September 9th *** "Casualty
Of The Winds."
Let's see...haven't written
in a while due to undue stresses, bicycle rides and other assorted weirdness.
Oh, and it appears we've made it through 9/9/99 without a hitch...no nuclear
weapons launching or toilets backing up that I've heard of. Makes
you really want to kick the shit out of the media, huh?
A friend of mine in my
department at work has found other employment. That means that things
are going to be rather difficult once she leaves. I wish changes
like these didn't happen, but I think it's good that she's going.
There's nothing that this job has left to offer her. Or me, for that
matter, but you've gotta love those benefits. Yeah. Right.
Anyway.
I canceled out of practice
tonight as well. I didn't have it in me, number one. I had
some prep to do for upcoming events, designing postcards for the mailing
list and such. A few phone calls to that effect.
It's a bad scene when I start shirking responsibility.
Not that I am yet, but I feel the edges of my mind starting to fray.
It starts at work each day. With every phone call, every fire I have
to put out, every silly question and every mind-numbing patronization,
I slip away. By the time I leave work, I want to either crawl into
a hole and sleep for a week or rip someone's throat out.
This is not a situation which sets the plate
well for either life in general, or creativity in particular.
"The utility of living consists not in the length
of days, but in the use of time; a man may have lived long, and yet
lived but a little." - Michel de Montaigne, 1560.
More later...I have some writing to do, some
things to tear down and some things to build back up.
September 4th *** "Comes A
Time."
There usually does
come a time when certain things are not worth fighting for. Liberty,
freedom and truth are not among those things, let's just get that straight,
because without those, life's flavor is something akin to cypress mulch
in the fall. However, there are many battles we fight everyday that,
really, aren't worth fighting. Sometimes that powers-that-be are
against you...against common sense, it seems...and the only thing to be
won by fighting is to stress yourself past your peak limits.
I feel this way about quite
a few things in my life right now. Parts of my job. Parts of
doing the radio show (that station itself, I mean). Music, to a certain
extent, but that's softening as I get more of a grip on what *I* want to
do.
But some things, like the
brake work being done on my truck right now, cannot be fought anyway.
You do it or you wreck. Whatever.
All I'm saying is, really,
the reason I haven't written much in the last few days is that I've been
fighting battles that were unwinable.
And I like to win.
Something's gotta change.
August 30th *** "Boom Bang
Bidda Ba Bow."
People who hunt do
not annoy me. People who hang trophies on their walls or pictures
of themselves smiling next to a dead animal do. Sport? Sport?
Yeah, right. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Would you stuff
one of those fish and hang it on your wall? Probably. Testosterone-infected
idiocy.
Having said that, I shoot.
I own handguns and rifles. I target shoot and have since I was younger,
with my father who's been doing it since he was very young with my grandfather
who had the same beginning. We have all hunted. My grandfather
even hunted on the streets...he was a police officer. I can kill
animals. I can skin them, field dress them and cook them if I need
to.
The thing is, I don't need
to very often. In a nutshell, a lot of hunters bother me. Like
the ones who come into the place where I work after a weekend of hunting
with their tales of, "Yeah, he walked up right in front of me, looked right
at me and I popped him...BANG...right there."
Good for you.
Did you thank whatever greater
force there is connecting us for the opportunity to have that animal?
For the food you'll put on your children's table? Or did your buddy
take a picture of you grinning over your fallen creature?
Don't get me wrong.
I'm not a neo-conservative, nor am I an ultra-liberal. I'm a situationalist
and a realist. And I believe in the Indian custom of thanking the
creature and the god(s) for the positive end of the hunt. It's a
karma thing, if you will.
You want sport? Come
and see me...we'll play some football or something. You want survival?
Treat it with some respect...and, yes, it is true that guns don't kill
people...people do. Once again: respect.
August 28th *** "Beyond The
Doors Of The Dark."
I'm sitting at home
prior to leaving to do another edition of Scriptus Live. No
guest(s) today, though we have folks scheduled for the next three weeks.
Not going to see T. this weekend...I'm hoping she'll come up tomorrow.
Maybe we can go to the cemetery and nose around.
I'm losing the flavor for
life. I'm losing the desire to do very much. I'm not the same
person I was when I was in college. God, that's five years ago now.
What the hell have I done with these five years?
Not much...at least by my
standards. Sure, the three books, the radio show, the bands.
I just want more. Always want more. The goal of the "artist"?
Perhaps. There are certain places I want to reach, things I want
to do. I am not satisfied.
I am not satisfied.
I am not satisfied.
I am not satisfied.
Now the problem is this:
what do I do about it?
August 23rd *** "Call Of The
Crow."
I just got home from
the poetry reading by authors from the Red Crow Poetry Journal at
York Street in Newport, KY. Had to leave halfway through due to prior
commitments of dropping off tapes and bills and other nonsensical stuff.
Shame...there was much talent in that room. Three of the poets in
Red Crow were on the radio show last Saturday and, hopefully, they'll
all be coming back.
I've never been one for poetry
readings, really. I've done some, had fun, but it was never an m.o.
of mine. I did read at the open mic introduction to the shindig tonight,
a poem from Soliloquy. It came off pretty stilted and, really,
very much out of place with the other folks' stuff. That's fine...it's
usually that way *smile*. Sometimes it's too much though...I think
that's why I go to so few readings. It's not that I'm not supportive
of the local authors and art (we're always looking for folks to come on
Scriptus Live), it's that I can't ingest so much at one time.
Even if I hadn't had to leave when I did tonight, I probably would have
left soon thereafter. Hearing so much and taking in so many images
and thoughts and emotions...after a while I feel like an unmilked cow at
high noon, to quote some movie from somewhere.
I digress though...check out
Red Crow at http://redcrow.cjb.net
or at the other site at
http://members.aol.com/redcrowrev/page/index.htm
for more information on obtaining a copy or when the next readings are
happening. You will not be disappointed, I guarantee that.
Scott Goebel, the editor, and his cohorts have a fantastic piece of work
there.
Off to write...I've got a
spark that needs attention and I'm drippin' ready.
August 22nd *** "End And Beginning."
Just spent a wonderful
weekend with T. Also had a great interview on Saturday on Scriptus
Live with three local poets. Going to try to catch their reading
on Monday at York Street in Newport.
Many things have to end in
the near future and I'm also hoping to salvage new beginnings from those
ashes. As Mr. Picasso said, "Every act of creation is first of all
an act of destruction." I believe this to be true. I want to
start from the good things in my life right now, the few things, and burn
everything else down including my attitudes toward certain things like
my health, my job and so forth. I want to shed my skin.
I will start doing and quit
worrying about the things I can't change, like this sham of a race for
the governor's chair in Kentucky. Oy vey...a chick named Peppy and
an idiot named Patton (the incumbent). Is there a Reform Party in
Kentucky? And, if so, where do I sign up? It'd be a good way
to spend a couple years, that is, trying to make a difference here in my
home state and make this place make a little more sense. Like firing
the morons at the D.O.T. who set up signs reading 45 MPH, 55 MPH and 45
MPH right next to each other on I-64, along with putting a radar gun and
an empty D.O.T. car out there to confuse people even more. Grrrrr....
And, even worse, the slogan...you
can see it all over Kentucky...it says, in a nice nouveau script, "DRIVE
SMART KENTUCKY!" Hmmm...how about "DRIVE SMARTLY KENTUCKY!"
Sure, saying smart instead of smartly is catchier. I guess that's
why I don't get paid the big bucks.
Brains just don't pay the
bills.
August 18th *** "The Way."
I've often wondered
why I am the way I am. I have my mother's compassion matched with
my father's impatience and temper. I have their intellects, though
I'm not drawn to the same things they are. Heredity obviously plays
its part, but I think there's more than that, and more than environment
too. There's the soul.
From the Tao Te Ching, chapter
11:
"We join spokes together in
a wheel,
but it is the center
hole
that makes the wagon
move.
We shape clay into a
pot,
but it is the emptiness
inside
that holds whatever
we want.
We hammer wood for a
house,
but it is the inner
space
that makes it livable.
We work with being,
but non-being is what
we use."
So perhaps in looking for a
way, in looking for a background and history for myself, I'm looking for
the wrong thing. Perhaps I'm the emptiness, perhaps I'm the framework
of a life. That's the essential question. Am I, are you, are
any of us, the pot waiting to be filled or the actual filling of the pot?
Of course, if we're the pot then that would almost prescribe to the tabula
rasa theory, of which I don't find myself having much in common with.
We have instincts and basic tendencies that are there when we're born.
So what of the soul?
Is that the essential magic from which we draw? All I know is what
I believe and what I have faith in.
And, in the end, what else
is there?
August 15th *** "Hair, Reactions
& General Crap."
Let's see...we took
band photos for DaVinci's Burden today. We met at 3:00 so
I re-arranged my shot schedule (being diabetic has interesting tag-a-longs
such as working activities into a pre-set framework of insulin injections
and such) and ate prior to going. I don't know if anyone knew it
or not, I have to assume they did, but I was having a reaction toward the
end of it. Actually, I really don't remember much of anything past
standing by the bridge at Spring Grove Cemetery and dodging cars.
I remember sort of coming back to a state of awareness as I got off I-75
at Buttermilk Pike. Got some sugar in me, came home and ate, then
fell asleep for a few hours. Not fun.
B.'s got the disks the pictures
are on. They'll show up on the band page in about a week or so.
Having a real, live drummer is nice. R.'s a good guy, fantastic drummer.
Just have to hope things keep going and slowly start to build up.
I'm tired of not playing, of not having gigs to look forward to.
And T. and I had a bit of
weirdness today too. I drove to see her last night after Scriptus
Live and had to leave this morning. She was willing to come up
and hang out during the photo shoot just to be with me. I guess I
still have trouble with the concept that someone really wants to be with
me. I don't know why. I hate having people just hang around
though, so I said she shouldn't...it would've been two hours of intense
boredom for her, I'm sure.
It's the balance. Everything
has been out of balance this past week. I should have told her it'd
be great if she came up. It would have. I'd be with her somewhere
right now, playing with her hair and talking instead of writing this.
As much as I love doing this journal, it's not even a contest.
Sometimes I'm such a godd*mn
bonehead. It seems that no matter how hard I try to be good, only
bad things happen.
August 14th *** "Wretched."
It is Saturday in the
early afternoon. I was going to write this yesterday, but the thoughts
were so jumbled, and still are so to a certain extent. By the way,
the entry from the 13th was actually written late on the 12th. Not
that that matters much, but it's an interesting aside.
This may seem an odd source
from which to pull a quote, but I want to put in something from Iron Maiden's
Seventh Son of a Seventh Son album, specifically some lines from
a tune called The Clairvoyant: "There's a time to live and
a time to die/ When it's time to meet the maker/ There's a time to live,
but isn't it strange/ That as soon as you're born you're dying?"
That album came out in '88
just as I was about completely immersed in my obsession with music, though
I'd been writing for years. Those lines also hit me as I'd been thinking
a lot about mortality. A 15 year old thinking of death and mortality?
Sure, didn't you?
What I'm getting at is, though
I haven't been touched by the reaper's icy hand as many times as some of
my friends and people I know, I know the touch well enough. It interests
me how people live their lives with no thought as to the ultimate end...the
blackness, as B. called it on the phone yesterday afternoon. I'm
not sure it's blackness...not sure what anything is really.
I just think it is a good
idea to, every once in a while, take a step back and think about your place,
your life, what you're doing and where you're going. It may be a
wretched feeling once you're into it, but it's for your own good.
I think about it for my grandfather, my aunt, Amy, Cassie, etc....everyone
I know who has died (not "passed away"...your euphemisms don't change the
truth). It's always there and it always will be...it's just a matter
of how you come to grips with it. How far do you fight disease?
How far do you fight aging? When do you accept the hand you're dealt?
I've never accepted much except
for the fact that one day I'll die - I'll cease to exist in a common way
with the rest of the living, sentient creatures in this realm. What's
after? Depends on your religion...it's a question you can't answer
till you get there, so why bother asking? Curiosity, sure.
I know.
As I said, I've never accepted
much except for the fact that one day I'll die. Everything else is
within my reach to change, rearrange and make the way I see fit.
How about you?
August 13th *** "Dear God...Afooo!!!"
The best show on television
is "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" hosted by Drew Carey. Nothing more
or less than that. Improv comedy done very, very well. Absolutely
hilarious. Anyway...on to other stuff.
I really, really dislike Bruce
Willis, and not just because he got to kiss Milla Jovovich in THE FIFTH
ELEMENT. I just think he's a poor actor. Opinion, right?
Sure. I've had people tell me that my poetry and various other writings
suck. Fine. C'est la vie, baby, it's all in the mix.
If the American patriots hadn't thought that the King of England sucked
then we'd be buying those Lee Greenwood CD's with pounds instead of bucks.
Did I say Lee Greenwood?
Ooops. Um...insert musical artist du jour in that spot, okay?
But back to Mr. Willis.
Let's see...Die Hard 1...Die Hard 2...Die Hard 3...Die Hard 4...The Fifth
Element...The (current smash hit) Sixth Sense...and I'm foreseeing something
like The Seventh Of Never When Bruce Willis Shows Some True Talent And
Quits. Or goes back to television. That'd be just great...juxtapose
"Whose Line Is It Anyway?" with re-runs of "Moonlighting." Uh-huh...the
epitome of current t.v. with a mark of the horror of the past. Just
let me hear Cybill Shepherd sing, okay? Please? Please?
I apologize for the ranting
and raving like a damn lunatic. It's been a bad week and I'm blaming
the moon (there was a new moon last night) and Friday the 13th. There
was some recording planned for this week but T. hasn't called me back.
T., my fiance, and I had a bit of a tiff last night, a communication thing
(I think). Work is a horror movie every day, it seems, and for many
reasons. Not a bad job by any means, but when I allow myself to stop
and think about the things I really want to do...horror movie.
I'll stop...I'll have something
better in a day or two when this funk ends...where's Bootsy Collins when
you need him?
August 8th *** "I Love Jessie
Ventura...Really!"
I just finished watching an
interview on "Face The Nation" with Minnesota governor Jessie Ventura.
Yes, the Body. At first, I looked at the whole thing as a gimmick,
much like the rest of the country and the world, most likely. I stopped
that a long time ago when I heard my first interview with him. And
my respect for him continues to grow.
Of course, I can remember
years ago watching the WWF and seeing The Body come out with his feather
boas and then, later, watching him seated next to Vince ("that's Mr. to
you, boy!") McMahon doing color commentary. That color commentary
led to where he is now in a lot of ways.
He's not burdened, and make
no mistake, it is a burden, by party politics. He's a member of the
Reform Party, not the donkeys or elephants. The Reform Party accepts
no PAC money, no money from religious organizations, no money from anyone
who's point is to influence a vote or position. Cold logic.
Governing from the point of view that what is best as a decision-making
process is simply what is best for the people.
Jessie's answers to Gloria
on "Face The Nation" this morning were quick, to the point, not afraid
to toss things back in her face and never, ever backing down. He's
intelligent, knife-like actually. I, personally, generally hate authority
figures such as politicians who are nothing more than figureheads.
Sure, we all have bosses and people we answer to, but the willingness to
do so is the important thing. I live in Kentucky and, really, that
doesn't matter to me. If I lived in Minnesota right now, I have to
say that I would be proud to wake up there every day.
But I don't want Jessie to
run for President in a decade or so. I couldn't stand to see him
assassinated, which is I'm sure what would happen. An elephant or
a donkey would pay the cost and the bullet(s) would fly and one of the
stone cold hopes for this nation to pick it's way back from the edge, the
edge that the Roman Empire fell off of due to it's greed, laziness and
ignorance, would be gone in a bloodbath.
Personally, I'll enjoy watching
things continue to fall apart. I still stand against it, and stand
firm that we can change things, Reform things, if you will. But I'm
a cold-hearted pragmatist too. A realist in a surrealist's body.
For now, I love the fact that
Jessie Ventura is in public office and gets a chance to deal in the truth,
to hit people with his reality hammer every so often. It is a good
thing. And I hope he does it for a long, long time.
Although, admittedly, I'd
give anything to see Jessie debate George W. Bush, get fed up with the
lies and rhetoric, the sophism that "professional" politicians deal in,
get frustrated and clothesline the bastard off the stage. Then he'd
walk back to the mic, straighten his suit, and begin, "...okay, now let's
get this country back on it's feet...."
August 7th *** "Carpe Dummy"
Oy vey, baby...it's
been one o' them there weeks overall. I got a lot done, but a lot
more is ahead of me. T. and I went to talk to a prospective drummer
today, named J. Really cool fellow. He's got that attitude
that I love...very professional, but I could tell he put a lot of soul
into everything. Hope he likes the tape that T. and I gave him.
I love music. I adore
music. I love words and the expression, not only for my own sake
but for everyone. That's the artist's job, if you will, to express
and uncover and breathe life into the things that others might pass by
or be unable to dig into. I desire this more than anything:
to be able to live by the music I and my bandmates create and to be able
to live by the words I write. As I said in a poem in my first book,
if everyone were Elvis Presley, being Elvis Presley wouldn't matter very
much.
Not everyone has these needs.
I appreciate my friends who live their lives much differently than me very
much. I envy them sometimes. And when they ask me why I still
play music, I can only say it's because it's what I do, what I'm drawn
to, what I love. Why do I keep writing and putting out these books
even with the knowledge that, at best, most poets only prosper posthumously?
Again, I love it...it's what I do.
Seize the dummy...me, that
is. Maybe I'm dumb, maybe I should cash my chips in and file myself
in the "whatever happened to him?" column. Maybe I should give it
up and play covers.
*smiling diabolically*
Yeah...and maybe I'll dye my hair blonde and start cross-dressing too....
The last line to a poem I
wrote yesterday called "Percentages" is:
100% of the artists I know
will die unfulfilled.
I'm willing to test my own
words. Bring it on.
Carpe diem, baby...it's all
there for us to share.
August 4th *** "The Pepsi
Girl Must Die & Other Stuff"
Ah,
weary travelers...I return again from amid the doom and gloom of my normal
life. Well, it's not all that bad, really. My ordeal with Carvin
is almost at an end and I, hopefully, won't ever have to deal with them
again. DaVinci's
Burden had a meeting last night and we staked out plans for the next
couple of months. My band with T. may have found a drummer...it's
an old friend, a better friend of B.'s than mine, who might just fill the
bill nicely. That would be good. Very good.
And, yes, that horrid, wretched,
nasty, terrible little curly-haired spook that does those Pepsi commercials,
that little girl that they superimpose different voices over, must indeed
die. I cannot take it. I feel like I'm being held down, as
if I've beaten and raped someone, a la Clockwork Orange, and am
being forced to watch this stuff...I must turn the channel every time one
of those commercials comes on. Terrible stuff. Give me the
Taco Bell dog, give me that brunette in the Moore's Fitness commercials,
give me a Fox19 News spot with Jack Atherton's bad, bad, bad hair...anything
but the Pepsi Girl.
The joy of cola, my ass...the
joy of ripping her little doll head off and beating it flat on a diner
table with an old 16 oz. size bottle of Pepsi, maybe.
*sigh*
Okay. I'm fine.
Little things like that drive me absolutely gonzo bonkers, though.
Like people who don't use their turn signals. But that's another
story.
Hold on....
Just threw a Diet Dew bottle
at my television....
August 1st *** "Open
Letter To Zoo Animals"
T. and I went to the
Zoo today. No need to mention which one, but it is one of the top
in the country. And, for the most part, as far as the eye can see
the animals are well taken care of. It's not like a circus or anything
like that...all of the trainers and such are very intelligent and know
their craft and their critters. I even like the head zookeeper's
spots on a local newscast about different animals that appear sometimes.
Good people and a leading research center for endangered species.
I have nothing but kind words for these people and their chosen course
in life.
The people at the concession
stand who charged me a buck fifty for a hot dog and then didn't even smile
or say "thank you"...they're another story. But a story for another
time.
This is to the animals.
This is to the ocelot that paced in circles around his five foot by five
foot glass and wood encased space. This is to the smaller critters,
like the marmosets, that seemed to just be terrified when I looked at them.
This is to the elephants who currently don't have a home and are living
in the "special exhibits" house while their new home is being built.
This is for the alligator who had to move out of that big turtle's way
as he swam by. This is for the reticulated python, all thirty-some
feet of him, that was coiled in that small space...I know he wanted to
wrap himself around one of us, whether it was a zookeeper or me, kill us
and head for home.
Now, don't get me wrong...some
of those creatures, the ones that the idiots who are driven by nothing
but the craving for money, the ones who've hunted some of these creatures
into extinction because their fur is "pretty," these creatures are doing
well here at the Zoo. And they're safer here. But it's still
not home. It's a shame that we've driven their species this far and
now have to save them. Of course, things grow and things die...it's
a natural progression. Whether pillaging for cash is part of the
natural equation or not, that's my problem with it.
I think there should be a
Humans On Display exhibit at the end of the primate trail. The last
cage should be me and someone else just hanging out on the rocks.
Maybe have a notebook to write in. Maybe have some small pebbles
to throw at the little kids who whistle at us and scream, "Look over here!
Over here!" at mind-shearing volumes.
But, anyway, this is an open
letter to those creatures at the Zoo who may not know their natural environment
or my just remember it as some distant, shadowy thing in the back of their
minds. Remembering the thrill of the chase and kill for that ocelot,
as opposed to being thrown a steak every evening. To those creatures
who pace their cages, nervous, bored or terrified, on behalf of my species,
I apologize.
July 29th *** "H8RED"
I hate quite a bit.
I hate people whose viewpoints revolve around a tiny particle of dim light
somewhere out in front of them, completely ignoring the rest of life.
I hate weakness. I hate power-players. I hate a lot of people,
but no one in particular, really. Right now I hate the Carvin music
corporation. Long story...I bought a Carvin LB75A bass. Good
bass, sounds good, nice back-up for my Tobias. I'd had it for a time
and went to adjust the truss rod, a typical maintenance maneuver for any
guitar or bass. When Carvin built the bass they had, I discovered,
lacquered the truss rod nut into the finish of the bass...poor craftsmanship,
period. Quality control should have caught it. The nut broke
off when I tried to adjust it as the truss rod wouldn't move...kind of
like painting a window shut, that's what happened.
So I return it to Carvin and
they, after some negotiation, agree to build me a new bass which I pay
an extra nearly three-hundred dollars to get made into a fretless bass.
Fine. After two months I get it, in May of '99. The paint job
on this bass is horrid...there are spots on it where bare wood shows through
on the top of the body. The battery compartment is mis-cut.
The quality of the bass, overall, playing-wise as well (compared to the
original bass) is shoddy. I call and speak to four people and finally
get them to issue a UPS call-tag and take it back. I'm told they'll
build me ANOTHER bass and it'll be four to six weeks.
Eight weeks brings us up to
around the 15th of July. I call and leave FIVE voice mails with my
sales rep before I get ahold of him...and that's only because he picked
up the phone when I called. Hmmm...he'll have to check on it.
Fine. Turns out that this SECOND re-build didn't pass quality control
(how did the first two pass? God, this second one must've looked
like a B.C.Rich Warlock or something...) and they would have to start over
and build ANOTHER one, taking another four to six weeks. I asked
if someone was going to call me and let me know about this...no real response.
Guess not.
So my friend G. calls and
then I call and we literally light up several folks over there. I
went off on both my sales rep and the customer service manager on duty
on the 26th of July (I'm not going to name names here). My solution?
I'm sick of dealing with them...if I wait on that new re-build, my lord,
the bad taste in my mouth for the colour and the bass itself is going to
be horrible. I get my rep to fax me a list of what they've got in
stock so I can pick one. Now that first, original bass cost me $1441.95.
Plus the $276.99 to get it re-built as a fretless this year. The
bass I picked to replace it is less than that, not even the same model.
That's how pissed off I am...I just want a back-up for my Tobias and to
be done with Carvin. I'd like a credit or for them to pay off the
difference, but whatever...whatever.
So I talk to my rep today
hoping they'd had a chance to check this bass out and be able to UPS Next
Day Air it to me for tomorrow. Turns out it didn't pass quality control.
They took it off the shelf and it didn't pass quality control. I
see a trend here. Don't be surprised if I fly to San Diego and throttle
someone. No, no, no...that won't happen, of course. I just
want this over with.
As I was saying...I hate a
lot.
July 26th *** "The Whirlpool
Is Approaching"
I haven't had time
to add to this journal in about a week. Been quite busy. I've
been invited to another art/writers' festival in September, called Artsapalooza.
Special thanks to LK for hooking me up. Should be a blast.
I've never been big on live
readings, though. Not sure why. I love doing the radio thing
on Scriptus Live on WAIF here in Cincinnati, but that's different.
That's more of a think-on-your-feet thing. But, then, what am I worried
about? I'll just do the same as I've always done: let someone
set a stage and dance my own dance on it.
Often, I set my own stage,
but it's harder to get people to come then.
I'm torn at times by my different
urges. I know what I want to make of my life, but I also know the
path I've chosen and the difficulties that are arising everyday.
I got a call from a film company in NY that I'd sent an offhanded resume
to regarding a job as a script supervisor. Thing is I can't get to
NY and, even if I could, B. has told me enough about the biz that I know
I'd get paid little and, really, probably lose on the deal if I got it,
except for the exposure. C'est la vie.
Having problems with a certain
guitar manufacturer as well. An ongoing saga of a bass that was mis-built
twice and is currently undergoing a third...well, not if I can help it.
Give me one out of stock and let me not have to think about you or your
wretched quality control department again.
And one parting thought:
it's not the look, it's the feel; it's not the heat, it's the heart;
it's not the words, it's the emotion; it's not the anger...it's what
you do with it.
July 19th *** "The Muse(ic)
In Me"
Music, as long as I
can remember, has been a driving force in my life. I am, without
any denial, a CD whore. That comes from working at a record store
for six years through high school & college. All the promos,
all the free stuff...god, I get chills just remembering it. And it's
so many things...the covers, the liner notes...I love the packaging of
some albums better than the music (I'm sure you've all had that same distressing
experience)...for example, U2's Pop disk. Horrid music, great
packaging.
I've had the point of view
for a long time that, for an artist, there has to be a wall between their
creative heart and their marketing genius. I wrote a couple articles
regarding this stuff for a local music zine called Screed a couple
years ago and got some good responses from people, which is why I'm bringing
it up again.
Y'see, everything is marketable.
Just look at Melrose Place, Marilyn Manson or McDonalds.
The first, a t.v. show, had terrible writing and worse acting, yet was
a hit due to the shocking and sexual nature of it's topics. The second,
a musical persona/group, is making money from the same sexual escapades
and stage shock that Alice Cooper and David Bowie perfected years ago.
And the last, well, has taken over the world with a lowest common denominator
food product. Yes, I eat there occasionally too, but for the sake
of the argument, you get the point.
Oh, yeah, the point.
Be careful in your day-to-day eating, watching and musical purchases.
Cake without icing might taste interesting, but eventually you realize
you've eaten nothing of value to you.
And some of you might say,
"Scot, you're being an egotistical bastard...I suppose you think all of
your music and writing is of more worth than any of those folks you just
mentioned!" No, of course not. But I value soul along with
marketing. If what you do is from the heart, and you can find a way
to reach the people, right on. I love Alice Cooper, for example.
Shock mixed with great songwriting and great musicianship (especially the
original A.C. band). Perfect.
My muse? More like muses...the
evening news, idiots that talk around me (how can you base your judgement
of someone on their sexuality? That's another topic....), my loves,
my fiance, my friends, the stars, etc.
*sigh* Later, gators...gotta
go watch Ally McBeal...and if you believe that, well, you better
re-read this entry....
July 15th *** "Takin'
Care O' Bidness!"
I'm playing with three
different bands on three consecutive days starting tonight. Tonight
I have practice with DaVinci's
Burden, my band of about a year and a half. We've recorded some
stuff and should have it out shortly (I hope). It's very textural
stuff, with a leaning toward world rhythms...sort of avant garde pop with
a Picasso-esque slant to it. Does that make sense? Send me
a tape to the Diabolical Kitten Publishing address and I'll dub you off
a copy...you can decide for yourself. Don't forget the SASE too.
I'm a starving artists for crying out loud.
Then, Friday, I'm playing
with DD and his band. His brother, whose initials are also DD, works
at the company I work for, though at a different location. From the
way he described the music it's very rock n' roll, sort of Mellancamp-esque,
which isn't really my thing, but you never know. It seems that no
one thing will ever really satisfy me. Heck, part of me still wants
to shuck it all, hunker down and just play the one-man-acoustic-band role.
It'd take work (I'm a bassist, after all, not a guitarist) but I could
do it. Apparently DD's band just finished recording and their bassist
and other guitarist flaked out (imagine that...musicians flaking out...no
wonder we've got such a bad rep, huh?) during the process. C'est
la vie. I'll keep you updated.
And Saturday I'm playing with
T., working on re-working and re-designing some old tunes and conjuring
schemes to create a new version of an old band that never got it's due.
That is to say, we're re-forming an old band with the hopes of not re-making
some mistakes. Make sense? Sure. Of course. Some
would say that's like re-marrying your ex-wife...well, if your ex-wife
and you got a divorce over one argument that could've been averted, wouldn't
you want to try again?
*sigh* Gonna be a long
couple of days...I'll write more if I make it through.
By the way, a re-run of Alice
Cooper's appearance on Letterman was on last night. He had a guitarist
with him and they played with the Late Show Orchestra, or whatever Paul
Schaeffer calls his merry band. No More Mr. Nice Guy was the
tune...wish it would have been The Ballad Of Dwight Frye, but c'est
la vie. Alice looks old, but he sounded great. I wonder what
keeps him going. I wonder what will keep me going. There must
be mountains of desire out there just overtop of the next ridge, the one
I'm climbing right now. Desire. The quest. Emotion.
All for the drama, all for
the truth...that's what we're all gunning for, isn't it?
July 12th *** "Oh, How
Death Beckons?"
And somehow, even that
isn't so funny, is it? I'm currently reading an incredibly fascinating
book by Sherwin B. Nuland called How We Die and it's really opening
my eyes to a lot of things. Like the fact that even though my doctor's
told me the various ways that my having diabetes is going to rid the world
of me sooner than the normal person (well, not in those terms, but you
get the point) I never really let it hit home. And the frailty of
human life is amazing as well.
I think of my aunt who died
from cancer earlier this year. And my grandfather, who taught me
so much that mere words cannot do his wisdom justice. And my grandmother,
who died at Thanksgiving some years back. They passed. We all
pass. The new leaves adorn the tree that we, eventually, must fall
from to become detritus on the forest floor and with which to nourish the
newest of the leaves.
We must not forget that what
we leave behind is the fodder for the coming ones. Our words and
deeds illuminate the future. Even if there is an Illuminati and President
Clinton is a puppet on a string (which is, indeed, hard to argue against),
our single lives outweigh those things. Fight for liberty, justice
and the solidarity of humankind so that we do not, by our mere apathy,
enslave ourselves to a few who believe themselves to be illuminated...they
are the ones still chained to the Greek cave wall, watching shadows from
the fire dance instead of the light outside which is life.
But, hey, as B. said:
"Maybe Y2K will take care of all of it."
Word up, brother....
July 5th *** "Egads,
My Eyes Are Bleeding!"
Well, at least it feels like my eyes are
bleeding. Too many things on my mind right now. It seems that
the more you give, the more you open yourself, the more likely you are
to take hits. Not that I'm wounded...far from it. But I've
got bruises on my soul that, a year ago, would never have been there under
any circumstance. That's good. Experience. Maybe that's
what I've been missing these last couple of years, experience.
I'm a writer and a musician, though I don't feel
like much of either one right now. Burdened by too many "real life"
problems. The art reflects the life, but you know how when you look
in the mirror some things don't quite fit? Maybe that's just me.
Good news, though...Joseph-Beth Booksellers is having
a local author fair in October and they've invited me to attend.
Need to call Barb back about that tomorrow. By the way, if you're
in Cincinnati, go to the Joseph-Beth in the Rookwood Pavilion...great store
(not just because they stock my books either).
I'm learning more and more how much I need to appreciate
my friends and family. Mainly because my life is moving on, quicker
and quicker. I'm happy. I want to move on. I want to
have action and accomplish things. I don't want to be tired anymore.
I don't want to work at <insert acronym here> anymore. I want
to live and not just be alive. T., my love, my mom and dad, G., B.,
T. and K. have all helped me to where I am. There are others, of
course, but I'm not writing a novel.
I'm just trying to keep my eyes from bleeding.
July 4th ***"You Bastards!"
Well, it was a great weekend so far.
T. and I went to see the "South Park" movie on Friday after a particularly
harrowing day for me. Let me just say that state governments, even
for as good a job as they do sometimes, are also very horribly incompetent
at others. That's okay. I bear no ill will. And "South
Park" helped.
You may say to yourself, "Scot, you seem so nice
and wholesome...how can you watch that stuff?" First, I'd tell you
you're insane and don't know me at all. Then I'd tell you that this
film is, by far, the funniest piece of work ever committed to the screens
of America. Yes, there is "bad" language (but remember, as George
Carlin says, it's not the word that's bad, it's the intent behind the word).
Yes, there is "toilet humor". Yes, it's rather base. No, if
I had children, I wouldn't take them to see it.
But let me say this too: every bit of humor
has truth in it. I laughed all the way through the flick, as did
T. Even the zinger Mr. Garrison gave about women: "I don't trust
anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die." Hilarious.
Taking the things that you'd usually laugh about over dinner with your
friends, never daring to speak them aloud in everyday conversation, and
taking them out into the sunshine for the world to see...and laugh about.
If you don't like it, blame Canada...and remember
that freedom means giving everyone a chance to make you laugh.
June 27th ***"Achtung,
My Man!"
Today was a wonderful day...seriously. If
you know me at all, you realize how seldom I say things like that, but
today was wonderful. Went to look at a house with T. - not the T.
from the last entry, but T. my fiance. I guess I should find a way
to differentiate them, huh? The house wasn't much, but spending any
time at all with her is worth whatever pains I deal with at any other time.
Anyway....
Still no drummers. Been looking and posting
ads and stuff. Finding musicians now is so much harder than it was
when I was in high school and college. No amount of dedication in
musicians once they're older than, say, 21, unless they're playing in cover
bands. It's like age sucks their souls out.
Or maybe I'm just too driven. Perhaps.
I just know what I want to do, how to do it and what it takes...alas, being
that driven has its prices, which I know all too well. Dedication.
Achtung, my friends, achtung...dedication to living as opposed to just
being alive. That's where its at. That's the seed of truth
and the foundation of creativity...the blood flowing in your veins and
the pulse of life in your soul.
And, by the way, if I'm ever driving behind any
of you on the road and I see you flick a cigarette out onto the pavement
instead of disposing of it in some proper manner, expect me to pull up
beside you and power spit a loogie into your face.
Don't doubt my ill will towards the unrepentent
ones who don't take responsibility for their actions...your day will come.
Achtung, man, achtung.
June 26, 1999 *** "Think?
What, me? Think?"
My friend T. and I are starting a new band.
We played together for about three years in another one, back when I was
in college. He's one of my best friends, along with B., G., and K.
and we're into the same basic ideas for the band. I called a friend
of mine who plays drums (which we need) and who I've played with before
to join us. He immediately said yes. This morning he called,
right before we were supposed to get together to play for the first time,
and bailed.
Now, let me first say that this changes nothing
with DaVinci's
Burden; we're still playing, working in a drummer and pushing things
along, slowly but surely. And let me also say that I didn't badger
M., the drummer, into jumping on board with us. I told him what we
were doing and just asked...he jumped. His reasons for bailing were
very valid, though. The cover band he plays in takes up time, school
takes up time and his personal life takes up time. And I'm not angry,
not at all, in fact. Just confused.
Why is it that some people can't say 'no'?
Herman Melville said, "Only the man who says 'no' is free." Why?
Because it allows you to say 'yes' to the right things. Had M. told
me he had to think about it, that would have been great. As it is
now, we have a wasted practice day and no drummer. But that's cool.
T. and I will get things together.
And, just for the record, through college I went
full time, worked full time at a record store that, for about two years,
I also managed before (due to our owners' lack of business sense) we went
under, and played in F.C., which took a good deal of time. It's still
my most successful band, for a lot of good reasons. What did I sacrifice?
My personal life. The decision between personal life and music always,
always, went the way of music, and writing. That's what I
do. Of course, now I'm with a beautiful woman whom I love with all
my soul, but music and writing are what I do. Perhaps that
was the final bit of gold on our relationship is that she understands and
supports that, and what made me realize that everything is fantastic, but
it's better when you have someone to share it with.
But, back to the point at hand...don't make any
decision lightly, whether it's what you eat, what you wear, who you play
with or who you do. We make decisions everyday and every one is important.
Don't be the one caught treading air ten feet away from the window ledge,
waiting to fall like Wyle E. Coyote. I've been there and, as Warren
Zevon said so eloquently, "It ain't that pretty at all."
June 24, 1999 *** "Y2K"
It seems to me that the hoopla over the "Y2K" horror is getting less attention
in the media these days. My close friend B. and I had a nice chuckle
over it this evening on the phone. FEMA, a federal agency, has a
nice packet with information on storing food and playing nice with the
folks who'll be looting your house once the big one hits.
Money and all sorts of things along with the computer systems are supposed
to go haywire.
Hmmm...let's see...perhaps
common sense, which we all know is far from common, is a good thing to
use. For instance, if the NYSE is afraid of folks pulling their money
out when it gets close to the new year, how about a freeze on trading from
October 15th on until January 30, 2000? Sure, the economy would slow
to a halt, but it seems to me that safety is the better part of valor.
If money is so much your god that, even in the face of what was months
ago being called an impending catastrophe by Dan Rather, you'd rather forge
ahead, then you deserve what you get.
And rationing? Hey,
I'm the first to tell you that come November 1st I'm going to take an extra
trip to the pharmacy to stock up on syringes and insulin. Food and
money are good to have, but without my medicine, I'm a dead motherf*cker.
Paranoia? Am I succumbing? Hey, I don't know enough about computers
to know what's going to happen there. But if two digits in a code
for a date can completely turn the entire human race into a bunch of blathering
idiots...wait, most of us are already...if two digits can turn the entire
human race into homicidal, looting idiots, I want to be the one who thought
ahead.
All I can advise is this:
common sense. In the months to come, listen and learn. Watch
Dan Rather and then find the real news, like the L.A. County Sewage Treatment
Center's attempt to test their computers for the "Y2K bug"...talk about
a sh*tty experience. If you're going to arm yourself, do it wisely.
If you're going to stock up, do it wisely. And if things do go completely
freakin' bonko, gonzo insane (like B. is hoping they will, just for the
excitement) you can come join me.
I'll be in the bomb shelter
in the backyard...a leftover from another "scare."
Peace out....