Saturday, September 04, 2010

Words coming out of my fingers

For five or six nights now, I've tried to sit down here and write something. Anything.  But, nothing seems to come out.  Not sure what to write/talk about.  Writer's block already?  Eh, it happens, I guess.  So, let's go all stream of conscience with this one.

Currently listening to Del Amitri's "Roll To Me."

Can't complain a whole heck of a lot right now.  Life's pretty groovy.  The kid has a job now.  Working at Little Caeser's.  That was good timing because he needs to not just be at home.  Seems like he's starting to get his life together right now.  Not that he needs to get things together and figured out at 17.  But, I think he's finally realizing the true meaning of being a "troubled kid" and he is not that.  Bored, perhaps.  But, not troubled.

We've had a friend of his staying with us for about 2 or 3 months now.  I believe is mother passed away some time ago.  And his father has a new family and doesn't want him to stay there.  So, he's got nowhere to live really.  This one is 20 and had some indiscretions in his past.  He came into the house on probation.  But, he, too, is a good kid getting his stuff together.  Unfortuneately for him, he didn't get the message about a meeting with his probation officer and ended up missing it.  Really through no fault of his own.  He didn't have a phone, so when the probation officer called the number he had, the people there never passed on the message.  Well, a few days ago, he had a court hearing for missing his probation meeting.  And, well, for the next 45 days, he won't be staying with us, but in jail for violating his probation.  The system sucks that way.  But, when he gets out, he'll have a phone, so that won't happen again.  He's on our family talk plan now and paying me for his phone.  Hope to make the time to go visit him - either my kid and myself or just the kid and friends - about once a week.

Ryan Adam's, "Come Pick Me Up"
"I wish you would/Come pick me up/Take me out/Fuck me up/Steal my records/Screw all my friends/They're all full of shit/With a smile on your face/And then do it again"

Why the hell do I like this song?  It's one of those songs you listen to after drinking a healthy amount of wine.  Oh.

Ok, I think I'm attracted to songwriters' who write really peppy, almost happy songs, about the most fucked up things.  Ryan Adam's is one.  Steven Page of BNL fame wrote some really depressing stuff that I enjoy maybe a little too much.  Maybe this is part of the reason I'm in tune with Liz Phair, and developing a fansination for Sylvia Plath.  Why are the most brilliant... expressionists... usually jam-packed with manic depression or have experienced extraordinary low points in their life?  Follow-up question:  If that is the case, why am I not writing more? Or why isn't writing lyrics/poems flowing more easily?  There's a thinker.

Here's another.  I've started writing some lyrics or poems but at some point I get out of the moment they are being written in and can't seem to finish them.  It's like the moment is past and it's difficult to get back into that frame of mind or... feel that same emotion... and let it come out on the page.  Something I wrote a few weeks ago, well, it just doesn't feel the same today.  Feelings changed and it feels almost like I'm betraying the original raw emotions behind it.  I said a long time ago in my youth that my songs are shit when I'm happy.  What I think are my most creative expressions have usually come out of times of pain and/or depression.  Would I trade a lifetime of happiness if it meant I'd never write a good song or poem again?  I have to say that I wouldn't.  I need those valleys just as much as I need the mountains.

I also think that I need my guitar again.

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