Thursday, April 25, 2013

Free Floating Confusion

I'm never in the right place at the right time when I think of good things to say, so I either say nothing or I say not good things.

Saying something seems necessary for me to convince myself I have one foot on the ground and that I haven't fallen off the edge for good.  I do worry that I could fade away into fantasyland and not return.  From the outside that looks like a person oblivious to his surroundings, rocking back and forth staring at the wall of his rubber room.

We don't want that, do we?  I do not think I do.  Why I tread so close to that line, I may never know.  I blame society, racism, sexism, islamophobia, hetreophobia, and homophobia.   Those are things you can blame for your confusion without question.  Especially if you recast confusion as persecution.

If anyone can do that, I can.  Where this activity loses it's charm is at that point when you can no longer believe your own lies and excuses.  Sure, I'm a victim, but maybe not enough of a victim to justify my downfall and lack of healthy up lift.

That part is tough because it leaves the obvious alternative staring one in the face.   The alternative is to examine any failings of my own which can't be satisfactorily pinned on society and them.

I know I could get others to encourage pinning my difficulties and weaknesses on a host of things which beg the question.  But at the moment I'm in one of those states of mind characterized by not buying all my internal lies and theories.

Maybe the playing of music for no good reason actually is helping keep my feet somewhere near the ground.   I don't know.

I may have to play Sat night to help out the Mormon tabernacle choir.   We'll see.  If he has that drummer there, then I won't play.  They sent out a thing inviting me to the event, and also to play.  Maybe I just don't want to hurt his feelings or his girlfriend's.   I don't know.  I cannot imagine how I would benefit them musically.

He's a one man show, player-singer and that means he has to change to bring in instruments.  He plays well, but sometimes you have to not try to play all the parts or it is no fun to be a sideman.

Throw in the world's worst, least aware drummer, and we got us an event to remember.  

I'm skeptical, to say the least.  Must be guilt or something.  In one sense I fell like I'm being a friend.  In another I feel like a sucker.


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


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