5/10/2007

This I Believe

Yeah, hum, uh, errr. Yeah.

Sorry, I don't believe in anything anymore. If you think that's hard to hear, think about how hard it is to say, polesmoker. You think I think it's cool to not believe in fucking anything? Man, I'm not fifteen. It's cool to not believe in anything when you're fifteen or even maybe 21.

See, I don't not believe in anything because it's cool. I'm actually not particularly immature, believe it or not. I don't believe in anything because I come from believin' in shit a whole bunch and having it prove to be a lie.

A lot of it is cultural, man. I try to not cast much of an eye to our culture at all, except to ridicule it and masturbate to it. What I want to see is people get places because they possess talent or ability or passion or whatever. Yeah, I know. That provokes laughter, right? That's Not Good, man.

Look at the fucking president, man. Look at anybody rich or famous. They're the worst kind of assholes, right? So, how does one succeed in one of the many, many definitions of success? By being an asshole? I guess. I guess. By sucking th' lifeforce out of others. By stinking shit up so bad that it's a headline. By being born to the right blueblood robber baron scumbag motherfucking piece of shit, right? By parading your neurotic fucked-up-ness in front of cameras. Sweet, man. The american fucking dream, man. Sorry- I can't bring myself to capitalize america anymore.

So, what do I do? Well, there's therapy, right? But here's th' deal with therapy- it can't make me feel one millimeter less disgusted. All it can do is make me O.K. with being disgusted. that's not fucking enough. I'm not stupid enough for that, man.

What was it like for my parents? Did they actually believe in things? My dad was in th' Foreign Service. Did he actually believe there was a point in it or was he just thinkin' it was a topnotch way to score skirt? Huh? Can you believe in a world so fairytale-like that a person of reasonable I.Q. could think there was a point in being a diplomat?

So many questions! I just get scared that my time is running out. See, I could still believe in something. I believe in that I could still believe in something. But time's running out for that. Pretty soon it'll be too late- I'll be too far gone into Nihilon. I'll be too sick of being lied to. You have to not lie to anyone that matters. I'm fucking dead serious. Just don't. Have enough balls to stand on your own fucking merits and be prepared to not be liked.

How do people get up in the morning? How do they do it? Jesus Christ it takes me more and more time. I open my eyes and I start th' litany- something worthwhile will happen today. I'll make someone momentarily happy today. I'll get kissed really good today. I'll meet someone who actually has something to impart to me today instead of the usual bloodsucking vampires. I'll meet someone smarter than me. I'll meet someone who gives ME a fucking grain of wisdom or a new way to play a Eb dominant 11. Instead of being fucking sucked dry by th' Usual Suspects.

I'll fucking learn something today.

Love? You believe in love? Do You Believe In A Thing Called Love? Dude, I divide th' women in my past into two categories: those who fucked me on purpose and those who fucked me by mistake. That's about how it breaks down, man. And it comes to me so late in th' game that it would have behooved everyone if I'd just cared a little less. If I'd just taken my fucking pleasure and moved the fuck on. Because that's what They wanted. They didn't want all my protestations of undying fucking bullshit.

Women are pragmatic, man. It is very, very much in one's interest to treat them with the proper pragmatism. They're not romantic creatures, my friend. They want worms and a nest for their chicks, my friend. Anything you think they want or that they say they want is, in some confusing, Lady Macbethish way, in service of nests and worms, baby. Do NOT make the mistake of thinking otherwise.

Music? Yeah, I still believe in music. Maybe the answer is in there somewhere. I know for a fact that music is what has kept me sane which is actually sort of a punishment but there it is. In the course of my life, whenever I've thought I was about to die my thoughts have been of music. I feel like I've only scratched the surface of music, you know?

Thing is, man- music is like cooking. It needs an audience or it falls in th' woods and doesn't make a sound. Every time I create something worthwhile and throw it online and eight people really dig it it kills me inside a little. So, I'm supposed to promote myself and my music which is the biggest fucking joke of all. We're getting back into a thread of a 'graph or four ago.

People don't want good, accomplished, passionate, thought-provoking music. They want easy music that goes down like Kool kool koolaide. Dude, I've been in th' business of it with people throwing fucking bread around and greasin' palms and I know how that shit works. I've been reivewed in enough big rags that I know they're reviewing you because you're buying a fucking full-page ad, man. At the end of the day it's the fucker with the biggest ego and the biggest hard-on about tellin' everybody about how fucking great they are that gets somewhere.

And I just can't get it up for that. I don't respect people enough, really. I guess that's it. Or most of th' people I meet of a Friday night. There's a bunch of cyberfolks I respect a whole lot, that's true. But you guys are like a zillionth of a percent, you know? People on the whole aren't any wiser about what they put in their ears as they are about what they shove in their fucking pieholes which is pretty toxic and air-filled.

I really do want to fuckin' believe in something. Like a girlie wants a prince on a fucking horse. But it's a hazardous, hazardous pursuit. You lose your motivation, man. The danger of getting older is that you start to know th' outcome. And that makes it dead-fucking-hard to take on the fucking world. I don't want to get old and die fucking angry. That would suck. I want sunshine and tequila and flowers and pussy. Why can't I fucking have that? Why can't I fucking have that? Don't anyone dare try to make me feel bad for wanting that. There's nothing fucking wrong with me for wanting that.

That's what I fucking believe.

6 Comments:

Anonymous Simon said...

Ah, sorry man. When i ask for songwriting advice I guess I forget there's probably a lot of other people doing the same thing. Don't worry, I've got enough books i'd probably figure it out sooner or later.

I'm convinced Music is all we have, but I've really reached the point where I think i'm happy to be simply a passive listener from now on than struggle to create anything of my own. Eight people telling you your stuff is good is still at least eight people, you know?

And i wonder, do i try and hold onto songwriting because i really want to create, or was it just something that *used* to bring me joy and i'm trying to find *that* feeling again? Maybe it's just not possible to be 17 and full of wonder at the possibilities of the future and excited about the unknowns of love, life and sex.

My muse is barely alive anymore and I don't think it's any loss. Maybe if your work really does cause you this much frustration, maybe, like me, you should just let it go. What place does striving for something beautiful really have in this horrid world anymore?

I'm in a dark mood tonight. Sorry.

5:18 AM  
Blogger MichaelBains said...

Sometimes I believe in something real, and then my concentration wavers and I am in too many pieces to remember what it was.. how I knew it was real.. why I felt that way.

I don't believe in anything because I come from believin' in shit a whole bunch and having it prove to be a lie.

Only always.

Still, I want to believe it can happen if only I fucking immediately forget about it everytime it doesn't.

If Only often enough maybe I won't mind when I really do run out of time.

Perfect Timing on this post, Bobby. Or maybe I gotta thank my brain for clicking over here just now. Either way, and for more or less in the long run, thank you & good luck.

6:22 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

You know Bobby, I'd say thats a pretty sad outlook and one hell of a way to go through whats left of life , but I have to completely agree with you . What does it mean for those of us who were "taught" to work hard , learn lots , take pride in what we do and someday , we'd SUCCEED ? NOT A FUCKING THING !!! As a chronilogical peer , I was hoping for a lot more at this time of life. NOT SEEIN' it dude. NO WHERE IN FUCKIN'SIGHT .
So what do we do ? Do we coast along hoping somewhere , somehow, sometime someone will recognize our talent, our dedication to our chosen profession, our passion for what we DO ? Some would say yes, but to what end ? Self-promotion serves only the ego , not the inner need for fullfillment, and its affects are fleeting. Sunshine,tequilla,warm beaches and pussy. Sounds like a damn fine things to believe in . Count me in.

9:39 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Bob,

First time caller.

Your essay moved me to go out into the library stacks and retrieve this.

"That Barnet band was where the expression 'We saw the big man tonight' came from. Which meant that you go into that thing where it was so powerful that you don't even know what your name is or what the tune is. It's just one big instrument, it's not a bunch of guys out there. 'We saw the big man tonight.' Now once you do that, you spend the rest of your life trying to do it again. And you do, maybe once or twice a year. If there's a religion, that's mine."

-Red Kelly, quoted in Paul de Barros' Jackson Street After Hours

Steve in Olympia

12:30 PM  
Anonymous mdhatter said...

thanks for saying that out loud

I still have a little romance in me... a little idealism... but not much.

That said, nihilists are usually pretty fuckin' trustworthy people. All there is is your word. That's really all that matters.

2:42 AM  
Blogger Larry Jones said...

Yeah, life is hard, people are mean, women can't be woo'd and the music business ain't about music. The whole planet is going to hell, but you can write, play, sing, arrange and produce on a level that most of us can only aspire to, so you have to do it. You know you do, and you know it doesn't matter - not really - if it's just us eight who get it.

Your post is well put together: It's impervious to any cheery attacks by me. I couldn't find any escape hatches out of it into the sunshine, but you'd better find one, because you don't want to die in there.

Don't be scared. You've got time. Do the next thing, and then the next. Make yourself useful.

2:22 AM  

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