Author. Writer. Editor. Fool.
I have the house to myself for a few days, which means my usual schedule has been replaced with slothful behavior. I’m okay with that, I think I’ve earned some down time, but I think it reached a breaking point yesterday when … How do I say this? When I realized I was sprawled out on the couch, in my boxers, watching South Park and eating an obscenely huge bowl of pudding. Instant shame. Not shame enough to put down the pudding, mind you, because pudding is delicious.
This summer I’ve returned to something I discovered last summer. Something that had me relaxed in a way few things get me relaxed. Painting. Some brushes, a bit o’ canvas, a cold drink, and music while sitting outdoors in the sun, looking over the water and getting lost whipping that brush back and forth. It’s very, very easy to wind away an entire afternoon like that. The problem is that I’m awful. Just downright awful. Like, reallyreallyreally awful. And you know? I’m okay with that. I’m okay with that because I’m not doing it for any reason other than to relax. And there sure are far worse ways to relax. So painting is what I’ll do.
When recording music, self-indulgence is a huge sin — and one I commit time and again. Can’t help it. It’s not like it’s musician wank. I’m not anywhere CLOSE to a good enough musician for that. It’s sound wank. Noise, big sound, layered drones, guitar feedback. Stuff no one wants to hear. But I like to hear it, so I do it. So anyway, I’m recording a new X-Sweet album, right? And X-Sweet tends to be my more traditional musical project, what with me singing reg’lar ol’ songs and all that. I’m not claiming it’s good, as you can see for yourself, I’m just saying it exists. I like doing honest to goodness songs, but I’m objective enough to admit my guitar soundscapes are far…
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Three paces, then four, then five, and you’re in the middle of the road, watching it stretch out in either direction, no cars for as far as you can see, just blacktop and you. And somehow, it manages to make you feel freer than you’ve felt since you were 12 and were allowed to ride your bike around the neighborhood on your own; like nothing in the world can contain you. It might be a remnant from childhood. The unspoken knowledge that you’re breaking a Rule. That you’re doing something you’re not supposed to do. After all, you don’t just walk out into the middle of the road. That’s dangerous. We all know this. And you certainly don’t just stand there. You cross quickly and…
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My blog sucks. I’m well aware of this fact. It’s not for lack of trying, it’s … well, okay, maybe it’s partially true that lack of trying comes into play. After all, it’s not that I’m incapable of dazzling you with insightful commentary about all manner of things, from the Tantric underpinnings of the television show Lost to the undisputed fact that pineapple is a delicious pizza topping, it’s that I’m unwilling of dazzling you with insightful commentary about all manner of things, from the Tantric underpinnings of the television show Lost to the undisputed fact that pineapple is a delicious pizza topping. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Also, the truth is I’m just very busy right now. Or trying to be, at least. Hell, even…
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