I Trust you to Kill Me

So I have to thank Charles for this moment.  Charles has the kind of blog I wish I had.  The kind of writing I wish I would focus in and do for a while, but I do not.   The thing that I learned from Charles is that it matters.  It matters, this moment, this faith , this inspiration, this powerful feeling of hope.  I do not know if I find any of that in Charles blog, but the simple fact is that Charles takes music seriously.  And for that, I thank Charles for being a good example for me.

Here is the thing, and I had started to write about this in the previous entry I think…but I had to go.  So I just hit publish, and got it out.  I believe in hope, I believe in faith, and I believe in pretty.  There are things in this world that are just simply so pretty, that they cancel everything else out.  I have been reading these snarky cynical blogs.  Blogs that are not cooly cynical like my buddy Will (I miss you Will, your a good man that I hope comes to my funeral).  Will has this amazingly developed cynicism.  This highly refined sense of it, and the irony that comes with it.  The language of Will’s cynical world view shakes my head, and makes me wonder about the nature of language so often it makes me happy.  Will is clearly a smart guy, and I think Will embraces that in the coolest way.  I also have known Will longer than just about any human on the planet.  And I have faith in Will’s brain.  He has a head start.

Anyway, there is an amazing sense of stupid cynicism in the world.  The shocking, the psuedo profane, the pretend gross out writing, the bodily function stuff.  I do the body function stuff too, but man I try to write about pee-ing with a sense of celebration.  But there are these blogs, and they are written and they are just sort of half assed thoughts posted in the idea of shocking me.

Heres the thing…there intent is transparent.  You write these words, and I think I know your doing it on purpose…your ego shows through.  It is sort of a celebration of the ego.  I have also seen this in some personal interactions I have had recently.  A person I know dragged me into some sort of interaction he was having, and god knows its fine that he would want to…but at least have the stones to call me an asshole.  Tell that other guy that I am a dick…do not create this sort of morality play for this unknowing person to play into.  The other guy had no idea what was going on, and the manipulation was clearly a manipulation.

I think about my ego, and my writing this on the internet.  In all honesty when I write words, I find that to be the least ego filled part of my day.  I am sitting here in sweat pants, and a disgusting t shirt, and my wonderful airwalk clog deals, and it is night time, and my ipod is covering my ears with this amazing sound.  I am trying to thinking this stuff through, just because I know Will is a good foil, and a trusted critic.  So as I type this, I find the significance of it sort of limited, and in a way limiting.  I am interested each day in the stats of this blog, so I think about the reader or audience…but I really do not think there is intent in the words themselves.

the song COME JOIN US by Bad Religion…thats a Christmas hymm for the ages.

For years I have sought out the absence of ego, in something.  My ego is apparently percieved as a giant thing…the shouting at the sun on the street corner.  But it is not.  I think people mistake my shouting for something entirly differant…I think people see me shouting at the sun…getting quoted in the paper, on the radio or tv, the king of all wausau media as Cuda said…and they only see my name.  I do not think they read what I said.  Or what I shout at the sun.

When I do the monkey dance, and shout at the sun about the greatness of the band StALl, maybe people mistake that for self promotion.  They see the monkey dance, and they dont hear the words.  This midwestern town…this strikingly reserved bullshit idea that any noice, any celebration is untoward.  I remember when my buddy Cuda told me that making faces when playing guitar was the sign of a bullshit guitar wanker.  I thought about that for a long time, and now I think he is wrong.  I mean we all love Otis, and very few people work less for those outside of himself than Otis.  What is the key?

I guess it is a combination of pot, and likeability.  Never got stoned with you, so I guess I am the outsider.

Regardless…

1.  I never got paid at Scott Street.

2.  The rock show at Elks Lodge, I paid for it, and I gave my buddy Tom all of the money.

I feel sort of bad about this perception of me, but so it goes.  It all about finding this sort of rhythm in writing.

I bought every Christmas gift at Dwellers.  Much Adio, Much Volcom, Garv is a good guy.