This is a tumblelog, kinda like a blog but with short-form, mixed-media posts with stuff I like. Scroll down a bit to start reading, or a bit more to read more about me.
How could you ever understand passion, desire, pleasure, ecstasy! You, who was not born of pain and pleasure. You, who could never understand that under the cover of darkness I gave her my entire self. You, how could you ever understand that as I drank of your blood, ate of your body, and knelled in your house, all I thought about was her.
I wanna be a real artist. Not just a bassist or musician but an artist. I’ve been reading about early art and in my reading I’ve learned a lot about what it means to be an artist. Its a balancing act, you must have proper form. Without that you can’t make the art. Then the emotional side of it comes into play. Now, it sounds easy to make art based on those two qualifications. You just need proper form and an emotion. But its not. Thats the thing I’ve had a problem with. I’ll have a form down but then I’ll feel nothing. Then on the flip side if I have a powerful idea I’ll completely forget about form. I can go back of course and fix the form side of any piece but that doesnt make me a true artist. To be a true artist you need to have the instinct to use proper form while still allowing all of you to be consumed by the emotion you are feeling. As an artist I’m inherently in pursuit of the perfection of my art. Any true artist is. But it doesnt mean i cant get frustrated along the way.
The forgotten soldier, the fish that broke the line. A phantom forced into solitude with no question as to his feelings.
Forgotten till the song draws hi back out. Pulls at his soul and allows everyone to remember.
Remember who he is
Remember the time spent
Remember the laughter and the tears
Remember the things accomplished
Just remember..
One thing I’ve noticed is that no matter how many bands I play in, no matter how much I record, no matter how well I play, I’ll never be part of the “in crowd”. I’ll always be that guy everyone likes but no one remembers. A friend when need but not a friend when unexpected. They’ll happily talk to me in front of my show but wheres the conversation when I see you at a party? Wheres that “friendship”? I spend my nights and weekends in my room, reading about music and art or playing my bass. I don’t go drink unless I go buy a 6 pack for myself. I don’t go out unless it’s for practice or a show. I don’t socialize in this scene cause it’s not high school. I’m not here to be the coolest or the most liked. I’m here to make something with music. So I guess in the end I only really have myself to blame. Hmm. Fuck me.
To say you’ll never find another love is a lie. To say you could never love someone as much as me is a lie. If I disappeared right now, vanished, wouldn’t you love again? Wouldn’t you have to? So no, you don’t love me. You love the feeling of loving someone. Whether that’s me or someone else is purely a matter of time.
Once again, it’s 5 am and I’m still wide awake. I can’t count sheep and the sandman is no where to be found. Also, I think I’m getting sick which would just make my week. Lord help me.
