All I want is to be totally out of touch. Isn't there anyway to be totally out of touch with the world? I was having a good night and then I saw something someone wrote on facebook that I knew was going to hurt someone's feelings and it just made me furiously upset. But it's all so stupid. Nothing is worth getting upset about. We're all just passing through this world. It's going to be over and done with before we can blink an eye.
Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. I just feel stupid for even getting upset. I want desperately to be totally out of touch because I just want peace.
Damn the world and the people in it. Damn facebook. I don't want anyone to bother me and I don't want to be bothered. I don't want to see what people have to say about other people; I don't want to see what people say about me. I don't want to care. I don't want to get upset. I want desperately to be out of touch.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Maybe
Everyday, death comes a little closer. I see him just behind the tree, and just around the corner. He stalks me, but I don't care anymore. At least I think I don't. Would my defenses cause me to run were he to knock on my door right now? Or would I open it and ask him in? Ah, the relief from worry is alluring. To breathe that last breath, to finish that final struggle. It's so tempting. But there is nothing pretty about it: the decay, the rot, the stench. But at my age, and now that I no longer know how to provide security for my love ones, I cannot help but wonder if isn't time for me to cross that lonely bridge.
I have a good life, but full of worry. I suppose sloth has delivered me to the edge of ruin. But maybe it was the course I was supposed to run. Used to, before I became legally blind and when my hearing was better, I worked quite a bit; I ran the race. But now I tire of not knowing what lane to run in. I'm just tired. Tired of having troubles that I cannot pay for; tired of cars breaking down that I cannot repair; tired of worrying about the trees and tree limbs that need cutting and trimming; tired of first world problems, I suppose. But mostly I'm just tired of not knowing how to make money.
When Adam fell from grace, God punished him by demanding he earn his living by the sweat of his brow. I tire of wondering how.
Maybe today I'll walk down that path and hold hands with that old foe; maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after.
Until that day.
I have a good life, but full of worry. I suppose sloth has delivered me to the edge of ruin. But maybe it was the course I was supposed to run. Used to, before I became legally blind and when my hearing was better, I worked quite a bit; I ran the race. But now I tire of not knowing what lane to run in. I'm just tired. Tired of having troubles that I cannot pay for; tired of cars breaking down that I cannot repair; tired of worrying about the trees and tree limbs that need cutting and trimming; tired of first world problems, I suppose. But mostly I'm just tired of not knowing how to make money.
When Adam fell from grace, God punished him by demanding he earn his living by the sweat of his brow. I tire of wondering how.
Maybe today I'll walk down that path and hold hands with that old foe; maybe tomorrow, maybe the day after.
Until that day.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Words
We can see our sadness now. It surrounds us like ghosts in an old parlor, a constant reminder that words once spoken can never be retracted. As all creatures who turned on one another and then recoil, we try to maintain a balance, a semblance of civility. But the ghosts will not go away. Their shadows fall behind us and in front of us. We walk slowly for fear of falling into that dark night. I would say I do not believe in ghosts but it would do me no good; denial will not make them go. I feel them pressing upon me from every side, crushing me, invading me, possessing me even to the bone and marrow. Words. The grief of gall carries us on the current; its turbulence unrelenting. To speak is death.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Both sides now
Facebook is not a safe place for two-faced people. For as sure as the night follows the day, both sides of their face will eventually be seen by all.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Nocturnal
It's really sort of deceptive when I complain about the nights I'm up and down with insomnia. I make it sound as if it's awful not being able to sleep, and I suppose it is the following day when I'm so tired I can't get much done. But in truth, I love the silence of the night. It's sort of like being stranded in a space station; the continual hum of solitude soothes my soul. Even watching old television shows are better. It's as if no one else in the world is watching 'em but me. I suppose that's why I've always had trouble with a day job; during the daylight, I'm tired, weak and long for the night when the world is mine.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Heart and Soul
I can’t find my heart. I look for it through clear corridors
in time. It’s there, I’m sure of that, but it’s changed. I took it for granted
in my twenties. But even then, it seemed something mystical, an unknown
destination you assumed to be bound for, with no idea of a departure date or
length of stay. At times, it feels the innermost part of my being is kept a
safe distance from me in some secret chamber, yet I am in constant contact and
guided by that force. I feel sure our creator thought it best for us not to
know the depths of our heart; he dolls out awareness in small doses because he
knows we wouldn’t understand.
The universe is in the heart; all things, including the
hearts of all others, reside there. But until we can see it from the inside, our only clue to the depth of this realm is what a sense in our soul.
If we knew what
our souls were and where they were kept, then we would be robbed of the
journey, the excitement of finding secret passageways and corridors along the
way. For all we know, our soul guides us and it, too, thinks it best to supply
information in small doses, just enough to keep us searching for our heart and soul.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Questions
I am frantically trying to decide what to do. I'm always frantically trying to decide what to do. Indecision is my life's theme. It is not a good theme; I wish I could change it, but I seem totally unable to do so. I'm constantly plagued by questions. Should I write? If so, what should I write? Should I write on my blog? Should I work on a novel? If I work on a novel, which one should I work on? Should I go back and rewrite the novel I wrote about six years ago but never published? Or should I write a memoir about my experiences with churches, and how corrupt they are? Or should I write that story as fiction? Or since I've played music most of my life, should I write a novel about rock & roll? How about a novel about rock & roll and religion?
All these questions about writing are constantly weighed against the question as to whether or not I should be playing music. I've drummed most of my life, but in the past year, I started singing, too. I've also been teaching myself to play guitar. Since I have sang in public, I'd say I'm much more of an accomplished singer than a guitar player. But I am also entertaining the thought of playing acoustic guitar on stage. I went to Florida on vacation a few weeks ago. Prior to leaving, a guitar player friend of mine talked to me about doing an acoustic duo, with me singing and him playing guitar. Hopefully, at some point, after much practice I'm sure, I'd get good enough on guitar to strum along on a few songs. But I was also asked recently if I'd want to front a band as the lead singer, and only drumming occasionally. That also sounds incredibly interesting and challenging. Who doesn't want to be Mick Jagger?
These opportunities open up many more questions. Should I put together a band together with me drumming? Should I put a band together with me fronting it as a singer? Should I just do the acoustic duo? Should I try to write and drum at the same time? I sort of know the answer to that one: I'm not good at multitasking. When I'm playing music, I tend to work at it constantly, which leaves no time for writing.
And then there's the question of whether or not I want to do more damage to my hearing. The loud volume of drumming and rock & roll has taken such a toll on my hearing that I now have to wear hearing aids at rehearsals in order to understand what people are saying. Drumming robs me of a little more hearing each time I do it. People always ask me, "Can't you wear earplugs?" The answer is, "yes, I can, but I usually take them out because I can't hear the music well enough with them in." And I've been told by doctors that hearing protection will not totally protect someone with extensive hearing loss such as mine. Even with earplugs, a huge amount of volume is still absorbed through the jawbone and skin. And when I learn new songs, I have to wear headphones, and everyone says that headphones do tremendous damage.
Besides the hearing damage, there's really very little money to be made drumming in local bars. Club owners act as if they are showing more grace than God if they pay as little as $50 a night. When you figure in the price of gas and drumsticks, which have to be replaced much more often than these merciful gods realize, and the occasional new set of drumheads, around $200, then you quickly realize that one rarely makes any money playing music. More often than not, one pays to play; hence, another question. Why do it?
All these questions haunt me to the point of exhaustion. Seriously! I'm constantly trying to figure out what to do. So much so, that I get absolutely nothing done. I haven't written anything in weeks. Well, that's not exactly true. If it were, you wouldn't be reading this. The truth is that I finally forced myself to sit down and share my dilemma with you in this blog.
Can you tell me what I should I do?
Now I'm asking you, the reader, questions. You see, there's no end to it. These questions increase exponentially.
I can't start writing a novel if I know I'm going to get sidetracked playing music, and I can't play music if I know I'm going to have to sit at my desk writing for hours and hours everyday.
Does this sound unstable? Hell YES. There is a scripture that says a double minded man is unstable in all his ways. I don't know about the rest of the Bible, but that verse is certainly true.
But I can't go on this way. I've got to decide what to do and what not to do. I want to write because I've got stories to share, but to a certain degree, I fear that I'm not smart enough to write a novel. I'm not the sort of person who outlines and thinks of dramatic questions and plots, climaxes, endings, and all that. But I also fear that drumming and singing are merely a waste of time. Writing is something that lives on. Music merely satisfies the moment if it's not recorded.
As I read and reread the previous paragraph, I'm struck by the recurring word, "fear." Once again, I'm reminded of the ageless wisdom of Franklin D. Roosevelt, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."
Maybe I need to conquer my fears as much as I need to decide what to do and what not to do. But now I have to figure out which fear to conquer first. You see, these damn questions never end.
All these questions about writing are constantly weighed against the question as to whether or not I should be playing music. I've drummed most of my life, but in the past year, I started singing, too. I've also been teaching myself to play guitar. Since I have sang in public, I'd say I'm much more of an accomplished singer than a guitar player. But I am also entertaining the thought of playing acoustic guitar on stage. I went to Florida on vacation a few weeks ago. Prior to leaving, a guitar player friend of mine talked to me about doing an acoustic duo, with me singing and him playing guitar. Hopefully, at some point, after much practice I'm sure, I'd get good enough on guitar to strum along on a few songs. But I was also asked recently if I'd want to front a band as the lead singer, and only drumming occasionally. That also sounds incredibly interesting and challenging. Who doesn't want to be Mick Jagger?
These opportunities open up many more questions. Should I put together a band together with me drumming? Should I put a band together with me fronting it as a singer? Should I just do the acoustic duo? Should I try to write and drum at the same time? I sort of know the answer to that one: I'm not good at multitasking. When I'm playing music, I tend to work at it constantly, which leaves no time for writing.
And then there's the question of whether or not I want to do more damage to my hearing. The loud volume of drumming and rock & roll has taken such a toll on my hearing that I now have to wear hearing aids at rehearsals in order to understand what people are saying. Drumming robs me of a little more hearing each time I do it. People always ask me, "Can't you wear earplugs?" The answer is, "yes, I can, but I usually take them out because I can't hear the music well enough with them in." And I've been told by doctors that hearing protection will not totally protect someone with extensive hearing loss such as mine. Even with earplugs, a huge amount of volume is still absorbed through the jawbone and skin. And when I learn new songs, I have to wear headphones, and everyone says that headphones do tremendous damage.
Besides the hearing damage, there's really very little money to be made drumming in local bars. Club owners act as if they are showing more grace than God if they pay as little as $50 a night. When you figure in the price of gas and drumsticks, which have to be replaced much more often than these merciful gods realize, and the occasional new set of drumheads, around $200, then you quickly realize that one rarely makes any money playing music. More often than not, one pays to play; hence, another question. Why do it?
All these questions haunt me to the point of exhaustion. Seriously! I'm constantly trying to figure out what to do. So much so, that I get absolutely nothing done. I haven't written anything in weeks. Well, that's not exactly true. If it were, you wouldn't be reading this. The truth is that I finally forced myself to sit down and share my dilemma with you in this blog.
Can you tell me what I should I do?
Now I'm asking you, the reader, questions. You see, there's no end to it. These questions increase exponentially.
I can't start writing a novel if I know I'm going to get sidetracked playing music, and I can't play music if I know I'm going to have to sit at my desk writing for hours and hours everyday.
Does this sound unstable? Hell YES. There is a scripture that says a double minded man is unstable in all his ways. I don't know about the rest of the Bible, but that verse is certainly true.
But I can't go on this way. I've got to decide what to do and what not to do. I want to write because I've got stories to share, but to a certain degree, I fear that I'm not smart enough to write a novel. I'm not the sort of person who outlines and thinks of dramatic questions and plots, climaxes, endings, and all that. But I also fear that drumming and singing are merely a waste of time. Writing is something that lives on. Music merely satisfies the moment if it's not recorded.
As I read and reread the previous paragraph, I'm struck by the recurring word, "fear." Once again, I'm reminded of the ageless wisdom of Franklin D. Roosevelt, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."
Maybe I need to conquer my fears as much as I need to decide what to do and what not to do. But now I have to figure out which fear to conquer first. You see, these damn questions never end.
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