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
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