*Twang*
That’s the sound my guitar makes, at least that’s what one of my self-proclaimed, supportive friends once told me. Such an overused word, ‘friends.’ I’m reflecting on the amount of times a salesperson I just met has called me that, as I attempt to record once again, in another person’s home. Thankfully, I have found that I do have friends. Oh and family too, cause you know what they say. The artist’s journey is what helps you find out what real family is. I’m writing this in September of 2021 and so you could say I’ve discovered the same thing that Britney has. Family isn’t always what you think it is.
But that’s a different story altogether.
“I’m going to be a rock star or die trying,” that’s what I had proclaimed nearly 3 years ago now. A pandemic, my first ever severance package and all the pressure of living within a corporate box, shot me onto this path. Little did they know when I said it, I also make bracelets out of rock and will likely have an epithet some day. So yeah, a ‘rock-star,’ even if I’m six feet under.
But that’s the risk right? Charles Bukowski once wrote to me. He said ”Go all the Way,” and that sounded so easy at the time. Back when the pay cheques were steady and I had a shelter. But not a home. I think that’s something I had for about 5 years, in my entire lifetime, even though I once purchased the house I had grown up in. But alas, that’s just another sad truth which the artist’s journey has revealed to me.
*Twang* I try once more to get the sound right. It’s not there yet, far from it. But I know, even if my friends don’t, that this song is a banger. And yet that’s what we all say, we all think we have talent. Except I don’t, I just think I’m the most creative. ’Cause, we have to think that way right? Like a sport’s athlete proclaiming they are the best, even though they rank at the bottom of their league. It should be apparent shouldn’t it? When you’re not as good as the others? But no, we have to have the right mindset. And so I hide my lack of talent in abstraction and proclivity. This writing, about guitar songs and bracelets. Ha! That’s just the tip of my iceberg.
That’s what I call my hope, as it slowly pulls me back under the sea. Buoyed for now, but in another week…
Whose to say? Maybe my proposals and ‘Avant Garde’ documents get accepted. Or maybe everyone just sees through the use of that phrase: ‘Avant Garde.’ As if I’m not cleverly trying to hide my oddness, or worse ‘weirdness’ as the woman who was nice enough to let me stay on her couch keeps mentioning. “You weird man,” she says while laughing at nearly everything I do. I don’t mind. It’s nice to hear her laugh. It’s funny to myself, when she crumbles on the floor, giggling so hard at the things I’ve said or done, as if she hasn’t rolled on the floor in years.
And she hasn’t, not like that. Most people don’t or worse, can’t. I remember being there. Acting as if everything was fine, while the false weights of daily life pressed down upon me. But maybe that’s just how I felt? Maybe that’s why I’m the artist? Whoever said you need skill? You just have to create until you die right? That’s how art goes, you’re celebrated afterwards. Meanwhile the people who have the flashiest cars and the big house. Those people who seemingly made the right purchases, or happened to be in a market at the right time. Those are the people who are celebrated during their life. No, I’m just saying that because I don’t have the skill. Obscuring my self-pity, with delusional clouds raining down on other people’s achievements. But that’s the tragedy of finding art so late in your life. It’s all you want to do… Create! Create! Create! It practically screams at me. Yet I don’t have the benefit of hearing voices as others do. It’s all just a feeling that I’m going in the right direction, while my whole world tells me I’m wrong. But at least I smoke less when she’s around. The woman who graciously lets me sit at her kitchen island, while she goes to her job. Even though I’m here all day, I sometimes try to leave just before she comes home. I turn out all the lights, go for a small walk just so I get that feeling of coming home to something. It’s not even about her, I just want that ‘home’ feeling and for a moment I have that. So I relish in it.
*Twang*
I don’t know if I’m right. I don’t even know if there is a god. But I thank God everyday for showing me who my real friends are. The people who don’t understand me, don’t comprehend me and who like everyone else, also tell me to get a job. As if they think the lines in my music are simply words that have no meaning. Cause you know, no one listens until you’re famous. But even though they seem like all the others. My friends, the real ones, let you stay for awhile. Even if they think you are crazy. The real ones ensure you are safe. And only a true artist, who has walked this path, will ever really know what I’m writing about. They say the joy is in the journey. I’m not sure I’d call it joy, as much as just ‘something’ is in it. And while I don’t recommend it for everyone. I can only thank the real friends who are helping me walk it.