Tonight's Mood

Is the title of this painting...

No, it isn't "Tonight's Mood". Keep guessing. It's one of Salvador Dali's.

Some more randomness.

I have been thinking a lot about a childhood TV friend of mine: Casper the Friendly Ghost. How did he die? I have got it in my head that he had no friends as a kid, and was really sad about it. He went to a wishing well one day and tried to wish that he could have a friend. Instead of having his wish come true he accidentally fell in and died.

He, in fact, was cursed. Think about it. He has had to roam the earth, dead, looking for companionship. At the end of each episode he makes a friend only to find himself friendless in the next episode. He is still depressed, but can't kill himself because he's already dead. How cruel of an afterlife is that? I can't think of a more tragic existence. But he was always willing to keep on trying and getting hurt, just to have one more shot of finding someone to be his friend.

I dug out my very first guitar. It is an old Yamaha classical with a solid spruce top and rosewood back, neck, fret board, and sides. A pretty nice old guitar, getting on to about 26 years. I am the third owner and played the hell out of the thing in the late eighties--a super young kid with visions of becoming the next Jimmy Page or Eddie Van Halen. Yeah, I didn't quite develop those abilities. I am good, real good, though. I just am not that kind of player. I am not a juke box. I will hardly play anything by anyone else. I don't see the point. I didn't get into guitar playing to play other people's music. I got into it to make my own, and I do it well.

Some of you already know this, and I am working hard on my music once more. I see my years and know that any window that is left is open but a crack. I have been on a tear lately--almost mad. These songs have been coming out of thin air, seemingly, and someone here, someone that I just recently started communication with, has encouraged me to see a music publisher. I respect her opinion and am on that journey. To be honest, I have no idea what I am doing. Wish me luck.

I'm, at the moment, supposed to be compiling my demos for someone and as soon as I got that underway the transmissions came: Write this song, NOW!!! Oh God, thanks. I am honored for this gift, but people are depending on me to....Write this song now, OR ELSE!!! Oh, screw it. Okay, I am not getting dressed and am now holding my guitar, what? *Transmission* Holy crap! This is amazing stuff. My voice is literally dripping out onto my strings.

I can see now why certain things are the way they are in my life. I am subject to something that demands my attention. Everything that I think I can have, or want to have, slips away from me and it seems to be some cruel formula for inspiration. Hey, whatever, so long as I get to enjoy the fruits of my labor someday.

Speaking of inspiration, I have tried a time or two to express this magical feeling to those who inspire me. It usually just weirds the heck out of them and I should know better by now just how overwhelming some statements of such candid sincerity can be. Yeah, I should know better by now, but it nearly kills me to stay mute. So, bollocks to being cool. I fly my dork flag high and proud. I'd rather be honest than look good in insincerity and pretense. This will probably ensure my life dancing outside the velvet rope, but at least I can still dance. I'd much rather dance in the alley, or in the streets in bare feet. Isn't the best club whatever isn't happening inside a funhouse of vapid souls? I dig life.

Back to what I was thinking of before, I often wonder if it gets lost on them in time, my impression. Do I fade away just like everyone else? I'd like to think I'm different, but that is a pretty arrogant way of seeing oneself. Although arrogant, it might be what motivates me, so I won't mess with it. If I am forgotten, then I must have been replaced by something good, I hope. It would make me feel better to know that what is left of me has become part of their collage of happiness. Although somewhat lost, I am still there somewhere.

See, I was going through my voice mail the other day. I don't get many calls, but I did have someone call me while I was unable to answer and they left a voice message. Well, my voice mail was making me listen to messages that I had not erased yet. I had a real hard time erasing one because I feel like it might be the last time I will hear that voice that way ever again. It really troubled me to erase this. I forgot it was there and I had to listen to it about three times before I thought: Wouldn't it be much better to just have the messages fade a bit, and not leave you entirely?

Why can't some messages be like my thoughts and feelings? But, I needed to make room, and erased it. I admit that I felt sad afterward. Is this normal? Sheesh, I don't even want to know anymore. But then again, my thoughts and feelings don't fade away much, especially when it comes to those people who inspire me. I am left with a cacophony of longing and muse.

Again: Do I fade away just like everyone else?