The vilest things are those most often done through weakness rather than treachery.

I’m not sure who said that, and I think it’s more of a paraphrasing than a real quote, but a truer statement never been uttered as far as I am concerned.

Nothing worth hearing tonight in the realm of my musical burgeoning.  I did do some vocals tonight, but found it a stale experience and not one which bore much useful fruit.  Too much on my mind maybe. (Yeah, it’s going to be one of THOSE posts.)

My fear – and it is a real fear – is that it’s too late to be the person I was before.  Before, what?  Before kids, before wife, before breaking down, before losing whatever it was that used to make me tick?  Yes.  Because I can’t pretend that this renewal of interest in music is a return to the golden days.  My god, I’ve not bamboozled myself into thinking that just because I can keep it together long enough to put together a simple folk song, that suddenly means I’ve gained everything I ever lost in these long past ten years.  And I don’t want to cram ten years into some silly box and label it a nightmare without end, because that would just be a stunt at best, and a complete lie at worst: there are things to live for outside of my own wants, and life since having a wife and children to love have taught me that.  It’s just that the niceties do not negate the drawbacks of the total experience of life, and even as I have managed to rouse my own creativity from a fairly deep sleep, I still have this unmistakable feeling that the puzzles that I’ve discovered about myself are still waiting to be solved, and that is disappointing.

Yesterday I walked into Big Lots, looking for a cassette player, with the intention of using it to digitize some old jam sessions from the late 90’s.  Let me tell you what it’s like sometimes for me to walk into a large crowded store: the front automatic door squalls itself open, I breathe in the climate controlled air for the first time, and immediately my skin goes clammy.  I start walking forward rather aimlessly, because even at the best of times I barely know how to navigate these vast warehouses of stored goods.  As I proceed forward, I lay my eyes on the back wall of the store, and I say, “let’s head there”, and then as I put feet forward one by one, the back wall starts to seem to get farther off.  A kind of hopelessness takes over.  I keep walking, but slower now, almost cautious as if avoiding some sort of trap that now lurks beyond me.  It is a trap.  Usually (this is not a universal outcome by any means) I make it to my destination and manage to find what I’m looking for, but it’s like I’m a wanted man until I get outside again and back to wherever or whatever it is that makes me feel free again.

What am I afraid of when this happens?  It appears to be a fear reaction of some kind.  Fight or flight, or die on site.  I’ve had more than one person who know me well explain it to me that this is some kind of social anxiety, or agoraphobia, or insert-yer-dimestore-word here.  I don’t think it’s so much a fear as it is some kind of horrible recognition of how random life is, of how sterile our public engagements are and always have been, an immense and deep dissatisfaction with the ways in which post-modern society manifests itself through the banality of shopping, of dealing with corporatocracies or bureaucracies of any kind.  We may call walking into a Super Wal-Mart shopping, but have you ever really noticed just how freaking indelibly monstrous these places are?  From the moment one walks in, one’s attention is held hostage by a billion different things: trailer park dude trying on mesh trucker’s hats, some lady at the deli aisle screaming about needing more chicken wings, the staggering millions of items stacked in various dark geometries as you walk forward through the teeming throng to your doom destination of your item.  Am I being perhaps a bit precious in  my description here?  The next time you walk into a Target, think about it a second.  I doubt you’ll end up wanting to turn and run screaming from the store, arms akimbo and ready to blaze over anyone in your path in your panicked flight from our of the hellish maw which Target has so suddenly become……but you’ll at least say to yourself, “yeah, I can see what he’s getting at.”  And that, chap, is good enough for me.

So, perhaps agoraphobia plays a part in my life, or perhaps it’s just a strange kind of existentialist angst, some primitive part of me that remembers the smaller tribe and longs to return to it.  I know without a doubt that ever since I had my time in the ward, there are just some things that are hard for me to accomplish without a lot of hand-wringing.  My own pet theory is this: whatever I managed to retain in those two years of struggling to regain my sanity, I didn’t get back the part of me that is happy with all things as they are, and sometimes it seems a shame, because prior to a certain time, I think I was one of those rare and lucky people who thought, “I can deal with anything.”  As it turns out, I guess I can, but sometimes it seems a raw deal.  Religion is nice for things like this, I’m told, but I know myself too well: why walk with a crutch when you can crawl on your own? That’s a sort of obtuse way of saying that even though I know people find comfort in religion, I can’t seem to make it click, and don’t know too much of what I would be clicking with in the first place.

Anyway, I got my tape player okay.  I spent probably half and hour in Big Lots before I satisfied myself that there were no such strange and eldritch devices located therein, and ended up finding one in less than a minute at the Fred’s across the way, which I don’t think I need to tell you is a hell of a store.

As my man Ben Franklin said, ‘Fatigue is the best pillow’, and I think it’s time I gave mine a shot, so goodnight all.


0 Responses to “The vilest things are those most often done through weakness rather than treachery.”

  1. Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

May 2009
« Apr   Jun »

Currently Reading:

Burning in Water, Drowning in Flame - Charles Bukowski

Currently Listening:

Mr. Bungle - California

Why, yes, I am cool as a cucumber in a bowl of hot sauce.

You lika de juice????

%d bloggers like this: