Brought to you by the effects of Stockholm Syndrome from holding myself hostage for so many years.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
I've got no game plan. It's all freakin' crazy, you know? I get out of bed each day and I always marvel that this shit keeps going on for me: life. I say shit but I mean it in the best possible way.
I had a strange Mother's Day. Don't worry, I took care of my ma; you better have, yourselves. Anyway, today was like I was on ludes. I laid in my bed at night without so much as a wink and had a hair brained idea floating in my head to re-wire one of my electric guitars. So, here I am at 5:30 AM getting out the soldering station and working out the ideas I had rumbling in my head. I burnt myself pretty bad, due to being a tad sleep deprived. My finger hurts pretty bad still because of it. Well, the wiring job worked out perfect and I have much better "Q" control over the signal.
I know you don't come here to hear me spout off about "Q" sweep and that crap. There's a point to all of this I'm sure. You trust me, well don't you? Okay, good, we got that all sorted then. After I got done with that I got myself ready to take care of some business at a meeting. Yeah, on Mother's Day. I spent an hour after that driving in an ever increasing state of zonk. I thought of Full Throttle. I thought of Mountain Dew MDX. No, uh-uh, I passed on all that crap and went straight to my bed just before noon.
I sometimes sleep with one of my guitars, pen and notebook, if it is a nap. This way I can bang out something that comes to me in the creative, yet elusive, half-waking hall of the subconscious/conscious ballet. Some of the ideas that I write are genius. Other ideas, well, are pretty darn hilarious and not a lick of genius to burden them from making a shit taco of laughter. Yeah, that's the first time you've heard that phrase and it is phrases like that that come to me at times of in and out--oh, not sex you sillies!
I had a Bert Jansch album "The Black Swan" on repeat during this five-hour session of "slupor". (I'm full of new words right now.) It was really cool because while that album was playing I transposed Smiths songs over them, all while dreaming about uncertain hopes coming to fruition, losing/gaining them, and then moving on to pure fantasy. Somewhere in all this REM ga-ga, I came up with an idea to build a tool that will help me finish fixing Clyde (my truck).
Why I am not super rich is anybody's guess. I can't blame my Mother's side of the family for that--it's Mother's day, fer cryin' out loud. I think I didn't drink enough carrot juice as a kid, or maybe it was too much...who knows. If I take a cue from President Clinton and play "The Definition Game" then I am super rich already. My brain hasn't yet been sold by the pound (Genesis, thank you). I figure when I stop enjoying it so selfishly that I just may find myself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife, behind the wheel of a large automobile (thanks, Talking Heads). Unless I fall into a domestic "tiger trap", I can't see that happening real soon. However, I have seen cracks appearing in my bachelorhood.
Seriously though, this is what I get for having no game plan and I am having fun, for a change.