Fortyone minutes of agony Part II

(written in Kubata in March; minutes 1-22)

Fortyone minutes of agony:

I am going to be a rock star, and one thing we know is that rock stars don’t quit, they stay up on stage and fight for their audience, fighting life or death and reaching heaven with their mad skills. I will have to be a rock star more often; think of all the hot chicks and lovely tasty treats of life it offers me, to touch that nerve in the public consciousness, something down deep and hidden from everyone’s knowledge, so fledgling philosophers can't get at it, and so they deny its existence, which makes people distrustful of science which cares for what it can see but what about the creator of all that is seen and unseen? Of the living and the dead, where am I going to go, I don’t know so on with the show; I have this lil guitar here, I have my saxophone in my hands I have invented things just at the last minute, you’ll never hear it like this again, you’ll never see this kind of performance, I have something inside that angers, the scientists don’t get it, the sophists won’t be able to exploit it. I have to take off my watch, I ain’t going to watch the clock, this is rock and not tick and tock, why rock is the earth, the Pete upon which I build a church, and it stoned me, The Stones and rock ha ha I just got it I just got it. Rock and Roll, Rock, Stones, Rock and Roll, Stones Roll: Rolling Stones! Let’s get rocked, let’s get stoned, Rock and Stone, Stonehenge is less of a mystery than that eternal band, Mick and Keith they are like StoneHenge too, they are standing around in England and no one has a clue to their longevity. I think old Keith is a wise man, his guitar sounded unlike any other. I spend most of my waking hours listening to music and that will make mu sic – to your stomach.

I took a drink of water, H2Oh yeah it satisfies my quenchability, it moisturizes my inner desert aridity, I can twinkle with limpidity or foggy sulphur like acrid and acidity, I have a girl I know she holds me, we hold each other all night and all morning and laugh in each other's arms. Some thing are too precous to describe, and maybe I’ll only touch on her in a fleeting manner, she is my water, my drink, my calming soul, helps me think. I think of bees and hornets, one makes honeys, the other only stings, hornets are the evil twins of the bees, bees only sting as a last resort and it kills them to do so; hornets are sick pretentious bastards and they move in and destroy everything like the Spanish Inquisition. I know of a guy, he lives in Fort Wayne, Indiana, he works as a labourer on a farm, a hired hand, like in the Peanuts strip, when Snoopy would just plow out a row of french fries for Lucy and with Linus as a helpmate and they’d all go out to Bill Mauldin’s to drink root beer on Veterans’ day. Or maybe that was actually the World War One Flying Ace trying to hunt down the Red Baron; I am here plumbing my past looking to find the clog, this is kind of a verbal draino, add hot water to clean everything up, let sit for 15 minutes and you walk away with a fresh breath of air and some peace of mind. I don’t mind not having a healthy mind, I don’t mind typing in time, it relaxes and lets me go, oh heck, I don’t know.

I stare into the lights, a rack of tracking, the art around me doesn’t impress me, art for arts sake leads to crappy government grants and the service of a national ethos which I’ll be damned if I’m going to kowtow to. The government should not be helping out the artists. It’s propaganda they’re after, it’s an unconscious dialectic, the CBC should not be trusted, no matter how sweet the Current sounds or Andy Barrie’s voice, all their good intentions are choking true north strong and free (that inseminated anthem again) creativity, in this tiny country of ours where everyone knows everyone else, how are any unique ideas supposed to flourish, when anything unique is a threat to the grant-giving, CBC glorifying status quo. Once again my only argument is that good intentions have nothing to do with it; it is an evil system, and I’m going to try to topple it. Do not sponsor an artist you like. Don’t do anyone any favours. The true blazing stuff does not obey your well meaning bureaucratic procedures. Do not imitate anyone. Do not be surprised at what happens. I am trying to inspire myself, that is Toni Robbins’ secret – people think he’s inspiring others but really he’s fooling them into giving him a platform to inspire himself. I told my friend to open up a yoga studio, she doesn’t know anything about yoga. It does not matter – just convince people that they’re getting better, and they will get better. But really it’s you who gets better. There is a thirst for good ideas, and meritocratic training will not be a substitute, formal education by nature cannot give you any good ideas, it only helps you spot the bad ones.

I can do it because I say I can do it. All things that can be dreamt of in Horatio’s philosophy they can be attained. I will maim myself trying to tame myself, I will be lame by the end of it, I am half-crippled already. It’s the price you pay for living the way you want to day to day.

I want to give you inspirational quotes every day, I have the ability to make you pay. But I have this uneraseable temptation to do it all away. There is something I must admit to you, I don’t know each morning what it is that I will do, and it is scary and life shaking and I wish the insecurity would go away. Some writers live in luxury, some in rags, but no writer ever lives in comfort. I forget who said that but it wasn’t me. I am going to stop reading those books of quotations, because it will only discourage me, all that distilled wisdom of humanity, 20 billion souls throughout history put into 1000 pages, you'd have to be pretty damn sweet to crack that list.

1 comment:

Bobby said...

You are really doing it here.