Narcissism has brought me to this point...narcissism, the self-fulfilling void that is now in my life with the deletion of my archaic myspace account, and Ryan Sampson...
That beautiful almost ethereal feeling of posting whatever the hell you want to on an online format for friends and the feeling of receiving almost instant feedback is a relatively new way to view the process of "creative" or "reflective" writing. Even more it is a very simple way to speak candidly about your life; there are no clinking bottles and whitesnake songs in the Mulligans background distracting you and your friends while trying to hash out current life style wants, regrets, dreams, fails, etc. The computer screen itself never acuses you of being a crazy, egocentric, manic-depressive mess, it never takes into account the fact that you may have went a little over-board on the painkillers and bright eyes records today, in fact the computer screen is whatever you make it out to be. Or maybe it's just a 90's thing, the romanticism of typing out the daily thoughts and stresses of the day (Dougie Howser Syndrome). I forgot how much I enjoy the sound of the keyboard clicking and clacking away (with the lawrence arms record in the background) and moreover the joy of writing something that is not in an academic context. I have learned the art of vomitting up ten page research papers in such a reflexive way that it is more automated and similar to taking a mental shit than actually creating something of significance. I miss that outlet...hell I miss myspace. So when I saw Ryan's post it reminded me of my past joys of coming home a bit 'crunk' and typing out my frustrations/elation/mental ejaculations...
Facebook is so much creepier and less personal, I had no idea that I was so 'blessed' to have 544 friends, not to mention the fact that my elderly japanese mother is one of said friends. Not really a great idea to post candidly when you are a manicly-depressed musician who walks the fine line of social deviance daily. 544 friends haha...albeit I literally know and get along with hundreds of people after playing shows in boise the last decade, I just find this humorous because of all these people I wonder how many people that profess to being my friend even know my first and last name...not Useless J or J.
I was in a very self-reflective mood today and was thinking about how in a heartbeat I would eliminate 95% of the people in my life for the 5% that I truly cherish and love. I have no idea how I ended up with such an amazing 5%...these are people I would/will kill for or take a bullet for (a faily hollow threat for a man of my mental inclinations I suppose). I have no idea how I have 'tricked' them into caring about me so much when they have seen all the aspects of me, shit I barely like me so I have no idea what they see but they have literally saved my life. Last saturday I was with alot of these aforementioned 5% at my 28th annual cheating of death party...28...that shit rolls off the tongue like a turd impregnated with razors, burnt hair, and wasp stingers.
As is in most cases; progression towards the ultimate end seems to always force us to look back in our past to find a warm nostalgic blanket to wear in the winterfields of life. I was thinking today about how fuckin different I was ten years ago. I was passionate, affectionate, confident, thoughtful, full of life, skinny/healthy and usually stoned. I jumped at a chance to argue politics or religion and armed with a headful of lyrics provided by fat-wreck-chords, epitaph and alternative tentacle bands (and a few good Marx quotes) I was ready to do battle with anyone who was willing. It didn't matter to me anyways because I would soon be a touring band for one of the aforementioned labels anyways right? Ha...the world was my oyster and I was going to fuck it. Nothing really brought me down back then, I remember that chilly winter I decided to 'live abroad' for a month; armed with only a 1993 nissan sentra, an assortment of marijuana paraphernalia, two binders of cds, a garbage bag full of band shirts and socks, and a trunkful of guitars I set off to make a point to my concerned parents. This was during my senior year of high school (I actually moved out of my parents' house my junior year but quickly bankrupted myself on drugs and booze and was forced to move back in for a couple months) and I had no plan on returning to my parents' house no matter how chilly the air was. Generally speaking I usually had a couch or floor to sleep on (again due to my amazing friends) but on some of those january nights that I slept in my car I still found solace in the fact that the world would not get me down no matter how hard it fuckin pushed me...and I suppose in essence it didn't...it took adulthood to finally conquer me
I was sitting in my car at a redlight today (on another fun filled day of bsu nonsense) and I realized the fundamental difference between that 18 year old kid sleeping in his car and the me that exists now... hope. Back then I was living in a constant state of excited apprehension, meaning I couldn't wait to meet the things that were obviously going to happen to me. I couldn't wait to meet the woman I would eventually fall in love with, couldn't wait to play my first warped tour, couldn't wait to get that doctorate, couldn't wait to buy a house and build a recording studio, and I couldn't wait to 'grow up.' I look back now on that time period (18-21) as the happiest time period of my life because I had- no debt, no real responsibility (outside of cashiering at a grocery store), no 'mental disorders,' no walls built around my heart, no social filters, no mistrust, and more importantly no shackles. I literally walked out of three different jobs back then because I was "too punk to suffer the proletariat shackles of the fascist capitalist pigs" haha besides I could just sell some bagged green if need be right?
Something happens to us later in life, it seems like we are all magnets and as we progress in age/experiences we begin to accumulate more and more random cold spiky metal that sticks to us. Broken heart? Slap some metal on. Death of a loved one? Slap some more metal on. Crushed dream? Clear a spot... I have recently realized that no matter how heavy our loads become, we still have the option to stop and look objectively at ourselves and maybe shed some of the shit that we have been carrying for so long. I know I have a reputation of being a fairly 'dark' person and this sounds like hippy jive, but I really mean it. Because in this atheist's eyes there is no promised sweet hereafter or second chance at life. I've spent the better part of the last 7 years hunkered down in my foxhole cursing the bombs life has dropped but never crawling out on to the battlefield. I know a lot of us are jaded and mistrusting because of things that we have experienced but what the fuck is the point of living a completely safe or isolated life? Yes-I can't be hurt anymore if I don't place any trust in people and I cannot ever have my heart broken again if I never try to love again...but when you look at these types of sentimental equations you begin to notice a dichotomous trade, we've now traded never being hurt with never trusting. If I have learned anything from the 5% I keep talking about it is that I don't have to go through my life alone (in fact it's rather obvious to those who truly know me that I would have never made it through the last couple years without them).
Anyways I am getting tired of typing now, the romance is leaving me, if you read this whole thing I apologize for the length but I guess I have been a bit 'pent up' when it comes to writing...I've missed it and I plan on continuing even if no one reads....dougie howser syndrome indeed
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