I love watching the world. Seeing, watching, witnessing, enjoying, cringing, loving, hating, living and breathing this world. The way we reach and stretch ourselves. Looking deep in ourselves, finding ourselves, losing ourselves, loving ourselves and hating ourselves. Looking in the mirror and wondering, what the hell was I thinking? Laughing through the tears, and crying through the joy. Living, loving and losing ourselves to the cacaphony that is truly LIVING in our own skin. Laughing at others, while secretly jealous that they are free to express themselves, all the while not realizing that we are just as free as they are. Strength is what it takes, and those we attack are the ones we envy because they live the way we wish we were brave enough to live.
I sit here now, probably well past when I should have gone to bed. I sit here, watching the words fill the page, not entirely conscious of where they are coming from. I just listen, and wait, and watch, and listen. I feel the pull to write, and so I do. I write and I will write until this mood passes. If there is a point, then so much the better. If not, then I write to sate the deep desire to make words appear. Rolling this language around my mouth, getting a taste for the words, and sharing them. Giving in to myself, and writing my words. Giving in to my ID I guess. Except this has little to do with food, sleep, and most certainly has nothing to do with sex. So having said that, if one of my primal urges is to write, what does that say of my nature? You're welcome to make a comment or two about what you think.
More and more as our culture spirals deeper into the 21st century, I find it amusing the way that each generation tries to separate itself from the preceeding generation, but aiming to "shock and awe" our elders, all the while being baffled by the following generations behaviours. It wasn't so very long ago that we were youths, doing our best to separate ourselves from the expectations of "art" and "culture" that were imposed on us by our parents generation. And now, the following generation is doing the same to ours. Punks and preps had given way to goth, which begat emo, which begat hordes of joking, and people wearing skinny jeans that should really reconsider that fashion statement. We've made a disposable culture, where everything can be purchased, used and thrown away. Our "Celebrities", our music, our films, our commerce, our "must haves" and "really wants", our phones, our sex, our friends and even ourselves. Many are content to go with the flow. To move with the herd. Right to the proverbial abatoir. We scorn those who show true talent for the dime a dozen pop acts that look, smell, taste and act the same. We see anything that deviates from "the norm" as bad, because it isn't what we're used to. And as open minded as we all claim to be, everyone has their limits. Even if you don't know them yet...everyone has their limits.
I look at the music scene today. Some in part because it's my job, staying up to date with what's our there, but also because I've always enjoyed music. What may shock some people is that, while I wasn't able to complete my education in the field, I'm actually a classically trained pianist. I studied, and logged many hours of practise learning to play Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Brahms, and so on and so forth. I grew up listening to Simon and Garfunkle, The Doors, The Beatles, Cyndi Lauper, Chubby Checker, The Monkeys, Frank Sinatra, and on and on my musical education went. If you were to ask me who out of all of that is my favourite, I couldn't tell you. For me, music is not something to favour. It's something to immerse yourself in. Like a warm blanket, a hot bath, or a nice cup of coffee. Or whatever your preference. I surround myself with preferred songs, and hold them dear because they show a bit of who I am. Everything tells a story. Some of the stories are easier to hear than others. But what really saddens me is that the most popular stuff that's out there, is mass produced, and cookie cutter. It's "safe". I will admit, I enjoy some of it too. I love the beat. But in 20 years time, when music that hit it big when I was in high school, I shudder to think that the youth of those days will consider them "Classic Oldies." In as much as I guiltily love listening to Britney Spears "3"...I still shudder to think of the days when those are the classic oldies. I'm beginning to understand the dread my grandparents generation felt about my parents music.
But at least the stuff that was coming out back then wasn't a mass produced spectacle. I truly hope that artists...TRUE artists...not the puppets that "sing" (warble) the words handed to them, played by the music "made" for them...start showing up. There's already one out there who isn't afraid to be different. To go against the grain, while still doing the smart thing of making herself marketable. Being true to herself, writing her own stuff, performing it, and actually being able to play and instrument while looking totally at home with it. We are long over due for a musical revelution. It's time for the drek to dry up, and make room for people who have the talent to back themselves up.
So, where does this leave me? How did I get to that rant from where I started? Simple. I just followed my traing of thought. It jumped tracks, and I hung tight. It was a hell of a lot of fun too. And that's the thing. No one has fun any more. We're all so busy taking ourselves too seriously when we don't need to, but not taking ourselves seriously when we really should. It's an attitude I see more and more every day. Rampant immaturity, and when people are called on it, they snap like overstretched elastic bands. Have fun, but act your age. Be responsible and own up to your shit, grow a fucking pair, and relax. Confused? Don't be. It's how I live my life. I love my life. I love me. I stress out when I don't need to, but I'm working on that. I have fun, because life is too short not to. I take myself seriously, because I know not everyone does. People don't seem to realize there's more to me than they see. I just keep Me very close to my chest.
I encourage everyone who reads this, and everyone who doesn't, to go out and create something. It doesn't have to make sense from start to finish. Nothing ever does. I've yet to read about someone's life from start to finish and say, "Hmm. Well. That was all very straightforward. Yes. Very well done. Pip pip." Because apparently when I read biographies I'm British. Who knew. Go out and do something...ANYTHING. But do it because you want to. Do it because you can. And in the end, do it for yourself because it's something you want to do for yourself. Not because I encourage you do to it.
And now, I find myself scraping the bottom of the well. And you know what...I'm not rereading my writing this time. Spelling errors happen. Mistakes happen. It's not the end of the world.
So good night all. Feedback is as always appreciated. Negative feedback will of course be read, and depending on severity of ignorance, it will either prompt me to write one of these in response to your ignorance, or I'll delete your comment after milking it for every drop of inspiration I can.
Because, let's face it, I'm a bitch that way.
I sit here now, probably well past when I should have gone to bed. I sit here, watching the words fill the page, not entirely conscious of where they are coming from. I just listen, and wait, and watch, and listen. I feel the pull to write, and so I do. I write and I will write until this mood passes. If there is a point, then so much the better. If not, then I write to sate the deep desire to make words appear. Rolling this language around my mouth, getting a taste for the words, and sharing them. Giving in to myself, and writing my words. Giving in to my ID I guess. Except this has little to do with food, sleep, and most certainly has nothing to do with sex. So having said that, if one of my primal urges is to write, what does that say of my nature? You're welcome to make a comment or two about what you think.
More and more as our culture spirals deeper into the 21st century, I find it amusing the way that each generation tries to separate itself from the preceeding generation, but aiming to "shock and awe" our elders, all the while being baffled by the following generations behaviours. It wasn't so very long ago that we were youths, doing our best to separate ourselves from the expectations of "art" and "culture" that were imposed on us by our parents generation. And now, the following generation is doing the same to ours. Punks and preps had given way to goth, which begat emo, which begat hordes of joking, and people wearing skinny jeans that should really reconsider that fashion statement. We've made a disposable culture, where everything can be purchased, used and thrown away. Our "Celebrities", our music, our films, our commerce, our "must haves" and "really wants", our phones, our sex, our friends and even ourselves. Many are content to go with the flow. To move with the herd. Right to the proverbial abatoir. We scorn those who show true talent for the dime a dozen pop acts that look, smell, taste and act the same. We see anything that deviates from "the norm" as bad, because it isn't what we're used to. And as open minded as we all claim to be, everyone has their limits. Even if you don't know them yet...everyone has their limits.
I look at the music scene today. Some in part because it's my job, staying up to date with what's our there, but also because I've always enjoyed music. What may shock some people is that, while I wasn't able to complete my education in the field, I'm actually a classically trained pianist. I studied, and logged many hours of practise learning to play Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Brahms, and so on and so forth. I grew up listening to Simon and Garfunkle, The Doors, The Beatles, Cyndi Lauper, Chubby Checker, The Monkeys, Frank Sinatra, and on and on my musical education went. If you were to ask me who out of all of that is my favourite, I couldn't tell you. For me, music is not something to favour. It's something to immerse yourself in. Like a warm blanket, a hot bath, or a nice cup of coffee. Or whatever your preference. I surround myself with preferred songs, and hold them dear because they show a bit of who I am. Everything tells a story. Some of the stories are easier to hear than others. But what really saddens me is that the most popular stuff that's out there, is mass produced, and cookie cutter. It's "safe". I will admit, I enjoy some of it too. I love the beat. But in 20 years time, when music that hit it big when I was in high school, I shudder to think that the youth of those days will consider them "Classic Oldies." In as much as I guiltily love listening to Britney Spears "3"...I still shudder to think of the days when those are the classic oldies. I'm beginning to understand the dread my grandparents generation felt about my parents music.
But at least the stuff that was coming out back then wasn't a mass produced spectacle. I truly hope that artists...TRUE artists...not the puppets that "sing" (warble) the words handed to them, played by the music "made" for them...start showing up. There's already one out there who isn't afraid to be different. To go against the grain, while still doing the smart thing of making herself marketable. Being true to herself, writing her own stuff, performing it, and actually being able to play and instrument while looking totally at home with it. We are long over due for a musical revelution. It's time for the drek to dry up, and make room for people who have the talent to back themselves up.
So, where does this leave me? How did I get to that rant from where I started? Simple. I just followed my traing of thought. It jumped tracks, and I hung tight. It was a hell of a lot of fun too. And that's the thing. No one has fun any more. We're all so busy taking ourselves too seriously when we don't need to, but not taking ourselves seriously when we really should. It's an attitude I see more and more every day. Rampant immaturity, and when people are called on it, they snap like overstretched elastic bands. Have fun, but act your age. Be responsible and own up to your shit, grow a fucking pair, and relax. Confused? Don't be. It's how I live my life. I love my life. I love me. I stress out when I don't need to, but I'm working on that. I have fun, because life is too short not to. I take myself seriously, because I know not everyone does. People don't seem to realize there's more to me than they see. I just keep Me very close to my chest.
I encourage everyone who reads this, and everyone who doesn't, to go out and create something. It doesn't have to make sense from start to finish. Nothing ever does. I've yet to read about someone's life from start to finish and say, "Hmm. Well. That was all very straightforward. Yes. Very well done. Pip pip." Because apparently when I read biographies I'm British. Who knew. Go out and do something...ANYTHING. But do it because you want to. Do it because you can. And in the end, do it for yourself because it's something you want to do for yourself. Not because I encourage you do to it.
And now, I find myself scraping the bottom of the well. And you know what...I'm not rereading my writing this time. Spelling errors happen. Mistakes happen. It's not the end of the world.
So good night all. Feedback is as always appreciated. Negative feedback will of course be read, and depending on severity of ignorance, it will either prompt me to write one of these in response to your ignorance, or I'll delete your comment after milking it for every drop of inspiration I can.
Because, let's face it, I'm a bitch that way.
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