Sunday Morning Thoughts: 11.24.19

I began to scheme what I might write, last night for this morning. That then, proceeded to implode upon itself.

Life. The way it goes. Etc.

I want to say that it doesn’t bother me, there being (a great many) things, beyond my control.

I also, don’t wish to be a liar.

And so, enters the internal conundrum. And lost somewhere in all of that, might be the truth. Or some. Sometimes some truth is enough.

So yeah- it bothers me, these things not in my control. How the actions of others, or just the indifferent universe all around- how they hold sway within my own existence and there be not a damn thing that I can do about it.

Beyond borderline egomania? Yeah, perhaps a bit. But I suspect there’s a bit of an ego monster in everyone. Psychological professionals and theorists may have likely researched and mapped all this. In fact, I’m sure some have. But I don’t like the complicated muck with all that stuff. Ego is a survival instinct. The will to live is at the very least motivated by belief that you deserve or could someday deserve this life you got. Or a fear of losing yourself in losing it.

After all, you don’t get self-preservation without a little self.

But look at me, trying to ramble and scramble my own noggin to find something to write about that is other than I have been thinking upon this morning.

How’s it going?

Meh.

Truth be told, for all I was trying to drum up my previous plan for all this- it wasn’t really much.

I went out into to town last night.

After debating if I should go or just stay home again with my own thoughts and the echo of my footsteps, I went to a local songwriter’s thing down at the hippie grocery store. Yeah, that’s right. Trying to get some ‘yokel’ cred. Saw the picture of a person I had met playing open mics in the local paper, so I though I might go check it out. Didn’t have anyone to go with at the moment, so alone I went.

And it was cool. Smelled vastly different from the places I myself have played. Less like piss and more that mustiness the air seems to get when a small to medium sized room is packed with primarily folks well into their autumn years. But even considering the median age was likely at least two decades down the line from my own, it was a worthy enough endeavor of time. As ten minutes down the road, isn’t all that much time.

But from that, I had pulled little more than a line about the female singing senior in age seemed to be some alternate version of Janis Joplin where she drops the partying and gets clean early enough to save her life, finds god, whoever that is, and moves to New England and records easy listening albums. Powerful voice, and a calm demeanor.

And how the lady singer junior in age was likely the reason that every man young enough to not have an AARP card was present at the event. Myself, included. Someone I barely know, but shared the experience of both playing and listening to each other’s songwriting. And it’s a funny thing, how that makes a person last. And the young lady has a breathtaking talent. That can kind of stick out.

She called me by my penname, when she saw me in passing before the show began, which I reacted to at a surprisingly quick rate. I don’t know if she even knows my real name. I use a stage name and a blog post pseudonym which is all on the social medias I tragically engage with.

I guess that’s the funny thing about fake names. In ways, I am more honest here and my other creative efforts than so many other facets of my life. Yet you could read this every week and never know the name on my birth certificate. An interesting play on truth, I suppose.

Another example of such a warping might be in the hypocrisy of worrying about what you cannot control whilst doing little to nothing with or about that which you can control.

And that would be the wonder I feel towards I feel about myself as of now- towards my own status as a hypocrite for whining woes of cannots while engaging in no cans.

But no, that’s unfair. And unkind.

Despite my flaws (which ex-girlfriends and the sort have informed me that I harbor a great many), I rarely am totally idle regarding my own desires and duties that need be done. Is it less at times? Sure. More? Sometimes too much. But I am never doing nothing. With only a portion of that being a result of the catholic tradition of early instilled guilt for even having the never to exist at all. All in all, not a bad way to sculpt a moral structure for the masses. But Spider-Man has a similar message about responsibility that is cooler with the kids these days.

  So, I suppose I just crave more. At the moment. For reasons my own design or interpretation, I need more release of emotion in constructive methods. And how that goes, is up to me.

This is part. And succeeded, today. Words began to fall and flow through the cracks of what I desired not to write, despite the frequency of its reoccurring thought. Because not everything can go here. In fact, I would say this has to be the least direct emotion of any sort of artsy-fartsy thing I try and do.

Music can get raw. Emotion weighs heavy on production, performance and reception. For me, at least. For most, me thinks. I’m a blues and folk guy on the output, myself. But not much can momentarily break my heart quite like the right kind of lady country singer on the input.

Poems should be written, in my amateur opinion, directly, to one person. That person need not know it is for them, but it has to be written for them and them alone. Other folks can get what they want out of it after.

And the stories, the long and the short of them- they are a thorough examination of an emotion preserved. Long enough ago, that you have to reimagine yourself feeling it for the first time. Not something that can just link up, so to speak. That way, the larger construct of the fiction can be fitted with an honest but well-matched emotion.

Of course, this excludes total fabrications. Which as anyone who did improv in college could but is likely too embarrassed to tell you, making up nonsense for extended periods of time is deeply satisfying.

But what in the hell do I know?

Any idea can start to sound better if it keeps bouncing around the same, solo head all the time.

Or worse.

It helps to have some outer contrast, you know?

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