I was hoping to sleep it off. Of course, I should have remembered that I don’t often sleep well. Out of habit. And out of mind. My nocturnal visions, when recalled, are often not kind or comfortable. Horrible, even, at times.
So, what was felt in the wee hours before falling asleep has not gone. Only festered. Though, not seeming as crippling as last night.
I played a show. Myself and my band. And even by saying any of this, I am denying the position and perspective of my fellow musicians. They believed the show to be good and grand. And it was. We played well. We have achieved a wonderful balance between instruments and voices and have taken control of these songs in wonderful and unique ways.
But it is not our songs that breaks my heart.
‘Tis instead, the lack of heads there to watch and ears to feel. That what ails me. If a guitar falls in an empty venue, who gives a shit?
It is funny how thoughts transform. One thing turns to another, to another, to another. At first, the blame was on the rest of the world. That humans lack the motivation or insight to make an effort to attend the endeavors of a collective of musicians. That local, original music dies because these bastards are too dumb and lazy to get away from the same mind-numbing routines. They suck, I don’t.
But then I thought about this. And then, this other thought. And now, I see the failure as only my own. May just be a self-defense move of my ego. Gotta be my fault because I’m the best and everything in the cosmos bends to my will.
And the truth, generally, is in between.
I could have promoted more, or perhaps more efficiently. And I know for a fact that people, other humans I know, were doing something or nothing else. I know folks who went to a gimmicky, bullshit cover band who plays in B rated comedy films last night. Or to the over-populated festival down in the city. Or watched binge watched ‘The Office’.
The issue in this moment though is not why the room seemed so empty. This is a self-reflection. We are here to wrangle the emotion, not causality.
Remember how that one thought goes to another and another? (Most efficiently when done in a spiral pattern down). Well the latest whirlpool down the metaphysical toilet has landed your narrator wondering upon my own inadequacies. Peppered nicely with the classic existential question of why bother. Do all these failures make me a failure? And does this reflect the larger narrative of my life? If I cannot get others to pay attention to the auditory artistic efforts I make, perhaps they are not worth the listen. And I am not worth the time.
Paranoia, at least partially. And dare I say, my loneliness may be getting the better of me. Which is something I usually dare not admit. As maintaining such loneliness has already (and may again) cost greatly in terms of those who wish to pay me mind. Many wanted to share space and time and I have insisted on being alone. A hypocrite complains of no one being around after demanding every other soul to get out. And hypocrite I am.
Yet, I know I cannot resolve this ache regarding recent and far reaching events in my life. Not immediately. And not without outside persuasion. I only make an effort, to see what will come. Intention is the curse of many a hope. Fulfilling a prophecy you meant to avoid. And of course, let us lay praise before the moments that happen, though unsought. Watching someone dance as the band sings a favorite song. The moment forever, no matter the future.
I’m going to make everyone breakfast soon. The band all slept here, and still sleeps. They worked hard. They earned it.
Maybe I’ll get some sleep. Or just pour another coffee and try this reality out again. Get better at it.