My Old Self (continued)

This paragraph was near the end of the previous post, it felt like a late detour but I still wanted to talk about it so I’m giving it it’s own post.

When I think about the end of all the bands and all my friendships in music I try to be as objective as possible and I wind up feeling sorry for the person it all happened to. I imagine I’d be on my side even if I weren’t me. Even if everyone lets you down and all friends are fair-weather you can still stick up for your self, your ego can be your id’s only ally and that’s fine.

When I watch the film of my memory I want to be a friend to the guy who lost all his friends. I don’t think “How could they do that to me?” I think “How could they do that to anybody?”

How this ties to the other post is that those years, from my start in Caught Off Guard to the end of Greystone Gardens and all the solo shows and Hellcat Maggies in between, represented the redemption of the pathetic story my life was up to that point. That if I channeled my bad experiences then they had positive value, they couldn’t hurt me anymore. The conviction that I had something special which life attempted to crush out of me would be confirmed.

So imagine you’re in a boat lost at sea and you want to row for your life while your boat mates are on a leisure cruise. Imagine you’re in a room filling with water and everyone but you has gills, that how disconnected I felt from everyone by the end.

No matter how much I told them I was frustrated they just kept saying “No we’re fine.”

My fatal flaw was that I couldn’t separate my social life from my artistic life. I always wanted to talk to my friends about the trouble of my bandmates thinking we’re not in trouble but all my friends were the bandmates who thought there wasn’t serious trouble.

When everything went down with the Caught Off Guard guys and I felt I’d be seriously wronged all my supposed friends said basically “Yeah they’re just like that so it’s no big deal and you’re at fault too anyway” because for them it was a social matter, which usually get quietly buried even they don’t outright blow over, but for me who thinks of everything as a surrogate family after a life time of dismissal it was yet another grand betrayal.

After I had to mourn for the whole thing. I was in denial at first that Greystone was broken up, then I was in denial that my time in music was done and I wanted to push on to my next thing right away. Then I slowly admitted that all I really want is to be alone.

So now I have to figure out who I want to be from here. Because I don’t want to be a used-to-be. When you’ve had a mohawk and/or been in a band you get a lot of doughy middle age guys who are varying degrees of drunk wanting to tell you about how they used to be in a band and/or had a mohawk. I’m not thrilled about morosely living in the past but I’m disgusted by people who are cheery about how they haven’t done a thing worth talking about in over a decade.

But now I’ve been a monk for 45 days and I’m mostly bored. I’ve never been good at merely entertaining myself and I’m not good at doing things without a long term goal, or at least a bigger goal in mind. There’s a scene in Fight Club when he says it became the reason he cut his hair and nails. That’s how I’ve always been. I have no problem changing my diet and exercise for something seemingly trivial like my singing voice but I can barely maintain the slightest changes in the name of doing something that I simply should.

Like I should get over everything and move on. Except without a grander reason to move on it’s tough not just to give in to dark nihilism.

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Singer/songwriter, jerk.

Posted in Pragmatism
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