul kind of music, acoustic rock and roll in the grand traditions of our forefathers (Pete and Uncle Neil, I am looking at you).
For those about to rock, we salute you.
10.09.2008
Sometimes I rise, sometimes I fall
This has been one helluva crazy week. Monday meant Heroes, which was brilliant as always, but which also included Joe berating me for not calling him to hang out more often. Mike pretty much told Joe straight up that the reason why so many of his friends have been ignoring him is because he is "mean" and "a dick." Okay... true, but awkward. I simply pointed out the fact that I've been busy like a mad honk mah-fah lately... also very, very true.
Tuesday night, I ended up going over to see Mom after work. The purpose for the occasion was a lesson in balancing my finances (mom does this for a living, I wanted to make some changes, so it made sense to discuss this with her), and we did do that. Of course, though, Mom wanted to talk growing up and relationships and my current state of mind, just checking up on all three. It was a nice time - i didn't expect less, either. I love Mom and get along splendidly with her. Still, I had to pick something up to eat on the way home 'cause it was too late to cook and eat. I'm trying not to eat out, and trying not to eat late. Double fail on Tuesday night then. Monday, too.
And... Wednesday, too. We got free tix to the Pacers game last night. I felt guilty for not wanting to go. Yeah... like 4 people from work showed up. Sad. But I did have a good time. Only issue was, I didn't eat before I went (nor did I exercise at work, either). I have been bad this week. Didn't exercise last night, haven't brought my lunch all week, even though it's prepared at home. I just keep forgetting it.
If this damn day every ends (work-wise), i can go lift and run and do my fun little exercise stuff. And then Cory is coming up. Which means we are probably going to go grab a bite to eat.
Epic Fail. I am epic fail.
There are about a hundred things going down this week, and a hundred more every week this month. Which is both good and band, because the winter is when I feel the most lonely, on average. It's like, summer is for horny people, winter is for lonely people, and hey, I can be both! No worries, though, things are good, if a little too busy. We take what we can get.
My mind is at ease, and it's also not changing about much. Not sure what that says about me. Not sure I care. Listening to Sublime right now to close out my day at work, as it is, looking forward to this evening, so it's all good.
Tuesday night, I ended up going over to see Mom after work. The purpose for the occasion was a lesson in balancing my finances (mom does this for a living, I wanted to make some changes, so it made sense to discuss this with her), and we did do that. Of course, though, Mom wanted to talk growing up and relationships and my current state of mind, just checking up on all three. It was a nice time - i didn't expect less, either. I love Mom and get along splendidly with her. Still, I had to pick something up to eat on the way home 'cause it was too late to cook and eat. I'm trying not to eat out, and trying not to eat late. Double fail on Tuesday night then. Monday, too.
And... Wednesday, too. We got free tix to the Pacers game last night. I felt guilty for not wanting to go. Yeah... like 4 people from work showed up. Sad. But I did have a good time. Only issue was, I didn't eat before I went (nor did I exercise at work, either). I have been bad this week. Didn't exercise last night, haven't brought my lunch all week, even though it's prepared at home. I just keep forgetting it.
If this damn day every ends (work-wise), i can go lift and run and do my fun little exercise stuff. And then Cory is coming up. Which means we are probably going to go grab a bite to eat.
Epic Fail. I am epic fail.
There are about a hundred things going down this week, and a hundred more every week this month. Which is both good and band, because the winter is when I feel the most lonely, on average. It's like, summer is for horny people, winter is for lonely people, and hey, I can be both! No worries, though, things are good, if a little too busy. We take what we can get.
My mind is at ease, and it's also not changing about much. Not sure what that says about me. Not sure I care. Listening to Sublime right now to close out my day at work, as it is, looking forward to this evening, so it's all good.
10.06.2008
Memories Like Fingerprints
It never ceases to amaze me what little things can do to make me feel. I have never denied that I am a mercurial individual. Lately things have been great, steady and charging forward with life. I have dealt with a lot of stuff lately, internal and external, and feel like I am emerging from the crucible of my own doing to become a better person.
Regardless, I do still hurt and can still be lonely. Yesterday, I sat down to look for a couple of songs I had written a long time ago. They were not where they were supposed to be – my songbook, which is a shambles of its once former glory – so I had to search through many a dump-pile, folder, and loose stack of papers in search of them. I never did find them, but I did come across so many songs I had written that I had forgotten about.
Putting aside for the moment how embarrassed I was at some of these songs – I have always felt my writing needs to take a quantum leap forward, and the juvenile nature of the lyrics I saw yesterday made me ill – I was reminded how often I wrote of loneliness, despair, broken love and broken relationships.
There were songs that I had written in some of the darkest periods of my life – just after my engagement was broken off, right after my grandmother died, the times after my girlfriend moved out of my house. The sad thing was the common thread that bound them all together.
I question everything, and blame everything on myself.
Making matters worse – ok, not worse, because I am not feeling bad or down, just odd, like I need to add something else to the crucible – I have been reading a book about Guided By Voices, a band from Dayton, Ohio. In it, at a certain point, the lead singer and creative force of the band is talking about growing up in a small town. He talks about how, growing up in a small time, people are expected to get married quickly, settle down, get a real job, have a family.
This of course is exactly what I wanted right after high school. I wanted to marry my high school sweetheart, both of us from tiny country towns. When I went to college and my world blew up, things changed a bit between her and I, but soon I had a new goal – get married to my college sweetheart, have jobs, have kids, have the house with the white picket fence. That dream ended, painfully, enough to fuck me up for a few years.
But my small town kid, small town dreams remained. So I met the woman that wound up being my last serious relationship. We fell in love. She moved in, all the way from Pennsylvania. My dreams seemed attainable again. I even took steps to make sure my heart and head were ready to take such a big, life-changing step. In the end, impatience, fear, financial strain, and a dozen other things added up to such a weight that we couldn’t sustain the relationship.
So, as I laid down to sleep last night, all these old songs were running through my head, and this story about small town relationships was running through my head, which lead me to have the most amazing, fucked-up and vivid dream I have had in a long time. Seriously, it was odd and very, very revealing – too much for the internet, that’s for sure. Suffice it to say, though, when I woke up I was in a Toad The Wet Sprocket mood. Listening to them right now, in fact.
As I pulled myself out of dream-world, and shook off the sleep, the questions, blame, and guilt began. For what has been a pretty good couple of weeks, even a pretty good month and year so far, it was kind of an odd feeling. It was amazing to me how the little things I had looked at yesterday had elicited such a strong reaction.
I know I doubt myself far too much. When it comes to relationships, I tend to blame myself for every failure and every mistake. But that is not the way it really is. Everything is a two way street – friendships, romances, even the relationships we have with our parents. The good times, the bad times, they are all what we make them and what we make of them, together.
When I look at my life, now, I see that life is what I make it. My past is what I make it, too. My future, maybe that is what I make it. I hope so, I think so. It is so easy to lay blame to me, or to god, or to others. But it is much better to look at those things as lessons. If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough, if you’re gonna fall down you gotta get back up – that’s the way the song goes.
My dreams, they haven’t all come true. My life hasn’t turned out the way I planned it. Sometimes I wonder why. But most of the time I see that as a blessing, albeit maybe a blessing in disguise. I could be bitter, resentful, and play the blame game and bring myself down. Or I could choose to see things in a different light. I mean… it sure has made for some good songs along the way.
I do still want my silly small town Midwestern dream. It’s part of what I know, part of who I am. It’s ok to want that and dream for it, too. And yes, I still think about past loves, I still miss them, I still get lonely. I still drink myself silly and make an ass out of myself some nights. And, still others, I sit down with a guitar and sing lonely lost songs about lonely lost loves, and I sing them to those lonely lost loves. And each song makes my voice – internal and external – all the more stronger.
This life… it’s worth walking through that crucible. It’s worth a little pain and a little regret. Because it comes with joy and goodness, happiness and highlights. The reward of life is getting to live it, and what comes with it each and every day, and all the things you get to see, experience, and feel, from day one until the last day.
Besides, I’d rather be a cryin’ little pussy than a faggy goth kid, any day.
Regardless, I do still hurt and can still be lonely. Yesterday, I sat down to look for a couple of songs I had written a long time ago. They were not where they were supposed to be – my songbook, which is a shambles of its once former glory – so I had to search through many a dump-pile, folder, and loose stack of papers in search of them. I never did find them, but I did come across so many songs I had written that I had forgotten about.
Putting aside for the moment how embarrassed I was at some of these songs – I have always felt my writing needs to take a quantum leap forward, and the juvenile nature of the lyrics I saw yesterday made me ill – I was reminded how often I wrote of loneliness, despair, broken love and broken relationships.
There were songs that I had written in some of the darkest periods of my life – just after my engagement was broken off, right after my grandmother died, the times after my girlfriend moved out of my house. The sad thing was the common thread that bound them all together.
I question everything, and blame everything on myself.
Making matters worse – ok, not worse, because I am not feeling bad or down, just odd, like I need to add something else to the crucible – I have been reading a book about Guided By Voices, a band from Dayton, Ohio. In it, at a certain point, the lead singer and creative force of the band is talking about growing up in a small town. He talks about how, growing up in a small time, people are expected to get married quickly, settle down, get a real job, have a family.
This of course is exactly what I wanted right after high school. I wanted to marry my high school sweetheart, both of us from tiny country towns. When I went to college and my world blew up, things changed a bit between her and I, but soon I had a new goal – get married to my college sweetheart, have jobs, have kids, have the house with the white picket fence. That dream ended, painfully, enough to fuck me up for a few years.
But my small town kid, small town dreams remained. So I met the woman that wound up being my last serious relationship. We fell in love. She moved in, all the way from Pennsylvania. My dreams seemed attainable again. I even took steps to make sure my heart and head were ready to take such a big, life-changing step. In the end, impatience, fear, financial strain, and a dozen other things added up to such a weight that we couldn’t sustain the relationship.
So, as I laid down to sleep last night, all these old songs were running through my head, and this story about small town relationships was running through my head, which lead me to have the most amazing, fucked-up and vivid dream I have had in a long time. Seriously, it was odd and very, very revealing – too much for the internet, that’s for sure. Suffice it to say, though, when I woke up I was in a Toad The Wet Sprocket mood. Listening to them right now, in fact.
As I pulled myself out of dream-world, and shook off the sleep, the questions, blame, and guilt began. For what has been a pretty good couple of weeks, even a pretty good month and year so far, it was kind of an odd feeling. It was amazing to me how the little things I had looked at yesterday had elicited such a strong reaction.
I know I doubt myself far too much. When it comes to relationships, I tend to blame myself for every failure and every mistake. But that is not the way it really is. Everything is a two way street – friendships, romances, even the relationships we have with our parents. The good times, the bad times, they are all what we make them and what we make of them, together.
When I look at my life, now, I see that life is what I make it. My past is what I make it, too. My future, maybe that is what I make it. I hope so, I think so. It is so easy to lay blame to me, or to god, or to others. But it is much better to look at those things as lessons. If you’re gonna be dumb, you gotta be tough, if you’re gonna fall down you gotta get back up – that’s the way the song goes.
My dreams, they haven’t all come true. My life hasn’t turned out the way I planned it. Sometimes I wonder why. But most of the time I see that as a blessing, albeit maybe a blessing in disguise. I could be bitter, resentful, and play the blame game and bring myself down. Or I could choose to see things in a different light. I mean… it sure has made for some good songs along the way.
I do still want my silly small town Midwestern dream. It’s part of what I know, part of who I am. It’s ok to want that and dream for it, too. And yes, I still think about past loves, I still miss them, I still get lonely. I still drink myself silly and make an ass out of myself some nights. And, still others, I sit down with a guitar and sing lonely lost songs about lonely lost loves, and I sing them to those lonely lost loves. And each song makes my voice – internal and external – all the more stronger.
This life… it’s worth walking through that crucible. It’s worth a little pain and a little regret. Because it comes with joy and goodness, happiness and highlights. The reward of life is getting to live it, and what comes with it each and every day, and all the things you get to see, experience, and feel, from day one until the last day.
Besides, I’d rather be a cryin’ little pussy than a faggy goth kid, any day.
9.30.2008
Reaches for her, and the water turns to red hot... won't be long to be burned, burned again.
It has always been a little rough to be a heart-first individual, and... many times, I just don't cut it. Sometimes my heart gets the best of me.
Other times, though... I don't let it get the best of me. Those are days when I choose to listen to my head, rather than my heart.
Oh, in the situation I am thinking of, I have listened to the heart before. And what it got me? Wasted time. And I've tasted a life wasted... I am never going back to that shit again.
No, sometimes some things that strike deep in are hearts are just like sirens of the deep... sirens that call us, and call us, and call us, only to lead us to our doom, to bring us into cold, freezing waters, raging out of control. We freeze or we drown or our heads get crashed upon the rocks.
Do I want something wild, uncaged, free, untamed? Absolutely. But tempered by time, maturity, and wisdom. It is one thing to be scared, cowardly, never taking the leap of faith. It is another to be brash, reckless, destructive with lust, love, vigor.
No, both of those paths lead to time wasted. Balance. Balance in all things.
Balance. Balance.
Like a mantra, like a river. That is the lesson I come away with when I look into the eyes of the siren.
It is easy to want to reach out. Just remember sometimes the water turns to red hot, and it burns. And the siren calls another sailor to her trap, and to his death.
Other times, though... I don't let it get the best of me. Those are days when I choose to listen to my head, rather than my heart.
Oh, in the situation I am thinking of, I have listened to the heart before. And what it got me? Wasted time. And I've tasted a life wasted... I am never going back to that shit again.
No, sometimes some things that strike deep in are hearts are just like sirens of the deep... sirens that call us, and call us, and call us, only to lead us to our doom, to bring us into cold, freezing waters, raging out of control. We freeze or we drown or our heads get crashed upon the rocks.
Do I want something wild, uncaged, free, untamed? Absolutely. But tempered by time, maturity, and wisdom. It is one thing to be scared, cowardly, never taking the leap of faith. It is another to be brash, reckless, destructive with lust, love, vigor.
No, both of those paths lead to time wasted. Balance. Balance in all things.
Balance. Balance.
Like a mantra, like a river. That is the lesson I come away with when I look into the eyes of the siren.
It is easy to want to reach out. Just remember sometimes the water turns to red hot, and it burns. And the siren calls another sailor to her trap, and to his death.
9.26.2008
Waits for a present something
So... things are... good. To a point. I couldn't put my finger on anyone thing that has been a BIG change. I'm exercising and eating more healthily than I have in a long time. I am trying to save money. I am working on relaxing, centering myself. Reading. Playing more music and less video games. Spending time thinking about big questions. Expecting less and less of God... by easing my expectations on him, perhaps he eases his expectations on me (somehow, this seems to work).
I am contented. I would like to flip out, especially with the emerging economic crisis. But, you know, we are fucked no matter what on that front, so... the best I can do right now is just try and save more, be more frugal with my money. So that is a goal.
But there aren't many things I could really change... because I am in such a state of flux right now... it's not change for the sake of change. It's forward motion.
I am finished (for now at least) with waiting on a present something. Even if these steps are baby steps, I am putting one foot in front of the other. Life is what happens while you are living it. So long as I can be healthy and have fun, why wait?
I am contented. I would like to flip out, especially with the emerging economic crisis. But, you know, we are fucked no matter what on that front, so... the best I can do right now is just try and save more, be more frugal with my money. So that is a goal.
But there aren't many things I could really change... because I am in such a state of flux right now... it's not change for the sake of change. It's forward motion.
I am finished (for now at least) with waiting on a present something. Even if these steps are baby steps, I am putting one foot in front of the other. Life is what happens while you are living it. So long as I can be healthy and have fun, why wait?
9.25.2008
God, what do you say?
So… the other night I had a dream that I want to relate. In the dream, there was a hero. He looked a bit like me. As I watched, I discovered the world he was in was our own, but in the future.
In the future… after the second coming, the apocalypse, Armageddon, the rapture, whatever you want to call it.
As I listened to him talk to a passerby or a companion, I know not which, he described what had happened. God had returned to our now (not the dream-world now, but this current day and age) to call his faithful home, and to judge and punish the wicked.
The unfortunate thing was that so many had lost faith in the one true God, and had worshipped so many things other than him – their own “Christian” religion among those idols they had raised up – that very few truly faithful people still existed. Many of these people immediately turned on God, spewing hatred and evil, while others held on to the beliefs they had always had, claiming this wasn’t the true God, not the one they believed in, but some imposter god. The other people, those who had been neutral or aligned differently in their religious outlooks in life… most of them stayed that way.
It was a dark time, but would only get worse. God decided to cleanse the world of what was left. This he had decided to do with an army of angels, that surely no human could withstand. What he hadn’t counted on was the spirit and fire of human will, not to mention the selfish, devious lengths any human would go to “win.” As such, most of the remaining people allied themselves with all manner of demons, devils, evil creatures and malevolent spirits.
The combined army of humans and devils was too much for God’s angelic army. The war raged on and on, destroying the natural beauty of the earth, leaving it nothing more than a wasteland. Eventually, the will of humanity won out… and God’s angel were all either killed or expunged from the earth.
The remaining people then began to war with their once demonic allies, for control of the either. God looked down, and sighed. Many humans remained that had tried to remain neutral, and still more were born of the wicked humans who turned away from evil ways.
The hero was one such child… a person born of evil but turned to goodness because of the amount of evil in the world. He was a crusader.
His words to his listener, this passerby or companion, were harsh, true, heartfelt.
“God is not dead,” he said. “God simply failed. He failed because he gave us power, the power of choice and the power of will. Maybe we both failed, God and us. He still exists, and he is still a being of love, and even now, he cares for his children, even the ones he failed to destroy.”
“We live in a new age, with no rules, with no Christ, with no boogey-men preachers that tell us how to live, with no book-thumpers who make us feel guilty for the choices we make. It is a world where survival of the fittest rules. It is a world of humanity for humanity’s sake. To be good is simply enough. To be evil is simply enough. To be neutral is enough. There are lines drawn in the sand.”
“Today is what we make it. Tomorrow is what we make it. It is my choice to walk this broken world, bringing hope to the broken, bringing justice to the wicked. I serve the true god, the god that failed, the god that wasn’t strong enough to protect and correct his own creation. But the old prophets disciples got one thing write. Christ was enough to teach us all that God does love us. So maybe he was our savior after all? Doesn’t matter now. What matters is what we do this day, what we do tomorrow, and that we try not to kill and curse everyone we cross in our path.”
“Maybe one day we’ll right our own wrongs. To hell with what anyone thinks. It’s time to live for the sake of living, to hold on to goodness.”
The hero turned to walk away. The passerby or companion raised a fist, and in this fist was a knife, and he lunged to stab the hero in the back.
The hero spun and shot the listener dead. He spat on the ground. He looked up to the red-black sky, the scorched sky, and then looked down at the scorched earth.
“It is my choice to walk this broken world, bringing hope to the broken, bringing justice to the wicked… bringing peace, love, and goodness to the deserving. I am broken and serve a broken god… but each step brings hope….”
The hero walked onward.
I woke up later, and wondered to myself… was this a dream, or reality?
Am I the hero, or the listener?
Am I dead, or truly alive?
Is this all dream, or reality? What wickedness controls our daily lives? Where is the hero with hope for the broken, is this, the most broken of ages?
Should I go back to sleep?
In the future… after the second coming, the apocalypse, Armageddon, the rapture, whatever you want to call it.
As I listened to him talk to a passerby or a companion, I know not which, he described what had happened. God had returned to our now (not the dream-world now, but this current day and age) to call his faithful home, and to judge and punish the wicked.
The unfortunate thing was that so many had lost faith in the one true God, and had worshipped so many things other than him – their own “Christian” religion among those idols they had raised up – that very few truly faithful people still existed. Many of these people immediately turned on God, spewing hatred and evil, while others held on to the beliefs they had always had, claiming this wasn’t the true God, not the one they believed in, but some imposter god. The other people, those who had been neutral or aligned differently in their religious outlooks in life… most of them stayed that way.
It was a dark time, but would only get worse. God decided to cleanse the world of what was left. This he had decided to do with an army of angels, that surely no human could withstand. What he hadn’t counted on was the spirit and fire of human will, not to mention the selfish, devious lengths any human would go to “win.” As such, most of the remaining people allied themselves with all manner of demons, devils, evil creatures and malevolent spirits.
The combined army of humans and devils was too much for God’s angelic army. The war raged on and on, destroying the natural beauty of the earth, leaving it nothing more than a wasteland. Eventually, the will of humanity won out… and God’s angel were all either killed or expunged from the earth.
The remaining people then began to war with their once demonic allies, for control of the either. God looked down, and sighed. Many humans remained that had tried to remain neutral, and still more were born of the wicked humans who turned away from evil ways.
The hero was one such child… a person born of evil but turned to goodness because of the amount of evil in the world. He was a crusader.
His words to his listener, this passerby or companion, were harsh, true, heartfelt.
“God is not dead,” he said. “God simply failed. He failed because he gave us power, the power of choice and the power of will. Maybe we both failed, God and us. He still exists, and he is still a being of love, and even now, he cares for his children, even the ones he failed to destroy.”
“We live in a new age, with no rules, with no Christ, with no boogey-men preachers that tell us how to live, with no book-thumpers who make us feel guilty for the choices we make. It is a world where survival of the fittest rules. It is a world of humanity for humanity’s sake. To be good is simply enough. To be evil is simply enough. To be neutral is enough. There are lines drawn in the sand.”
“Today is what we make it. Tomorrow is what we make it. It is my choice to walk this broken world, bringing hope to the broken, bringing justice to the wicked. I serve the true god, the god that failed, the god that wasn’t strong enough to protect and correct his own creation. But the old prophets disciples got one thing write. Christ was enough to teach us all that God does love us. So maybe he was our savior after all? Doesn’t matter now. What matters is what we do this day, what we do tomorrow, and that we try not to kill and curse everyone we cross in our path.”
“Maybe one day we’ll right our own wrongs. To hell with what anyone thinks. It’s time to live for the sake of living, to hold on to goodness.”
The hero turned to walk away. The passerby or companion raised a fist, and in this fist was a knife, and he lunged to stab the hero in the back.
The hero spun and shot the listener dead. He spat on the ground. He looked up to the red-black sky, the scorched sky, and then looked down at the scorched earth.
“It is my choice to walk this broken world, bringing hope to the broken, bringing justice to the wicked… bringing peace, love, and goodness to the deserving. I am broken and serve a broken god… but each step brings hope….”
The hero walked onward.
I woke up later, and wondered to myself… was this a dream, or reality?
Am I the hero, or the listener?
Am I dead, or truly alive?
Is this all dream, or reality? What wickedness controls our daily lives? Where is the hero with hope for the broken, is this, the most broken of ages?
Should I go back to sleep?
9.11.2008
Oh, and I listen to both sides of my head...
Today has been nothing short of surreal, at least in my heart and my head. I couldn't tell you why I feel so devestated today, but I know that I do. I tried explaining to a friend/co-worker, and he understood the sentiment, anyway... and had some good advice.
I do wonder if the heart of my issues, right now, is the same disease that I've been worried about so frequently, lately... a loss of faith. I just don't believe in anything anymore. God, love, faith, sex, music, people, healing... I don't believe in them.
And as bad as it sounds, it did all start with another girl, another heartbreak. Oh, this one was quick, for sure, and didn't hurt as bad as some. But that is part of the problem. It was like I went through 3 months of a relationship in 3 days.
A friend of mine calls me a man-whore. Only half in jest. I surf the internet, looking for something, anything, that'll spark my heart. I've tried not caring. I've tried just letting loose, being confident.
I wonder how many people can see how soulless I am?
There is a fight going on, but the part of me that is shouting, "you are good, you are worthy!," the part some would say is from God, telling me he loves me... is losing. I just don't give a damn about much of anything anymore... and even music is losing it's meaning. I can barely stand to play my guitar.
I wish I could cut out this cancer, whatever it is... but then again, I think I'd half to cut out most of me to kill the cancer.
This must be what growing old and losing hope feels like.
I do wonder if the heart of my issues, right now, is the same disease that I've been worried about so frequently, lately... a loss of faith. I just don't believe in anything anymore. God, love, faith, sex, music, people, healing... I don't believe in them.
And as bad as it sounds, it did all start with another girl, another heartbreak. Oh, this one was quick, for sure, and didn't hurt as bad as some. But that is part of the problem. It was like I went through 3 months of a relationship in 3 days.
A friend of mine calls me a man-whore. Only half in jest. I surf the internet, looking for something, anything, that'll spark my heart. I've tried not caring. I've tried just letting loose, being confident.
I wonder how many people can see how soulless I am?
There is a fight going on, but the part of me that is shouting, "you are good, you are worthy!," the part some would say is from God, telling me he loves me... is losing. I just don't give a damn about much of anything anymore... and even music is losing it's meaning. I can barely stand to play my guitar.
I wish I could cut out this cancer, whatever it is... but then again, I think I'd half to cut out most of me to kill the cancer.
This must be what growing old and losing hope feels like.
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