Dear Monkey,
We should make good use of the novel inspiration of this new project before it becomes a burden. It's a new girlfriend and I'm going to make her hate me within the first week. In a good way.
I do agree with Monkey on the previous post, in that satisfaction with life (in general) isn't some condition you amble into (despite what the movie Doc Hollywood might have us believe), but a state of mind that almost has to be constructed from various, possibly disparate elements of your life into a single cohesive structure. Occasionally wind and rain are going to leak through, maybe a few snakes and varmints will find a gap in the floorboards to sneak through, but on the whole if the structure is sound the occupant will be a happy camper. Or happier than most. My problem has always been the most fundamental foundation...
To be honest, I'm sick of talking about my situation. It feels like the more I fixate upon it, the more solipsistic or even misanthropic I become, and that's certainly not the goal.
I have to interject a minor digression: tonight I'm going with a few friends to see a movie. Transformers, most likely, as we're all roughly early 30-ish and most certainly dorks. A member of this motley troupe of Rush-shirt wearing uber geeks is Torch Marauder. I'm quite excited about this. Brandon asked on Sunday, "Hey man, you wanna go see Transformers with Torch Marauder?" I peed an affirmative.
I suppose what I'd like to mention today as a discussion topic (something probably more suited for a PhD dissertation) is The Prisoner. Ken and I finished the Arc (episodes 1-5, 16-17) last night. There are ten more episodes that complete the series, but do not actually constitute part of the story arc. Still, worth watching! I digress (again). If you are interested in the potential of television, world-class acting, Shakespeare, true sci-fi, the nature of society, civil disobedience, the preservation of the individual, the conflict between humanity and technology, the oppression of unjust and inhumane authority, truth, love, nationalism, education and indoctrination, or general spy-story intrigue, then you should devote seven hours of your life and a couple of weeks worth of Netflix to this series. It can be frustratingly allegorical, particularly the last three hours, and never really gives the sense that it is a complete story (per se), but it is enormously rewarding in that when you're done with the last episode, sitting in a stew of impressionistic visual imagery capable of exploding David Lynch's cock, your brain will be working. It may not be happy, but it will be working.
It's no surprise that nothing broadcast on television since (original air dates were 1967-68, a contemporary of Star Trek) has even dared approach the same degree of, well... art. The fall out from the last episode (coincidentally and appropriately titled Fall Out) bordered on violent. Writer/director/star Patrick McGoohan was all but forced to flee England due to the degree of violence threatened by melty headed fans after the airing of that final episode. To be fair, more than once I looked to Ken, mouth agape, the words "What the fuck am I seeing here?" going unspoken - the look conveyed the sentiment. It is so unlike anything I can't draw any sort of logical or even illogical comparison. You can certainly argue there have been programs and entire series that redefine(d) the concept of quality television. Obvious contenders like The Sopranos, Simpsons, Band of Brothers, MASH, etc represent the outside limit of what television is capable of in terms of dramatic/comedic art. The Prisoner is entirely another animal. I encourage you to at least take a look at the Wiki entry. It's certainly not going to appeal to everyone, but I think most of our readers are of the more curious, intellectually astute variety of human and may appreciate what the series represents. I'll reserve my own perception and analysis for any comments from folks who have seen it (or will see it).
I just reread this entry and realized how artifically intellectual it all sounds. Well fuck you, I aint changing it. I mean it. I want you to watch The Prisoner. The listen to Iron Maiden's song of the same name. Cause it fucking rocks.
I am a big fucking dork. Just in case you were not aware.
So I'm off to find a Kinko's to print off a few state applications. I made myself promise I'd never seek another public information job, yet here I go again on my own.
PHRASE AND/OR COMBINATION OF WORDS THE MONKEY MAY NEVER AGAIN USE IN MY PRESENCE: She had a cunt like a wizard's sleeve.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Sloppy Seconds
A truly commendable first post, Morlock. My hat is off to you. And so is my shirt.
The Monkey here. For once (and only once, and also probably for the last time) I must admit that the Morlock is not exaggerating about his lot this year. It has truly sucked and I can't imagine the ass whipping your pride and ego have been taking. As someone well acquainted with the tooth aching sensitivity that bruised pride fosters, and as someone who is sometimes as equally motivated by ego as by morals, I think it is a big fucking deal that you have managed to pull yourself out of what had become a mocking and oppressive environment and that you found your way east to (at the very least) reconnect with people who nurture your creative and, frankly, dorktastic tendencies. I'm proud of you. No, seriously. It takes courage to make a blind leap of faith. Even if you whine and complain about it the entire fucking time.
Here is the thing about leaps of faith, though: the process blows. Any potentially life altering decision or risk that we make in our lives has to be built around a belief in something more enjoyable, fulfilling, exciting, healthy, or logical than what we are (or were) doing when the decision is made. It might be about changing jobs or leaving a marriage or moving to a new town or learning keyboards when you're really just a rusty trombone player. The point is, once the decision is made, your work is to deal with the decision and whatever comes along with it. It's too fucking late to second guess yourself. Of course, the decision is the easiest thing to try to undo, which is why at some point we all inevitably choose that route (like not leaving the crap job or the crap relationship). But the smart thing, the brave thing, the hard thing that will get us closer to a better mental state of mind is to follow the motivation that made us make the decision in the first place. To try. And then to keep trying. Because, what the hell else are you going to do? Satisfaction isn't some elusive place on a map and it certainly has nothing to do with the dollar amount on your paycheck (I don't think... maybe I just don't get paid enough). Satisfaction, like most things associated with happiness, happens in moments, in flashes. And the most rational way to make those moments happen more often is to somehow align your actions with your beliefs. It seems increasingly difficult to find professional positions where that specific opportunity exists, so as much as possible, you have to attempt it in your regular life.
Now, granted, this may just be my contrived way of saying, "Don't be a pussy! Stay here and be creative with your friends and trust that something will work instead of running back to Shitville, Texas for a paycheck you would likely blow on lager and whores." But, I'm pretty sure that if I wanted to say that, I just would.
- The Monkey
The Monkey here. For once (and only once, and also probably for the last time) I must admit that the Morlock is not exaggerating about his lot this year. It has truly sucked and I can't imagine the ass whipping your pride and ego have been taking. As someone well acquainted with the tooth aching sensitivity that bruised pride fosters, and as someone who is sometimes as equally motivated by ego as by morals, I think it is a big fucking deal that you have managed to pull yourself out of what had become a mocking and oppressive environment and that you found your way east to (at the very least) reconnect with people who nurture your creative and, frankly, dorktastic tendencies. I'm proud of you. No, seriously. It takes courage to make a blind leap of faith. Even if you whine and complain about it the entire fucking time.
Here is the thing about leaps of faith, though: the process blows. Any potentially life altering decision or risk that we make in our lives has to be built around a belief in something more enjoyable, fulfilling, exciting, healthy, or logical than what we are (or were) doing when the decision is made. It might be about changing jobs or leaving a marriage or moving to a new town or learning keyboards when you're really just a rusty trombone player. The point is, once the decision is made, your work is to deal with the decision and whatever comes along with it. It's too fucking late to second guess yourself. Of course, the decision is the easiest thing to try to undo, which is why at some point we all inevitably choose that route (like not leaving the crap job or the crap relationship). But the smart thing, the brave thing, the hard thing that will get us closer to a better mental state of mind is to follow the motivation that made us make the decision in the first place. To try. And then to keep trying. Because, what the hell else are you going to do? Satisfaction isn't some elusive place on a map and it certainly has nothing to do with the dollar amount on your paycheck (I don't think... maybe I just don't get paid enough). Satisfaction, like most things associated with happiness, happens in moments, in flashes. And the most rational way to make those moments happen more often is to somehow align your actions with your beliefs. It seems increasingly difficult to find professional positions where that specific opportunity exists, so as much as possible, you have to attempt it in your regular life.
Now, granted, this may just be my contrived way of saying, "Don't be a pussy! Stay here and be creative with your friends and trust that something will work instead of running back to Shitville, Texas for a paycheck you would likely blow on lager and whores." But, I'm pretty sure that if I wanted to say that, I just would.
- The Monkey
Monday, July 30, 2007
The official red carpet premier... (paint and blood)
The Morlock speaking. Figuratively speaking. In Raleigh, shark attacks on Discovery Channel, old coffee in the air. We have discussed this idea for years, The Monkey and I. Violent arguments regarding who should be The Monkey and who should be The Morlock prevailed for months, but it was settled amicably and at long last we have arrived at the writing process. How I loathe it. The Monkey's kung-fu is strong however, as I am indeed putting pen to paper. Figuratively speaking.
So what do we discuss for this, our first post? For those of you who know me, I have of course experienced what is quite likely the most horrifying, spirit crushing, ass-raping year of my life. I don't even think that's unnecessary hyperbole, although others may disagree. I'm tired of the set-up, but for purpose of providing some context... I lived in Austin, I had a job, I quit the job because it was killing me, I accepted a job in another country, I was deported from that country because proper procedures for obtaining entry were not pursued, I became very depressed while sleeping the day away in my nearly empty Austin apartment while pondering options, then decided to retreat to my hometown (big mistake), before finally deciding to move myself out east to be with friends, play music and just see what happens. It's been a month.
So what I have is a two-sided conundrum. After a month here, I am running out of savings and must find a source of income posthaste. Every day I shoot resumes across the landscape like a salvo of Peter North's organic mortar rounds after waiting three days (I haven't gotten any na-na-na-na in a while and have thus been watching what is probably too much porno - sorry, mom). On the one hand, I very much feel the need to just stop the wandering and make somewhere my home. I felt Austin might have accommodated that scenario, but after the events of the Great Anal Clusterfuck of 2007, I just couldn't. Here (Raleigh/Chapel Hill) I have many friends, specifically two old cronies who form the core of my long-lost gang of insanity. We have already started getting ready to play gigs (Wallpaper Thieves - we have stuff on myspace) and thinking up ideas for new film projects. I've needed this more than sex. An enema for my creative constipation. I also have other old friends like The Monkey, who bring with them entire, complete gangs of weirdos who already feel like friends. Seems ideal, aside from the unemployment issue. And as I mentioned, I'm working that shit like a monkeygrinder.
But what if by focusing on this narrow spectrum, geographically speaking, I'm missing another opportunity elsewhere? Of course I am. At the moment, it's a tree in a forest sort of deal. I'm not looking elsewhere so I don't know what I'm missing. Back to the foreign employment situation, I never would have encountered that had I not decided to quit the job I had. And while it obviously left me with a gaping wound, it did confirm that on occasion I do in fact have more guts than I give myself credit for. But what else is out there. professionally speaking? What would I be happy doing, and where? At this moment, I have a near-future opportunity to say yes to a high-paying job in west Texas. It would likely be somewhat boring and unfulfilling, and the less said about Midland the better, but it would certainly lay other opportunities before me, either a result of connections or income made.
Although I've never been part of what one could consider a successful relationship, I feel this is an undeniably similar situation. Do I stay and strive to make it all work out or leave for (possibly) greener pastures? Of course I realize most of this doubt and negativity is a direct result of the shit-sucking process of applying for work, as well as the fallout of the oft-mentioned butt-fucking of the first six months of the year. And I probably just need to get laid. But I must also consider the possibility I'm just a malcontent butthole who will never be satisfied with my lot in life. Not that anyone SHOULD be satisfied, but sometimes I wonder if it's not a pathological state of mind, or what it would require to finally set at ease that part of my brain that gives rise to those feelings.
So on an unrelated subject, I've spent several hours today practicing keyboards. I've been a bassist for about 15 years, and also played trombone from 7th grade through college (I was band president, in case you need some future joke catalyst), however I was never subjected to the inhumanity of piano lessons. Now that I'm in what is essentially a new-wave band, I'm forced into filling out the sound with occasional synth work. Surprisingly, it's not as difficult as I expected. I'm more or less just memorizing patterns, and because most of the patches we're using are analog and monophonic, I don't have to worry about separate bass/melody lines or even chords. Drop an MP3 of the song into GarageBand, set up my voice patch and play along until I know the part. I think the show-stopper (and I mean that in potentially positive AND negative connotations) will be switching from bass to keys and back within a song. We are planning some neato shit, with multiple instrument swaps and extreme genre-hopping. I don't know how it'll fly with the crowds around here, but for the three of us it's retardedly entertaining. In rehearsals we just sit around and drool with pleasure, bumping our heads up against the fucking walls.
Don't fear the reaper,
-The Morlock
So what do we discuss for this, our first post? For those of you who know me, I have of course experienced what is quite likely the most horrifying, spirit crushing, ass-raping year of my life. I don't even think that's unnecessary hyperbole, although others may disagree. I'm tired of the set-up, but for purpose of providing some context... I lived in Austin, I had a job, I quit the job because it was killing me, I accepted a job in another country, I was deported from that country because proper procedures for obtaining entry were not pursued, I became very depressed while sleeping the day away in my nearly empty Austin apartment while pondering options, then decided to retreat to my hometown (big mistake), before finally deciding to move myself out east to be with friends, play music and just see what happens. It's been a month.
So what I have is a two-sided conundrum. After a month here, I am running out of savings and must find a source of income posthaste. Every day I shoot resumes across the landscape like a salvo of Peter North's organic mortar rounds after waiting three days (I haven't gotten any na-na-na-na in a while and have thus been watching what is probably too much porno - sorry, mom). On the one hand, I very much feel the need to just stop the wandering and make somewhere my home. I felt Austin might have accommodated that scenario, but after the events of the Great Anal Clusterfuck of 2007, I just couldn't. Here (Raleigh/Chapel Hill) I have many friends, specifically two old cronies who form the core of my long-lost gang of insanity. We have already started getting ready to play gigs (Wallpaper Thieves - we have stuff on myspace) and thinking up ideas for new film projects. I've needed this more than sex. An enema for my creative constipation. I also have other old friends like The Monkey, who bring with them entire, complete gangs of weirdos who already feel like friends. Seems ideal, aside from the unemployment issue. And as I mentioned, I'm working that shit like a monkeygrinder.
But what if by focusing on this narrow spectrum, geographically speaking, I'm missing another opportunity elsewhere? Of course I am. At the moment, it's a tree in a forest sort of deal. I'm not looking elsewhere so I don't know what I'm missing. Back to the foreign employment situation, I never would have encountered that had I not decided to quit the job I had. And while it obviously left me with a gaping wound, it did confirm that on occasion I do in fact have more guts than I give myself credit for. But what else is out there. professionally speaking? What would I be happy doing, and where? At this moment, I have a near-future opportunity to say yes to a high-paying job in west Texas. It would likely be somewhat boring and unfulfilling, and the less said about Midland the better, but it would certainly lay other opportunities before me, either a result of connections or income made.
Although I've never been part of what one could consider a successful relationship, I feel this is an undeniably similar situation. Do I stay and strive to make it all work out or leave for (possibly) greener pastures? Of course I realize most of this doubt and negativity is a direct result of the shit-sucking process of applying for work, as well as the fallout of the oft-mentioned butt-fucking of the first six months of the year. And I probably just need to get laid. But I must also consider the possibility I'm just a malcontent butthole who will never be satisfied with my lot in life. Not that anyone SHOULD be satisfied, but sometimes I wonder if it's not a pathological state of mind, or what it would require to finally set at ease that part of my brain that gives rise to those feelings.
So on an unrelated subject, I've spent several hours today practicing keyboards. I've been a bassist for about 15 years, and also played trombone from 7th grade through college (I was band president, in case you need some future joke catalyst), however I was never subjected to the inhumanity of piano lessons. Now that I'm in what is essentially a new-wave band, I'm forced into filling out the sound with occasional synth work. Surprisingly, it's not as difficult as I expected. I'm more or less just memorizing patterns, and because most of the patches we're using are analog and monophonic, I don't have to worry about separate bass/melody lines or even chords. Drop an MP3 of the song into GarageBand, set up my voice patch and play along until I know the part. I think the show-stopper (and I mean that in potentially positive AND negative connotations) will be switching from bass to keys and back within a song. We are planning some neato shit, with multiple instrument swaps and extreme genre-hopping. I don't know how it'll fly with the crowds around here, but for the three of us it's retardedly entertaining. In rehearsals we just sit around and drool with pleasure, bumping our heads up against the fucking walls.
Don't fear the reaper,
-The Morlock
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