Same guy

I’ve evolved in a lot of ways. But in others? Not so much.

I went back to school last year. I never finished and I quickly realized I’m the same damn student I was seven years ago. I’m doing things last minute, I can’t focus, I get frustrated, I ask myself why the fuck I’m even bothering, but I’m doing it.

I work better under pressure. I have to finish at that point. They’re accelerated courses, if you can call it that. Eight week rolling courses, so while I should feel like I’m banging it out, getting it done quickly, it feels like a slog. Every. Single. Week. And after all these terms later, you’d think I’d get used to it, but my brain just doesn’t want to learn this way. I’ll read all the books, sit with all the professionals, listen and fill my head with the information, perform the repetitions necessary, but when you force me to read a specific textbook, write a specific thing in a specific format, my brain says “nope!” It’s always been that way, I just haven’t been forced to do it in so long I figured I’d be one of those, latent success stories, those who go back years later and do really well in school. Not a chance.

I’m done in October, thank christ. It’s been quite the stressful event hanging around for the last two years.

Fishing

Well well, it’s been a while. So much is happening. I feel I say that every time, but only because of the mere passing of time between posts.

I’m eating a bagel, looking over a lake in an undisclosed location in Massachusetts. Undisclosed not because it is some sort of hidden place, but because my enemies want me dead. Not really dead, I hope, but they’ve made it known they’re still around to harass me. They feel simply because we had something, somewhere some time ago (a decade now) that they know me, and that I should feel afraid of them. Perhaps I’m just paranoid. If there were anyone to be paranoid about knowing your whereabouts though, it would be them.

Bagels are the lifeblood of humanity and the backbone of our society, and I think it is high time they get their due credit. Ducks are floating through the water. No one ever talks about how ducks walk on water, but no one’s ever seen Jesus do it. Can any other animal do this? I think we underestimate birds, the only living species that can walk on water. Well, float, but it’s the closest and good enough for me.

I would say coffee is the lifeblood of humanity and so on but I think that goes without saying. Everyone who is anyone (or the other way around or something?) knows about coffee. It’s the wine of the morning, the summer afternoon beer of the morning. The late night, just-one-more-cocktail drink of the morning. I could drink coffee all day long if I knew I would sleep at night, not become a schizophrenic, or have my ass fall out from underneath me at any point past four cups.

Here’s a trick, buy a reusable keurig cup, and just fill it with regular grounds. Fast and cheap coffee.

Here’s another trick, your Keurig is built to not quite fill your cup. This is especially haenous if you’re using store-bought K-cups, wait for the biggest cup button (how is this really determined?) and then just raise and lower the handle, hit the smallest button, wait for it to fill to your desired ammount and shut it off. Each K-cup can handle a bit more than what the machine seems to think you need.

Fuck and bless those machines.

I hate fishermen.

My grandfather was one, so it may seem odd to say.

Perhaps I mean, it shouldn’t be allowed when your living room, and the chair in which you sit is mere yards away from some asshole who probably got up way too early, bought their “bait” and is now floating by you in your shorts while he tries to catch a poor fucking fish just trying to make it another day. I understand and appreciate the methodical, meditative nature the act of throwing a stick and string over and over and over and over and over again into water at random brings for people. But I cannot understand aside from survival, what you have to trade in order for it to remain so.

They have to perform the mental gymnastics (my new favorite phrase at the moment) in order to maintain this calming “act.” By fishing as they do in this lake, where there is nothing but small fish and frogs at best, they have to prepare a lure which is usually a live worm skewered on a hook, then spend hours paddling, and sending the worm out again and again, enduring its crucifixions as well now as the intense G-forces for hours on end while it waits to be swallowed by a fish small, but ten time’s its own size. That brings the end to this poor worm’s short life, an artificial ecosystem of sorts, forced on by humans who can’t read or write or draw so they fish. Then they forget the worm when they hook the fish, which they can tell because it seldom happens, and when it does, it is such a violent act, that it’s tough to mistake.

The fish’s mouth upon eating the worm, unsuspecting, is now in turn skewered by the hook, the side of its mouth punctured and in its fight or flight reaction, flees the predator which is most times an overweight, light beer-swilling simpleton, who, with no skill, tact, or grace, begins using the invention of gears and mechanics to pull the fish in. Almost always, especially in these types of waters, the fish is no bigger than a coaster, or an ashtray, and often half the weight of a good ashtray. They pull the fish up from its atmosphere, like taking your helmet of in space, and hold it up for a picture. Most sadistic of all, oftentimes they toss the fish back into the water after removing the hook (if possible without decimating the fish’s already obliterated mouth from dozens of other Neanderthals before them.

This ritual continues until the “big one” is caught, or the sun goes down, or the beer runs out.

These particular fishermen in kayaks (one standing) are literally feet away now, fazed not of me typing away in my shorts, unfazed by them in turn. Fuck these people. Give a home some privacy in exchange for missing these fish you think live here. You and your vests and hats and paddles in a crusade for, for, for what? It’s cute, really. You actually had to seek out that gray and white camouflage kayak. Was that in the window, on a rack, or did you have to ask for it, or did you special order it? You don’t even know I’m writing about you and your silly nets and neon clothing. Is that so others can see you on the water? Or so the fish can see you?

It’s still early, for me at least. 9:11 a.m. It’s overcast, perfect for fishing they say, because they know the poor fish run to ground when its hot by the edges or top. There is no skill to this type of fishing. They aren’t even exercising. They could easily be paddling shore to shore for some cardio, lose some of the beer weight, but they just sit there floating like morons across the still lake, disturbed only by their invasive presence as they not only kill nature,

but invade the privacy of anyone home enjoying their bagel and coffee trying to enjoy a fucking Sunday morning.

Well then...

What a fucking year! Jeebus Cribbs.

Thing is, 2020 was just that, a year. The end of it doesn’t mean a thing. Jan. 1st doesn’t come around and magically make everything better. Nazi’s still have a voice, conservatives are split, members of congress condoned the invasion and desecration of their workplace, tweeting out their locations to their “supporters” outside. Somehow, it’s being justified. Six people are now dead because they tried to stop democracy. Weird time when congressmen align themselves with white supremacists. But who am I?

I gave up trying to get these two books out before XMAS because it would’ve been rushed, real rushed. Although I’m disappointed in myself, having a good six months to get it all done, now I don’t have a solid deadline to adhere to, so I can get them as good as they can be.

Music is still happening, film is still happening, writing is still happening. The last few months have been mentally and emotionally exhausting, which I’m sure many, many people can relate to. Whether personal or simply watching what’s happening around the world, it’s outright exhausting. And while I’d love to blame my procrastination on major projects on “2020”, it’s really just how I am. I think I’d have even less done if things were more open. I can’t be truly sure of it, but I’m pretty sure. I’ve come to accept my procrastination in an attempt to maybe find a way to incorporate it rather than fight it. Who knows, maybe I’m just a lazy shit.

I want to build a darkroom, printing is something I want to get into. But like all things, it’s all about time, money and motivation. I began to invest in shooting movie film last winter, and haven’t done much with it since. There’s a lot of logistics involved. Plumbing, electrical, space, chemicals, enlargers, etc. Among other things I’ve been involved in projects at home. I was tasked with finishing two sets of stair treads this winter, and re-installing the sink after we got some granite installed. I’m basically a plumber now. Fixed the drain, installed a new disposal, and about to fix a sink upstairs I screwed up. Yeah, all that kind of stuff. It certainly keeps me busy.

Along with international and domestic events of recent months, plus home projects, plus music, writing, art in general, the holidays, we had a death in the family. All in all, it’s been hectic as hell.

Here’s to a few productive months, I hope to check in soon and perhaps share some meaningful, tangible work.

Until next time, hang in there.

books again

This place keeps getting put aside, resurrected, recalibrated, left behind, thrown away, and I just keep it around.

And now I’ve realized once I’m done with these two books, I’ll use it to sell it, I guess. They’re silly books, but I think they’ll appeal to a few demographics of people, enough to put them out. Plus, it’s cathartic. I wanted to put them both out before Christmas, considering all the free time I’ve had to just sit and write these past 9 months, but such is life. They’ll go out when they’re ready. Not having a tight deadline makes it so I can really get it right. One of them I’d consider a holiday-heavy book. The other is just poking fun at a particular medium.

That being said, why am I writing this? Well just because I feel I’ve neglected this, although I do realize few are here at this moment reading this, if anyone at all. I never really shared that I had a website out there. Originally, it was intended as my own little nook of the net I could spew my brains out into and feel like I was creating art; a different form of art if you will. If you look back into the not-too-distant past of posts, I was clearly going through something. A lot of it’s probably pretty whiney, looking back. But it was my therapy at the time, I hadn’t had much going for me at the time and it was an outlet I created out of thin air to keep myself sane. (Or maintain whatever sanity I had left.)

As I’ve repeated and beaten to death, this place has taken many different forms over the past 5 years. As I say it, it’s amazing I’ve been paying for a damn website that long simply to write random things as I am now. Which reminds me, my domain name has nothing to do with anything anymore. It was kind of a mantra at the time when I was quite disillusioned with a lot in life. That may change soon, however the domain name I want is outrageously expensive for some reason, but such is life.

So, in conclusion before I continue ranting, is that soon, I will be done with these damn books and will be selling them here. I want to cater this site more towards my music, photography and wares I want to peddle, than my ramblings, although those will be here too.

Stay safe and all that crap.

Books

What is owning a book?

I always feel the need to own books, the books I want. I guess therein lies the reasoning. First is utilitarian, I simply don’t read quickly. I’ve tried the library once before in a city I no longer reside, I owe them money! Sure, I didn’t steal anything, but I returned them quite late. $60 or something insane. I just can’t walk in there anymore, no matter. Point being, library rentals don’t suit me, I need to own them.

But there’s another piece to it. I like hardcovers if I have a say, and if there’s a decent used book online for an appropriate price. But do I need the physical copies? Once they’re done, where do they go? Well, on shelves I suppose, a mere handful perhaps may be read again, but it’s doubtful that will be the case, by me anyway. Perhaps a visitor to flip through, or future children may look and find interest in the same handful. Perhaps the very opposite, and those same kids will be tasked with tossing them, donating them, having to carry the many boxes of them to which no one has opened in decades. They’ll move from storage unit, to basement, to attic, straining the backs of all the children and their spouses and then their children until someone claims them, reads them, or donates them.

Why purchase a physical book when you can buy most of them online for $2.99. Hell, some buy the audio book now. The author reads the entire thing to you. Podcasts are becoming the death of society here. While I enjoy them, they’re utterly endless. You can throw away an entire day listening to podcasts, it’s wild. Listen all day to a person, or people regurgitating the same information from a documentary you can simply watch instead. But no, we feel the need to listen to faceless personalities comment on the ordeal, like sports announcers. We can’t think for ourselves anymore, so we need a cute, soft-edged voice to tell us how to feel about the thing we’ve seen or heard about. Podcasts are wild.

Some like the physical nature of books, I know I do. The price point does make it tough though, $2.99 versus $12, $14, sometimes $20+? Hmm. It makes a person wonder. But is it the same? The information is, but the intake isn’t. I guess that’s why. I like a page flip, a makeshift bookmark from a business card I no longer have any use for, and perhaps never did. Why do people feel the need to print them out? Does anybody even carry wallet space for them? Wallets are quickly becoming a thing of the past.

I don’t read as much as I should, although I’ve read more in the last three years than ever. When I finish one, I feel a great sense of accomplishment, that’s why in the end. When I slap that book shut, (Hence the hardback) it feels good. BAM, done. Back on the shelf, for all the imaginary people I invite over to see, as if there actually were anyone. As if anyone who did come would even notice them, or vocally display their admiration about the eclectic readings.

It’s a funny thing, reading, books that is. You’re educating yourself, but it’s also a time commitment, our most valuable resource. Time is always of the essence. My attention span is so limited, always was, that if I read a few chapters of something that’s utterly boring, (to me) I can’t finish it. It hasn’t happened often, but it does. Time is precious. But many of us spend it reading books to pass the time. It’s an odd thing.

Protest

You know, when I hear people say, "Well how come nobody says anything when the left leaning go out protesting and don't respect social distancing guidelines?"

I think to myself, they're right, however. One group of people are protesting their "right" to go out to the bars, the restaurants, to get their haircuts, their rights are being "stomped on." The "economy is tanking."

On the other hand, you have a group protesting, for what? Civil rights, women's rights, voting rights, the dismantling of our democracy, people against the clear unification of the Senate only when it suits them to create devastating rollbacks for the next 30-40 years, (See all of the above).

"But they're looooooting and riooooting." A thinly veiled racially biased excuse. We all know they're full of shit. Consider why they're doing it. Why are they so mad? Why are they so willing to risk contracting a virus that'll likely kill over 300k by year's end? Let's look back to the 50's and the 60's. Sit-in's didn't work, protests didn't work, legislation didn't work. Why respect a Constitution that doesn't respect you? It's not greed or mob mentality, it's a message.

But yeah, they're right, a total hypocrisy. Enjoy your hamburger, and tip your fucking waitress.

Well

Well!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it. I don’t know where to start. The world is weird right now, but I don’t need to tell you that. If this is the future, then just read anything about 2020 and you’ll understand. We’re in the Twilight Zone. We’ve all learned the hard way, perhaps more than once that saying, “Well it can’t get any worse than this.” Because it does, it does get worse.

I was reminded yesterday how pessimistic I am. I can often be a negative presence to be around. I get it, I’m working on it. Somewhere along the way, things changed. I’m not sure when, but here we are.

In the meantime, I’m trying to finish all the things I told myself I’d accomplish this year. I’d like to use the pandemic as an excuse for why I haven’t finished a lot of it, but it’s probably not true. I suppose mental health plays a part. I’m trying though, the year’s not over.

I’m in the middle of writing a few non-fiction books, in the vein of parody, not sure what the sub-genre would be called. Those, along with y first photo zine, which I haven’t worked on in a while as it keeps changing themes, but I’ll get there eventually.

Alright, more later, back to work.

Plastic shit

There used to be a time int his country- well, there are other countries still today that require their young people not only to go to school, but to serve their community for a period of time. Say, two years in the military etc. Even if those countries aren’t in current conflicts, they still required military service, they think it’s good for young people to get that experience (among other reasons I have to assume) and it does things to shape who they are as a person in their society moving forward.

The draft in the United States hasn’t been enacted since 1973. Now, I’m not quite comparing the two, because I would argue the Korean and Vietnam draft were completely useless, however, I would say the United States should adopt some form of mandatory community service. And in my explanation, you’ll see it’s barely that.

We should have schools across the country, of all ages, or let’s say high school age take a field trip to a part of the ocean where plastic is dumped. Head to a “recycling” station, a true one, not your town or city’s “transfer station.” I always hated that word, it’s a watered-down prettied up word for “THE LANDFILL.” If we send kids to these facilities, where we keep literal mountains, and bricks several stories tall of plastic, and tell them this is where your recycling goes. 9% of U.S. recycling actually gets recycled. That’s it. And that was when China was outsourcing our “recycling” program. Think about that. China has said in the last few years it won’t take any more. So now our piles and mountains and bricks of plastic and aluminium are piling up and growing even quicker. So guess where it ends up anyway? In the landfill.

Furthermore, what you deem as “recyclable,” most likely isn’t recyclable. Those white, plastic/ bubble-wrapped lined Amazon packages you get three times a week? Not recyclable. Your “eco-friendly” paper cup that your local coffee shop just replaced with their plastic cups? Not recyclable. The thin, wax-like film lining the inside making it waterproof, is expensive and not easy to re-purpose, therefore, useless to recycle as of right now. 9%, NINE PERCENT. And I’d venture a guess that’s a generous number. Not only that, but at what cost? How efficient is this recycling process, how is it affecting the environment to be “recycling.” We can do better.

Back to the point, if we shipped kids a few states, and sent them to one of these massive facilities, to see that “This pile over here has sat there for 6 years.” and “That brick over there is all cans.” Then take them snorkeling, diving. Yes, diving. Hell, take a few who really want to, and film the endeavor to show kids in an auditorium. Plastic bottles and caps and cans and all sorts of other garbage in mounds, all in the ocean. Tell them how it ends up there, that it stays there. Show them. Not one will understand the severity of how much plastic we DON’T recycle, and how much actually ends up sitting there or worse, in the ocean.

Stuff like this. The price of war, the cost of hospital visits without insurance, the cost of war, the cost of that new phone you asked for Christmas even though you just got a new one because your broke the old new one you had 6 months ago. These things come at an environmental cost. Sure, in 2020 we don’t need to be forcing kids into military uniforms to behave like soldiers, but we do need to be enabling them into uncomfortable realities of our current world. So many of us have the ability to simply sit in our houses and never leave. We can get our groceries and alcohol delivered, work from home, order from any store on the planet right from home WHILE WE WORK and have it at our door in two days flat. We never have to leave.

Nobody understands the cost of it all, and we should be showing them. Not just through a video, but in person. Every kid gets infinitely more excited by a field trip, than a film they’ll have to write a paper on or discuss. They hate that, they hate work, but bring them somewhere where they can physically see the damage? That’s effective.

How's it going?

Anytime I pass a stranger, that’s what I say. It just comes out, I have no control over it. “How’s it going?”

Somehow, in this country, it seems it’s the only country where it’s rhetorical, it has a different meaning. A nod, a smile, a wave, or “hi” are all acceptable responses to “how’s it going?” Why?

Why the fuck do I ask that? Why is it my default greeting? Why don’t people answer? And why is it normal for someone not to answer the damn question?

To tell you the truth, (a phrase I always hated), but to be honest, (another one) I don’t really care how you are. I don’t want to sit or stand or stop and listen to your day. Most people are mundane, boring and pathetic, just like me. I don’t care about your dog or your job or your new car or your husband or your camping trip. I do not care.

We are all living our own versions of heaven and hell and it all changes day to day because we’re all human. Yet, somehow we manage to forget that on a daily basis because no one looks each other in the eye anymore and puts forth the effort to be human. We don’t have to be anymore. We treat each other like dog shit and we always have. Yet this time and in this place it seems like that more than it ever has. We’re all living our own fresh hell or utopia and the only reason it’s a utopia sometimes is because we know it can never last and soon, perhaps tomorrow morning first thing I’ll pick up the phone and I’ll be back in hell, my own living hell.

We build it ourselves. We do it to ourselves. Then we walk around outside and stare at everyone and say, “they have no fucking clue, those bastards" and hell gets bigger. No one is ever living a worse hell than you. Because you’re a selfish prick and that’s also human. You walk out on cloud nine and everyone looks at you like you’re an asshole, because you are, because you’re human. We’re all human and don’t care about each other most days. Some do, the rare.

Sometimes, like myself, we say, “I used to care, then something happened and now I don’t care about anything.” Which is just an excuse for showing that you were ignorant. It’s selfish too. We were naive to think the world would ever be a better place because of it. But selfish even more! Because now you’ve realized once no one’s patted you on the back for being kind or caring, there’s no reason to go on. You selfish prick.

There will always be people who give you reasons to be nice, but more are going to shit on you, and those times are the ones that will always stick out and you’ll “define” yourself from them. Pathetic. What about all the good things that have happened to you? No, you forget those, and you will every time. You could be raised the perfect person, but the minute someone shits on you, you’ll forget it all and let that one person kill you with their words. You’ll think your hair is trash until you cut it, you’ll think your body is awful because of one person, you’ll think you’ve got it the worst, every time.

Why do we do this?

Because we’re human.

So go get a drink and shut up.

Making moves without going anywhere

that’s how it feels anyway.

There’s so much going on, yet so little that’s changed.

Is it just how I feel or is it real?

Maybe I need more coffee.

Maybe I just need more time.

Everyone needs more time. Yet they don’t realize they’re wasting what time they have thinking about it.

My cat stares at me.

15 hours.

15 hours a day on average a cat sleeps.

That’s more than half the day.

That bastard stares at me like I should be doing something with myself.

And it works.

But it doesn’t and I just feel worse about myself and put a record on and try to start something I won’t ever finish.

Then think, what’s it all for? How will it help?

I wonder what I can do to kill that feeling, but it never comes.

I waste that time too.

Then I hate myself for forgetting all the things I should’ve been doing.

Then the day ends and I decide

that I’m exhausted from all the thinking and there’s always tomorrow.

But someday, there won’t be a tomorrow.

Someday it will all pass me by and I’ll hate myself for that too

wasting so much time,

becoming old, full of regret, a head full (or not) of gray hair.

Making moves without going anywhere.

Drafting wills.

I don’t know. Am I allowed to make some social commentary here? Of course I can, this is mine.

What I mean is, I struggle with doing so long form a lot, because there’s so much out there already, I don’t think I should add to the pile of steaming dog shit we’re all wading through, you know? But here I am. I suppose what pushes me over the edge of “Don’t bother, it’s all being said,” is that god forbid anyone ever look back on all of this. They’ll know what I stood for and that I said something. It’s not all here. I combat people who are being vehemently bigoted online in local forums in my city and state. It’s pretty bad up here in New Hampshire.

I digress. The new topic this month is schools. Schools in certain areas are ramping up for either regular starts in late August, or earlier in August to attempt to “get ahead” of the virus and just let out earlier in November instead of December. Because the virus knows months and will certainly take a month off.

The recent news is that orange man and many like-minded individuals are crying out that we need to get kids back to schools. But it’s such a hypocrisy I can’t stop shaking my head. We don’t pay teachers enough, period. Dealing with children in this country is often a nightmare. School district rules and standardized state-mandated testing cripples them so much it’s difficult to keep an entire class in line and focused. The no child left behind act has made teaching exponentially difficult, and growing class numbers each year make any one-on-one time impossible.

What’s worse, is that teachers need to purchase their own materials for anything class related now. paper, markers, crayons, pencils, pens, project materials, you name it. Anything but the dumb textbook no one is reading anyway. So on top of not being properly paid, they have to dig into their own pockets just to teach. It’s often that school districts won’t pay for even basic technology they’re expecting teachers to use. Computers for grading and communicating with parents and faculty, tablets, phones etc. How insane.

My point I’m circling is that we often label our teachers as “heroes”. That’s the term that gets thrown around. I’m sure some enjoy the title. But there’s a lot that’s wrong with it. If they’re heroes, why don’t we pay them as such? Police and Fire get lauded as heroes, and now, we’re expecting teachers to put their lives in danger by simply being a teacher and practicing to make that literal sacrifice when they participate in school shooter drills, yet we pay them the bare bones salary to survive.

Let me say that again. Our kids and teachers, participate in school shooter drills, where teachers are trained to protect the children, and die for them first, and we pay them minimum wage. They’re often working incredibly long hours as well. Teaching is not a 9-5. It’s not even an 8-4. It’s often 7 am to 7 or 8 pm with few breaks in between. Grading and communicating with parents and students and faculty and meetings etc all dictate the grueling day. We prey on teachers like pilots. We take advantage of their passion to do what they love for work and often pay them trash.

And now, it’s 2020. We’re asking our teachers to draft their wills and once again give their lives, like “heroes.” In addition to putting themselves in harm’s way, between flying bullets and children, we’re asking them to be prison guards, for lack of a better term. To put their lives at risk because parents desperately want to rid themselves of the nuescance that is their children. They’ve been putting up with them for 6 months and they’re fed up. ‘Feed them to the dogs’ they’re saying.

No, they’re not saying that, but in so many words, they are.

Side two

I’m currently typing this, listening to a John Denver record. It’s probably the whitest thing you can do. Sometimes I feel it, sometimes it’s angering. Why they fuck is John Denver so white? Not him physically, but why are things defines that way. Hell, why do I define them that way? It’s all me. Why can’t listening to Denver, James Taylor and the Beatles just happen because it’s good? As a musician, I see it more a different way, a different type of eye-roll. There’s so much more cultured and deep rabbit-hole’d music than these artists, the ones listed are simply the epitome of the type of music they made. Badfinger, John Prine, Randy Newman, Nilsson, and Loudon Wainwright III I’d consider more 'cultured’ versions of the aforementioned artists. Get it? When someone mentions an awesome Denver “deep cut” like they were the first to discover something other than “Sunshine on my Shoulders”, “Annie’s Song” or “Rocky Mountain High” I want to vomit. Like bitch, you’re late, shut up and enjoy the fact that you’re merely BEGINNING crawling down the rabbit hole of this music. You think John Denver is the only guy who’s made this kind of music? Nah. It’s that feeling though on the receiving end, when someone mentions how white it is. Furthermore, the previous reasoning making me feel bad for simply needing some Denver tunes in my life. Sure, I know it’s superficial, but it’s kind of over-rated, underrated-ness. His hits overshadow his other work, nobody listens to any of his entire records. It’s nice to just listen to without the typical thoughts of his hits. Just listen to the music at face-value, not with the pretext of comparing some other tune on “Back Home Again” to “This Old Guitar” or “Thank God I’m a Country Boy.” (Spoiler, he kinda never was)

Well, this is not what this post was supposed to be about, but here we are. It was supposed to be setting the scene as to what I’m doing. Listening to John Denver and sitting here typing while I’m on the clock. I’ve truly given up. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve got more free time than I’ve ever had in my life or so it seems, and I can’t get a damn thing done. What the fuck is that? It’s like some cruel twist of fate. A living hell where I’m dead, with all the time and resources I can muster to make something half decent and can’t get my brain wrapped around the idea that I should do something. What the heck is that?

Every time I write here, I also think back to the serious thought of rearranging this site. I like posting my ramblings, but if I change it to market my non-existent music career or simply a place I can feel good about sharing, this piece of it is a bit cringe worthy, isn’t it? Where does a blog like this, where at times I’ve confessed I’m not pleased with life and considering terrible thoughts and admitting worse things I’ve done, is that going to vibe with someone stumbling on this for my music? Probably not. What’s more (that’s a good one, ‘what’s more, what the fuck.) is that it probably seems even more to a stranger that it’s all grovelling and crybaby crap. I do whine on here quite a bit, a considerable amount. I probably spend more time here whining to the sky than I do bettering myself and my life in general, crazy. It’s easier to form thoughts out on the screen through the keyboard, than it ever does trying to dissect it in real-time and getting past it or over it. Shit.

I’ve flipped to side two, it starts with Annie’s Song, and it’s still wonderful.