Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Maybe Time to Quit Again

Playing the stupid blues harp used to be fun.  Sometimes.  At the very least it was a way for me to scream and cry without anyone knowing that was what it was about for me.  The one place I could express whatever that gut knotting conflict that consumes me is.  Sometimes.

There were times that I threw away the harmonicas--out the car window--and quit for a year or so.  There were times I did other, more productive, intellectually challenging things.  That must have been a long time ago.

In my usual foggy, delusional view of life, I had come to think I was at least a mediocre and somewhat original player.  Then the subject of Orange Blossom Special came up, and there was a guy who can play it well.

I still cannot play it.  Not only do I just not get it, but whatever it is that you have to do to play it right seems beyond the capability of how my body is made.  Can't do it!! Can't can't can't.

On top of that I do not even like it that well.  I admire those who can play it, and kudos to them.  It's a friggin fiddle tune, and unless it is played like a mellow violin, I don't much like fiddle.  Only sometimes do I like bluegrass.  Nothing wrong with it but it does not hit me where I live.

I tried to figure out the OBS again, and got so frustrated I threw the harmonica across the room, and I refuse to go pick it up. Right now if I get near it I will smash it under my shoe.  Too bad no boots are handy.  I do have a sledge hammer, though.

If I cannot play that tune and play it as it should be played, I must be much worse than mediocre.  I'm no good at all.  Nice people around here but I wish I had never started playing with them.  They get the kind of country music that I don't and they like orange blossom hell.

I'm going to avoid the next two or three get togethers where people play, and often ask me to sit on things I don't know, don't like, and don't understand.  It has ceased being fun because that gut thing gets no outlet with this stuff.  And seeking out more bluesy or rocking venues would mean dealing with less likable musicians.  Everyone's a badass in some of that, or drunk or drugged, and I don't like anyone right this minute.

I can't turn down the group up here on the mountain if they expect me to come play tomorrow night, but after that I may lay off for a long time.

It isn't that I even want to play that tune, although tune gives it more clarity than I think it deserves. It is a classic in some circles. I wish only fiddles were allowed to play it.  It is that I should be able to do it.  If I could I would play it once, then tell people that's the first and last time.  But I can not do it.

It makes me want to drink, I swear.  And move away.  And I hate being me, even though I wouldn't want to be anyone else I know, just maybe be sane like some people I know.

Weird how the most insignificant thing can set a person into a psychotic self-destructive rage.  Or at least make you feel like you are inches away from letting reality go completely.   That's my life.   One tiresome, losing battle against nothing.

I do have a theory about Orange BS and some of the other music I just don't feel.  I may not be white enough.  It's kind of a reverse on Steve Martin's Jerk.  Then again, I'm not very black either.  I'm not even sure I'm human.

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Ballistic Mountain, CA, United States
Like spring on a summer's day


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