Archive for the ‘The Past Life Experiment’ Category

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THE PAST LIFE EXPERIMENT

There are times when I look at my life and wonder, “How did I arrive at this point?” I look at my art, music, and writing as being like the remains of some lost civilization, and I am the archaeologist unearthing them. What inspired me to create these things? What motivated me? What is the relevance of my work? Where is it going? What is it all leading to?

These are some of the questions I hope to answer in The Past Life Experiment. During the course of this project, I will revisit my past and explore my motivations along the path that brought me here.

This soul-searching extends beyond the scope of my various crafts and lies at the heart of what my identity has come to mean to me. This experiment is my attempt to join memory with forward motion. This is my attempt to remember before I forget…

¤

I have seen the future.  It comes to me in my dreams.  Here, I can view my life being played out like a movie.  A surprisingly short movie.  I come here to re-live moments of the past, re-acquaint myself with forgotten memories, and to study the course of my life.  From this vantage point, I can see the whole of my life, all of the great moments and acquisition of knowledge and experience, all of the crests and troughs, the moments of tragedy.  In this place, I can see the interconnectivity of how my path is woven together with others.  The winding channels of lifelines intersecting at pivotal and significant moments.  I can chart the course of how a simple seed of thought is planted, and how it sprouts and blossoms to give birth to other thoughts which determine directions and outcomes later on.  How people can exchange ideas and affect the consciousness of large groups of people.  I can see my role clearly and how it meshes with the greater scheme of existence.  How we are all one.  This is a timeless place, and I feel very safe here.  It is as if I have all of the answers to my questions or, rather, that there are no more questions. 

            I decide to engage myself in the game again.  It’s just too intriguing to not participate.  I know what the consequences will be for playing again, but that’s part of the thrill of the experience.  Like a treasure hunt, you never know what gems you’ll end up uncovering.  But it’s all about the journey.  Of course I understand this concept here and now.  It’s a whole different story when I’m actually immersed in the game. 

            I go through the traumatic process of being birthed by the parents of my choosing.  I remember most of this while in the womb, but being born into the world is so hyperstimulating that I quickly forget my origins and become engrossed in all of the worldly distractions.

            Now I am a child wandering through a marshy field of tall grass.  I am alone, and don’t have many friends.  I’ve always been kind of a loner.  I walk through this field wondering how long it will be before we have to move again. I’m not sure about my life or the future.  It seems like I’m always fearful of something, but not being outside.  I like being out here, exploring.  I don’t care if other people had been here; I wanted to see things for myself, walking the lands.

            Now I am a little older, on stage at a high school band performance.  I finally feel confident enough about playing music that I don’t feel like an imposter anymore.  I command the instrument I’m playing with all the knowledge and sensitivity of my training.  I feel the emotional rise as I contribute my part to a greater piece of music.  I can hear the interconnectivity of the performers all adding their voices to the symphony, their instruments perfect extensions of their souls.

            I travel to my first kiss, and the thrill of being liked by someone.  I can feel the interconnectivity between us as we kiss and explore each other.  I think, this is pretty great…this life seems worth it

            Now I’m in another relationship and we’re fighting.  I have seen parts of her that I don’t like, and even worse, she’s seen some of my ugliness.  I know that things won’t ever be the same between us and I can’t seem to see past a post-breakup life with her.  I ask myself, is this what life is all about?  A series of risks and longshots where nobody really knows the outcomes, or don’t put their energy into the outcomes they want?

            I’m at graduation and it’s like I’m standing on the sidelines watching the whole event take place in fast forward.  I never honestly ever thought of graduating from high school as a reality.  It always teetered on the edge of conceptual thought for me, but here I am.  I guess it was worth it.

            Now I am at a jobsite trying to learn how to strip and wax floors.  I am frustrated and scared that I will be fired for not knowing how to do the job.  It seems that everything that I touch falls apart.  I’m pretty insecure about joining the workforce, but my parents are kicking me out so I have to do something for money.  I wonder, not for the first time, why I have the parents I have.  They’re not very supportive, and it doesn’t seem like they understand me.

            Now I’m in my first apartment.  I’ve just paid my bills and went grocery shopping.  My belly is full and I drift off to sleep easily knowing that I’m taken care of.  My parents were hard on me, but now I’m on my own and I like it.  If life only gets this bad, then I can probably survive like this.

            After a series of job changes and relationships, I finally end up living and working in the city.  My body is noticeably ageing.  Even though I knew this was coming, I always looked at getting older like my graduation day; more of a concept.  I see the people that I used to think were old and wonder about their youth and the trials that brought them along their paths.  I am humbled by the experience of getting older.  The days and months fly by with uncanny speed.

Future

            I am at my niece’s graduation, and all kinds of memories flood back and I realize that I am envious of her youth, just as my elders were envious of my youth in my day.  But now this is her day.  There are so many things that I want to tell her to encourage her, but I know she’ll probably forget it all in the whirlwind of ceremonies and parties.  I realize that one of my biggest fears is losing all of my essence to death.  All of the gathered knowledge and cultivated personality that makes up the character of me.  It terrifies me to think of having to go through it all again.

            I realize that the older I get and the more knowledge I acquire, there is yet other information that quietly slips away.  There are some cherished memories, long-lost loves, forgotten friends that fall by the wayside.  I, not for the first time, regret some of the ways that I hurt others in the past, or wasn’t there, or wished I would’ve done things differently.  Life is to me like a bittersweet lover, both intoxicating and ruinous, teasing me along this path until I die.

            Throughout my life I accomplish many things, there are plenty of obstacles, loves, losses, many revelations, forgotten brilliance, and a good amount of intrigue for good or ill.

            In my final moment of death, I remember that I was the one who elected to play this game, and I remember why I keep coming back to it.  Everything was so rich in value, the good and bad.  To have the ability to sense so much, to feel so many emotions, it was so engulfing that I forgot that I was playing a game.  I slip into death much as I came into the world, and I pass back into the obscurity of the cosmic consciousness, able to rest once again.

 

crossroads

 

“We’ll go wherever—you just pick the spot.”

It was Kaiser on the phone, trying to solidify plans for the double-date he’d been trying to set up for weeks. I hated being put in this position; made to decide how we were to entertain ourselves for the evening. This was not because I was at a loss for interesting things to do. I’d been living on Capitol Hill long enough to feed my need for new and exciting experiences and I wanted my expertise to show for tonight’s date. Hell—my apartment was downtown, smack in the center of Denver nightlife. My real reason for not wanting to be the decider of what-to-do was more out of a growing difference of interests between the Kaiser and I.

Over the years, I was learning that my suggestions, hip as they might’ve been, had become less-than-appealing to him. His idea of a good time usually involved standing around yuppie LoDo bars, trying to pick-up seemingly unattainable young vixens by what he called “staring into their souls.” This favorite pastime of his was nothing more than a cheap parlor trick, a way to fuel his ego. I had seen this technique work for him on more than one occasion and had been wowed by his bravado. But, the veil of Kaiser’s mystique, the more I had gotten to know him, was gradually being lifted to reveal a superficiality I had mistaken for depth. And if I left the monumental decision of planning the night’s events up to him, I would likely spend the evening immersed in regretful yawns. No, I didn’t like being the appointed party responsible for the success of us all having fun, nor did I trust Kaiser’s judgment, especially when it came to having a genuine good time.    

“How ‘bout we go for some karaoke–like we used to?” I suggested. “I know this great little dive downtown.” This was a neutral suggestion; my way of trying to bridge the divide that had been growing between us. Instead of focusing on the ways we were different, this was—at least by my reckoning—a simple solution that would put us on common ground.

“I don’t know, man. Karaoke—really?”

“Yeah, why not? We used to sing it all the time. I figured this could be a good date.”

“Alright…” His response was that petulant standard that I had gotten used to, his version of a compromise. “We can at least start there and see how it goes.”

“Yeah, ok,” I agreed.

“I guess that’ll work. Start there and then go to the Rolling Rock Brewery or something. I know there’ll be some hot chicks there.”

These sort of remarks were typical of Kaiser. His own long-time girlfriend, Sheri, was a real knockout; smart, refined, and loyal as hell to Kaiser. But he was the type of guy who always had his sights set on the horizon, a near-mythic creature who was part poet, part devil, part grinning peacock. For him, a simple life would never do. And that meant being on the perilous knife’s edge of temptation, always pushing boundaries and often exceeding them. This was apparent in his fashion choices—he wore expensive leather pants, displayed an array of facial jewelry—a different nose-ring for each day of the month. And his women—well, they were as varied as his hairstyles. Yes, Kaiser was living the good life, but in his opinion, the good life could always be made better by tossing in a bit of sweet complication.

“This girl I’m supposed to meet—the one you’re setting me up with. What’s her name again?”

“Kelli. She works with Sheri at the veterinary office, remember?”

“What time do you want to meet up?”

“Let’s say about—don’t wanna show up too early—seven or eight.”

“Make it seven so we can get on the karaoke list. The line fills up fast.”

“Sure, we’ll try. Oh—and we’re gonna meet at your place.”

“Not the bar?”

“It’ll be easier. Plus I want Kelli to see your place.”

“Oh, great.” This wasn’t the way I normally operated, especially upon meeting a girl for the first time. But, I supposed that my apartment was an ideal launching pad for the evening. “At least we can get a few drinks in before we leave.”

“Exactly. Are you excited?” This was something I had wondered myself. With all of the strange events that 2008 had brought so far, I was eager to move on from the scum and residue that was clinging onto me. As painful as it was, Angela Schroeder was still the standard by which I evaluated every new potential love interest. But I had already committed to the long, hard work of erasing her imprint on me, and a new girl might just be the right catalyst for change. Plus Kaiser’s hasty matchmaking attempts had left me little room to ponder these things enough to back out now.

“I can tell you’re excited,” was the answer I gave, trying not to sound ungrateful. What if, for once, Kaiser’s radar was dead on this time? After all, he was one of my oldest friends. Maybe he knew something I didn’t. Maybe this new girl, Kelli, would rise above all of my cynical expectations and turn out to be this amazing woman; someone so great, I couldn’t have imagined her myself. I thought I should at least give her and this double date a fair chance, if only as a show of waning loyalty to Kaiser.

¤

Knock! Knock! Knock!

I had decided to start my own pre-drinking earlier in the afternoon and was glad for it. It helped pass the time during my hasty attempts at apartment cleaning. It also effectively took off most of my nervous edge while waiting for my visitors. My head was in that ideal zone, somewhere between cool reserve and swimmy geniality. I bit my lip and answered the door.

“Hey guys! Welcome to my humble commode.” I held the door wide-open as the threesome shuffled in. Kaiser was in the lead, dressed in his finest 80’s rocker leather pants, followed by the two ladies who were immersed in bubbly conversation. I closed the door behind them, trying to eye-up my dedicated match for the evening.

“You must be Kelli,” I said, introducing myself. She was short, brunette, and attractive in a cutesy sort of way. My first impression in a word: young. Since my dating years had begun, I had somehow managed to attract girls who were younger than me. Most guys I knew were thrilled and flattered if they could land a younger girl. But my experiences had proved to me that age differences only highlighted the inevitable acts of immaturity that the younger girls often displayed.

“Hi.” Her voice was soft, but carried a sultry edge that indicated we might be off to a good start.

Kaiser was beaming. His silver nose-ring twinkled in the candlelit living room of my apartment. No one was saying anything, which made this unusual encounter even more awkward. I decided to break the ice.

“Come on in. I’ve got some beers if you guys want to drink before we head out.”

“We brought something better,” Sheri said slyly.

Kelli reached into her purse and, like a rabbit being pulled from a magician’s hat, out came a big bottle of top-shelf tequila.

“All right then,” I said, grinning at the prospect of what this night may portend.

After we took our shots, we called a cab and left my apartment. As we made our way to the taxi, the ladies resumed their girl-talk, and I used the opportunity to mumble a question to Kaiser.

“How old is Kelli?”

His grin faltered a bit. “Well—she is young.”

“How young?”

“I’m not sure. Old enough to drink is old enough, right?” Now he turned solemn. “But I’ve learned not to judge a person by their age. I look at a person’s soul and Kelli’s an old soul. Plus Sheri says that Kelli’s pretty mature for her age.” Kaiser’s shit-eating grin returned. “I can tell she likes you.” He gave me a fleeting wink as we climbed into the cab.

¤

“—you from, originally?”

WHAT?”

I SAID—WHERE ARE YOU FROM ORIGINALLY?”

Kelli murmured something that sounded like, “Seattle.”

Oh, OK,” I returned, still not quite sure what she had said. Most of our conversation had gone on like this once we arrived at the karaoke joint. The deafening music had ensured that very little useful information would be exchanged between us, so I decided to be agreeable by default. After barely getting one song in, we migrated to a slightly swankier nightclub in LoDo, where the assault on my eardrums continued.

The change in locales didn’t do much to improve on the conversation; neither did the assembly line of strong drinks. The fact is, I didn’t know much more about Kelli than when she first showed up at my apartment. I knew she was young. I knew she was cute. It was enough to have an enjoyable evening for the time being, but I couldn’t ignore the persistent signs of inconsistency that came through: Awkward body language, strange cultural references that illustrated the generational gap between us, shifty encouragements, both of us wanting—­­but not quite reaching a true connection.

I tried to get to know her a little better. What was the latest book she had read? What? She didn’t read for enjoyment? Music? She named bands I had never heard of. When I mentioned my favorite bands, judging by the glazed-over look on her face, Kelli didn’t know of them or wasn’t listening. She probably couldn’t hear me over the ear-bleeding club music. It seemed that there was an over-arching disparity—or lack of interest—towards the finer points of compatibility. These discouraging tidbits however, weren’t enough to crush my beer-fueled optimism. Soon, I found myself kissing her and the rest of the night was awash with loud music, dancing, and alcohol.

¤

I woke up the next morning, hung over, Kelli under the covers with me. My first horrified thought was: Did we have sex last night? I wracked my brain for memories of the night, but the harder I tried to remember, the more my head hurt. I couldn’t remember getting home. Obviously something had to have happened—the way we were cozied up under the covers. But waking up to a strange woman in my place after just meeting her—wasn’t my style. Maybe I should pretend to go back to sleep.

“Morning,” she said stirring.

“Uh—morning.”

“What time is it?”

I got up to look at the clock in my kitchenette, taking the opportunity to snag my pants back on.

“It’s afternoon,” I said, hoping that I didn’t sound as disappointed as I felt. “Do you want some water?”

“Thanks,” she said after taking a drink. She held the covers above her bare breasts with her other arm.

“Did we—?” I began awkwardly.

“What, have sex?” She smiled, lips shiny with water. “I don’t think so. We came close, but you were too drunk, I think.”

“Oh.” I felt relieved for some reason. In the warm afternoon light she looked even younger than before. “Sorry.”

“Where’s your bathroom?”

I pointed in the direction of my studio. She left the bed, finding her bra on the way to the bathroom. I hated these uncomfortable morning-after sessions. I found it nearly impossible to muster the requisite charm needed to get rid of the person gracefully. There was usually some small-talk over breakfast—or better yet—a hasty, wordless departure because of prior obligations. I found it difficult to outright kick a girl out of my place; I was too much of a gentleman for that. But sometimes the morning-after could linger on ad nauseam. This is why one-night stands didn’t suit me. They usually amounted to two strangers sharing the most intimate of acts, only to realize that they didn’t like each other that much, or didn’t have the glue needed to hold something more substantial together.

The toilet flushed. I was grateful for the extra time to compose myself. Kelli emerged from my studio, fully dressed, which was a good sign towards making a departure.

“So—did you drive here?” I asked, trying to sound more conversational than urgent. Driving logistics made the morning after situations even more complicated because I didn’t have a car and therefore couldn’t neatly part ways by dropping the girl off somewhere. Kelli gave me a puzzled look, still smiling. She sat down on the couch next to me.

“No. Kaiser drove us down here last night.”

“Oh. So how—?”

“Kaiser said you’d help me call a cab in the morning. I can take it back to my work where I’m parked. You really don’t remember any of this, do you? What we talked about last night?” I blurted a single, humorless laugh while rubbing my head.

“I remember some things, but—wow! I don’t remember coming back here.”

“Kaiser and Sheri took off. He assured me I’d be in good hands, and…” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “He was right.”

Oh boy, I thought, mentally sighing. This was just like Kaiser to dump a strange girl in my lap and leave me to handle her the morning after. I’m guessing that I probably hadn’t protested too much the night before in my drunken state; my place did pose as a somewhat ideal crash pad for the woefully inebriated. But Kaiser had a habit of leaving me in these precarious situations.

Mercifully, Kelli conducted this morning-after interlude with maturity. I felt a little silly and self-conscious about the whole thing, chalking it up to being caught off-guard. I drank way-too-much, and the missing time gaps had been a result. I resolved to lay off of the sauce for a while, so I could at least remember having forgettable sex with a stranger.

We made plans to go on another date—sometime. I could tell that she was more eager than I was. Before she climbed into the cab, we hugged and my body felt stand-offish, my laughter sounded a bit too haughty. I watched her go, glad to be alone again.

I was definitely at a point in my life where I was looking for someone more substantial than a strange bedfellow. It wasn’t fair to Kelli to presume that she wasn’t worthy of my time or attention. This first encounter with her showed me that there was an attraction, but was there more to this girl than met the eye?

I was at the Crossroads, standing before the entrance of this uncertain path. Should I start down this winding road, or remain in the center of potentiality? Was this girl it, or were there greater, yet unknown experiences to be had? So much of this initial encounter with Kelli felt like familiar ground, so much felt like I knew how it would end, and it would probably end badly. Was this premonition a reminder of how history tended to repeat itself? Was it wishful thinking? Or did the crossroads have more in store for me than I could have ever imagined?

End of p.2

To be continued…

Momentum

To borrow a phrase from one of my favorite Chevelle songs, the time feels right to embark upon a “new momentum.” Approximately 10 years ago, I wrote down a list of the things I wanted to achieve creatively. This list included projects that were currently underway, avenues I had yet to pursue. Even more vague, were ambitious projects that were so enormous in scope that they seemed relegated to the realm of daydreams. All said, the list was populated, at the time, by about 30 projects or so. There were grandiose plans for albums of music, volumes of books, and catalogues of art. Certainly, there was enough to keep one busy for a lifetime; if one was given a long enough timeline, and if busywork was the desired lifestyle.

What ended up happening over the years was a sort of refinement towards these objectives. Some projects became more urgent, others lost their relevancy, and still others became mutated combinations of previously slated projects. This had the effect of essentially reducing my ongoing project list, and streamlining my work to represent a more realistic way of actually accomplishing these goals.

I have always sought to utilize the natural energy contained within the different seasons. This is not a forceful wielding of the power of the seasons, but a calm recognition of how to flow with the particular energies that cycle around each year. These energies amplify my own determination to bring my reality into existence.

Spring is a time of renewal, of expansion, and of positive momentum. In the spirit of renewal, I have found that it is important to periodically reexamine one’s goals and priorities. Life is constantly changing, and it is good to structure goals around the adaptability that life requires. Do my goals still work for the current conditions of my life? What are my plans for all of these lofty goals?

Over time, I have seen some of these goals mature into fruition. What I have come to realize is that typically, the more clearly I can imagine something, the more likely it will come into existence. There is nothing quite like seeing an idea manifest itself into reality, especially in a way that is meaningful to others.

The purpose and drive behind my work is to touch other people’s lives. It is not enough anymore to simply create things for my own satisfaction, but to reach out to others and hopefully enrich their lives. I have seen how it is possible to make a difference, and it is with this in mind that I work to carry out a new momentum.

crossroads02

It was a time of great consequence, many paths converging, melding, virtually crashing into one another. It was a crossroads of sorts, a metaphysical location in time where the potential for other possibilities, different potentialities, alternate timelines was imminent, acute, uncanny.

Even more uncanny was my awareness of how tumultuous these converging and diverging paths were, like the absolute certainty of when one loses their balance, teetering beyond rational control. These were times of great change and upheaval in my life, and I was swept away by the overwhelming current of it.

It was around the time of early spring 2008. I was still not quite yet 30 years old, and I was fresh into a crescendo of good times, in relationships, matters of work, and in my Capitol Hill lifestyle. I had started the New Year ringing and singing with my fellows from the Longview Pub. This had always been a favorite karaoke haunt of mine, and during that night, after all the regulars were scuttled out at closing time, the barmaid and her man threw an after-party in their loft above the bar. It was almost surreal to be sitting in a living room above the Longview Pub, drinking, passing around from couple-to-couple while we all sang that old Beatle favorite, ‘Let It Be,’ wondering and hoping what the next year might entail. It was like stepping into a time machine for an instant, and I finally understood how some music really could unite people. There are just some songs that are timeless, and I could remember thinking that this was one of those moments that would stand out, and even then I felt the tremors of upcoming change, peeking over the horizon like a wink of sunrise.

This was how my year started out; I was finally willing and ready to wash off the residue from 2007, that year having been mostly concerned with affairs of Angela Schroder, of love and of loss. I started Synfonica at about that time, carrying my notebook with me to late-night hamburger joints, and just about everywhere I went, using it as a placemat during one of my many karaoke sessions at the Longview Pub, me and my fellows crammed into our favorite booth mafia style. It was a time of beginnings, alliances being formed, ideas being forged, tossed around the magic circle like untempered fireworks, almost too hot to handle.

So my notebook was always with me, and I carried it like a kind of shield. This was to protect me from seeping too far into the past and all the hurt that it held for me. The doomed relationship with Angela had left me feeling alone and bewildered, and now was the time of re-awakening from that slump. Writing Synfonica was my way of dealing with the past, by paving my way forward into the future, much of the book a clandestine autobiographical account of my feelings regarding her, and of things magical. I was using my painful experiences to create something beautiful and transcendent.

The beginning of 2008 also marked the glory days of our little band of wayward troubadours at the Pub. This was back when our relationships were free and a little flirty. We all came to revel in each others’ company and bear each others’ misery. This was before the nasty falling out between the Wilsons and I, when there was more black-and-white defining the contours of my ideas relationships, and less gray. This was when I still held on to naïve notions of fidelity, always believing that the institution of marriage, or my friends that embarked upon that road, were somehow above the trials and temptations presented by the world. They too fell under the enchantment of the Crossroads, and none of us were safe from its allure.

¤

The momentum from that New Years’ night carried me for several weeks until that cataclysmic confrontation with Eve Wilson, the de facto ringleader of our little band. She was my good buddy Eddie’s wife of a couple of years. I was at their wedding, and was pleasantly surprised to develop a friendship with Eve, over the years, while also re-kindling my friendship with Eddie. We had been in a band together with Kaiser Morningstar before I moved out of state for a while, and hadn’t really kept in touch, and now that I was back, I hadn’t realized how much I had missed Eddie’s friendship.

It’s clear why Eve and me were such easy friends. She was easy to talk to, intellectual, funny, and seemingly down-to-Earth. We tip-toed around each other at first, respecting each others’ role in the object of our mutual interest, Eddie. As we came to know each other better, we would hang out independently of Eddie, talking for long periods into the night, and I was happy to have her as a friend. But there is a good reason as to why a man should not become friends with his buddy’s wife. No matter how innocent your intentions might be, the door is open for things to go wrong, and they could go wrong and often do.

I remember there being a bit of quiet intrigue amongst our group concerning the fabled book I wrote for Angela, Somewhere In Time. When I presented it to Eve for her inspection before I was to give it to Angela, I remember her acting a little weird, almost like she was jealous over Angela. I had dismissed it at the time, but then Eve started murmuring darkly about troubles in her marriage with Eddie. In fact, she brought these disclosures to our group at the Pub, to add to the stew of dysfunctional relationship woes on the table. I was caught in a dilemma between my loyalty to Eddie, and wanting to be a sounding board for Eve.

She talked about how badly she wanted children, about how Eddie had become increasingly distant and disengaged from their life, and that he would hold his true feelings inside. I was often caught off guard at each revelation that there was trouble in Wilsonville. Eddie and Eve had seemed like they were perfect for each other, both having a great fetish towards anything Science Fiction related, both were heavily into music, and were from each others’ era. In fact, they had built their own music studio/karaoke hangout in their basement that we had affectionately called “Club Wilson.” They both found each other at a time in their lives when a relationship seemed out of reach, Eddie having sworn them off completely.

When I had first met him, he would preach all of the virtues of bachelorhood to Kaiser and myself, admonishing us to remain single and true. That was right around the time when I moved out to Ohio. Eddie’s one-night exploits had been legendary, and that’s how I remembered him. When I was away, however, I heard distant rumors that some lady had caught him in her snares. After I moved back to Denver, I was anxious to meet the woman who had knocked Eddie off of his single trip, and when I met her, I honestly didn’t think much of Eve. It is easy to underestimate her, and that is part of her guile, as I later found out. They seemed like a match made in heaven, but the storybook facade of what I thought was a great marriage between them began to melt away like wax figures caught in a house of fire.

This crisis came to a critical junction right around Valentine’s Day, 2008. Eve and her best friend Viola wound up running the karaoke gig at the Longview Pub. I had noticed that Eve had been wearing more and more provocative outfits to the Pub, and that she would often creep out to the parking lot with strange guys for periods of time. I would go out there with her sometimes, and we would sit and talk and smoke. I could tell that there was an attraction there. I was certainly attracted to her, but in a mostly cerebral way; you can’t spend so much time investing in a friendship and not be somewhat attracted to the other person.

On the night of Valentine’s 2008, I was handed a bright pink envelope by Eve in the parking lot of the Pub. I immediately felt a drop in my gut, and as I opened it, reading the handmade valentine, I was caught by a strange urge to flee from the spot. Maybe that’s what I should have done, but what’s done is done. The Crossroads offer the vantage point of seeing many different possible paths to take, but once one has been chosen, the reality of that choice crystallizes, and for good or ill, one must live with that choice.

I shifted my eyes from side to side, feeling uneasy. The card felt dirty hanging in my limp hand. I gave her a perfunctory thanks and hustled back inside, hoping to lose the feeling of weirdness amongst the laughter and joviality of our group. There was a woman in our group, Janine, a doll that I frequently flirted with, and whom I had hoped would take me home that night. Eve came in a short while later saying, “We need to talk,” as if we were a bickering couple. And then the real bickering and arguing took place as we yelled at each other out in the parking lot, and for the first time, I got to see the real Eve; and her fury, the emotion most likely reserved for Eddie when they fought behind the scenes. So this is what it must be like for him, I thought. I was suddenly enraged with the revelation that she was treating me like a cheating husband, like I somehow owed her something. And all of the memories came flooding in, all of the many times that we had hung out, talked, all the gestures that I had taken as genuine friendship, and all of the ways I had genuinely demonstrated the same, all coming clear in the real context, in her real agenda. One husband to pick on and yell at wasn’t enough for her; she wanted more than just one.

“I saw you flirting with Janine. Is she going to take you home tonight?” This was a coded term for having sex. I wasn’t driving then, and I would take a bus to the Pub and usually someone would offer me a ride home, after the busses stopped running. If I was lucky, the ride home might turn into more. Eve had been giving me rides home as of late, and now I understood why.

“You need to work out your problems with Eddie,” I grumbled, hoping to shift her attention onto the real issue.

“You want me out of the way so you can fuck Janine, is that it?”

“It’s none of your business!” I retorted, getting more pissed off. “Anyways, what’s wrong with Janine? I thought you liked Janine!”

“I’m just looking out for her. So you don’t fuck her and leave her like you do all the rest.”

I could feel my face filling with molten rock. “That’s not how I am,” I grit, straining to keep my voice calm. This whole conversation was absurd and getting nowhere. “You know what? I don’t answer to you. I’m not married. You are. You took that plunge, remember? I didn’t.”

“I know how you really are; I know because I’ve watched you go from woman to woman, and I know that you’re going to treat Janine just like the rest of them.“ Then she went on to say, “I can’t have you coming here anymore, ruining my reputation. I’m trying to run a karaoke show. Your presence is too disruptive.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I reply, turning to go back inside.

“You’re a coward…” she hissed after me, barely audible from the raucous sounds of the bar, as I swirled back inside.

The rest of the night, Eve spent away from our group, giving me disdainful looks melodramatically across the room from the bar, to which I ignored. My friends at the table were wondering what the hell Eve’s problem was, and apparently, they had had previous experience with her aggressive mood swings. This was all new to me, never before having to bear the brunt of her malice.

“She’s fucking married,” I reasoned with them, and they agreed, nodding their heads sympathetically. This episode, I came to learn later, was just another checkpoint along Eve’s roadmap towards a complete breakdown.

Sick of the drama, sick of being treated like the husband-that-never-was, sick of the smell and feel of the Pub, the unholy pull of the place, and the dark avenues it provided, I got up and started walking home, all warm thoughts of sexcapades with Janine forgotten. This encounter, and in fact the Pub itself, leaving a sour taste in my mouth, a bitterness that overshadowed my initial great start to the year.

¤

I stayed away from the Pub for a time. This was not because of Eve’s dire warning for me to keep away from what she thought of as her joint, but rather because I needed to clear my head. My mind was whirling with the events of Valentine’s Day, the calamity brought on by Eve’s destruction, the loss of her friendship, or at least the person I thought she was, and the undeniable rift that it would cause between me and Eddie. If Eddie and Eve were still having problems, I wanted to be anywhere but in the middle of it. 2008 had already dumped its share of drama on me, and I was ready to move on. But then the rumors started, as annoying and persistent as a leaky faucet. First I heard it from some of my friends who still went to the Pub.

“What happened between you and Eve?” was the most common query, definitely not alluding to the more innocent interpretation of what had happened between us.

“She gave me a fucking valentine. You saw it,” was my reply, growing less and less patient. They looked at me as if I were deliberately trying to be dense. Obviously they had been under the impression that more had transpired between me and Eve. There had always been a spirit of flirtation amongst the members of our little singing group; it was one element of the escapism we had sought, but this was going too far.

“Why, what did she say?” The looks on their faces was all I needed to know.

Terri spoke up, “We all know she’s a liar anyways. She went off on me too.” This bit of information took me by surprise. “She is deeply troubled. She’s been going off in this direction for some time now. I’ve been putting up with her, but last week when she yelled at me…she thought I was defending you, and when I told her I wasn’t, she said some things that crossed the line for me.”

What I hadn’t told them is that Eve had been trying to reach me through e-mail. She was very persistent, and I knew on some level that any further communication with her would most likely end up in further enmity. My position with Eve was that the stronger she tried to engage me, the further I would withdraw. This tactic seemed to infuriate her, much to my delight.

“I don’t know what her problem is,” I said, shaking my head.

“She’s disturbed. I love her and hope the best for her, but she’s going to have to deal with her problems without turning on her friends,” Terri implored.

“Why don’t you come back to the Pub?” This was Janine. “Don’t let Eve bully you out of here.”

“I’m not letting her tell me where I can and can’t go!” I replied, a little defensively. “I just need a break for a while.” I looked past Janine and the others, thinking of how simple things used to be. How fun going to the Longview Pub had been.

¤

My karaoke buddies weren’t the only source of scandalous mutterings. Kaiser Morningstar had called me up shortly after the “Big Blow-up,” as I was beginning to call it.

“So…what’s been going on?” I could hear caution and eagerness coming from his voice through the earpiece. By this fact alone, I knew that Eve had already gotten to him. Maybe she had even tried to seduce him as well. Here was another close friend of Eddie’s who had spent just as much one-on-one time with his wife, sharing in that all-important rite of information exchange known as intimacy. And as long as I’ve known him, the Kaiser liked to have his own little side affairs, which was another nail in the coffin towards breaking my beliefs in lasting relationships. Here were some of my closest friends, involved in these mutually beneficial relationships, yet they clearly sought succor from outside the relationship. Perhaps the institution of monogamy was inherently the problem.

“Nothin’ much,” was my reply. If my regard of Kaiser had been higher, I might have caved into his projections, but I wasn’t taking the bait.

“I haven’t talked to you in a while. I just wanted to see what was new.” Yeah, sure. My experience with the Kaiser is that he typically only called when he wanted something.

“Just doing my thing; you know, writing some new songs…I’ve been keeping a weblog…I’m getting ready to show some artwork…” And the conversation went on much like this for a while, both of us dodging the obvious topic that was on both of our minds.

“Have you talked to Eddie?” Ah, he was finally getting more to the point. I still played dumb.

“Not recently. I’m waiting to do some more recordings to finish up the album.” This was our collective long-standing music project that we had started before I moved to go to college, called Mandelbrot. It wasn’t fair to call it a band. It was far too lethargic to be a musical act geared towards playing live shows. We were definitely a studio act. It seemed that we were always working or re-working some aspect of this album. Although, through the years, Eddie had accumulated more recording equipment and technical knowledge, we were still no closer to having an actual finished product than in the days before I had moved.

“You haven’t talked to Eve, have you?” That uncharacteristic light tread in his voice, trying too hard to be casual.

“I used to see her when I went singing at the Pub…” I responded innocently, “a bit of a falling out, I’m afraid.”

“I heard some stuff…man, I didn’t say nothin’ ‘cause I was testin’ you. I wanted to see how you responded, to see if you’d tell me yourself. I did it on purpose. I didn’t believe it…no man, ‘cause she’s nasty. I know you wouldn’t touch that.”

I could hear the revulsion in his voice. I couldn’t explain that on some level I had been attracted to Eve, whether it was from mere intellectual stimulation or by keeping the company of crooked saints. In the wake of her meltdown, all remaining vestiges of the previous beauty I had seen in her had been obliterated, and the true ugliness of her being had been exposed.

“She doesn’t even want you in their house,” Kaiser went on, sounding amazed. “What happened?” How much should I tell him? I wondered. Kaiser wasn’t exactly the kind of person that could keep secrets, and when he inevitably spilled the beans, the resulting rumor would most likely be so distorted with Kaiser’s own exaggerations, that one was often worse off for telling him. I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about the flirting that went on within our little group, innocent as it had been. That bit of information in the wrong hands could throw fuel on an already volatile situation.

So I told him about the valentine, and how she had blown up at me in the parking lot, and how she had pretty much alienated herself from all of her strongest supporters. Kaiser sounded dubious.

“She told me you were getting’ it on in your apt.” Ah, so finally here it was. The nasty truth of all the rumors that I had heard. Eve’s influence did indeed reach far.

“She gave me rides home a few times…and got pissed when I didn’t want her to give me rides anymore. You’d think she would’ve been happy about that,” I scoffed.

“She said you went up to your apt. and was there ‘til 8 in the morning. Eddie got pissed. She said it almost ruined her marriage. She hasn’t told him…yet. She just wants you to call her.”

This was an example of how pervasive Eve’s influence could be. She had gotten to Kaiser, somehow persuaded him into believing her sob story, probably using him for a shoulder to cry on like she had done me, and then she convinced him to try to get me to call her, all in an attempt for her to control me from a distance.

You see, Eve was a witch. A real witch. I didn’t find out this fact until I had crossed her. Perhaps her trickery wasn’t as readily apparent as what one might consider a conventional witch to be. There were no poisoned apples to eat, nor was there any pointy hat-wearing, broomstick-riding, overtly obvious hazards to avoid. Eve’s way of spell-casting was more subtle and insidious. She liked to create miniature empires and manipulate the players like a chess grandmaster moving a knight, rook, or queen. She had cast her dark magic, stirring up her cauldron of worries, stirring up trouble. Kaiser’s involvement was surely a sign of this, but then again, he always did have a soft spot for the split-tails.

“Ruined her marriage, did I?” I said, my anger building up like bile. As long as Eve was going to spew out her skewed version of events, I was going to expound upon what I thought were the real issues. “What I want to know is: What is a married woman doing out that late without her husband? Or for that matter, what married man lets his wife prance around at all hours of the night, anyway? She gave me a fucking valentine!” I finished, as if this point hadn’t already been made.

“I know. That’s fucked up. Do you still have it?”

“Yeah, and the only reason I kept it is for evidence in case I need it.”

“Damn…you might need it. Eddie’s gonna be pissed if he ever finds out. It’s probably better if you don’t bring it up. Let him bring it up first. And you’re sure nothing happened…I’ll believe you if you tell me. Just tell me…”

I thought of the night that Eve had driven me home. I thought of all the events and circumstances that had led up to that event, and the resulting ripples of chaos that had been created. I was standing at the crossroads, my eyes scanning over the many possible roads before me. It was at these moments that I viewed myself as a traveler, seeking out the ends to these roads, wherever they wound up taking me. “It was nothing,” I said, choosing this route.

“What do you mean?” Kaiser, sounding cautious again.

“You know how it is at the Pub…” I explained, “…how our group is.” Now I was baiting him, and the best part was that he didn’t know it. “You remember that one time you came…when you hooked up with Janine.” This indeed had happened, and on New Years’ night up above the Pub. This was the one time Kaiser had gotten a taste of our clique. He had met Janine, and within a matter of hours, he had charmed and seduced her in that fabulously mysterious way of his, and the two of them had snuck off to some secluded corner of the loft, where they did whatever it was that they had done. “Her hair smelled so good,” he proclaimed, almost apologetically, after he had returned from their act.

“Of course I remember,” he muttered. I could tell that he wasn’t happy with me bringing up his tryst with Janine. It was the perfect distraction to take the focus from me to him. “I would never do that again,” he continued, sounding like the school bully trying to talk his way out of a detention. “I’m in love with Cheri. It’s not like it was before; the love I feel for her…it’s…deeper than what I’ve ever felt. I don’t even need sex anymore. I’ve grown beyond sex.”

This proclamation was a lie. This was Kaiser’s way of justifying his continued relationship with Cheri, a woman who was gorgeous, smart, funny, and bizarrely faithful to Kaiser, but not very interested in having sex, at least with him. They had been together for 6 years, and I had been witness to Kaiser vacillating between wanting to marry her and wanting to ditch her. His big reason for staying with Cheri was that he didn’t want to start over, having to get new furniture, etc. So apparently, his relationship of convenience with Cheri enabled him with all sorts of opportunities to continue his peacockishness, including his shopping sprees to buy extravagant leathers and designer jewelry. Of course he would have been a fool to leave her; she was certainly the most supportive of Kaiser’s girlfriends, the most together mentally and financially, the coolest all around, and seemed to not mind the mountains of bullshit Kaiser seemed to generate all around him. All that seemed to be missing was the sex, an issue that he certainly had his way of dealing with.

“Now we won’t talk about that then. It’s like it never happened, o.k.?” This was Kaiser’s version of a Jedi mind trick; the power of suggestion to the weak-minded. I had seen this work on women in the clubs to often miraculous results, but I knew him well enough to see through his tricks.

“O.K. man, no worries.” I replied this way not because I agreed with his methodology or supported his infidelity, but because I considered him a friend. And unlike him, I knew how to keep secrets. And where did he come off judging me, with his sorted history and all? Hell, if you wanted to get technical about it, I was the only legitimately single one in this whole mess. I wasn’t the one who took the vows, like so many of my friends had done.

“But hey…” he said. Now it was his turn to change the subject. “I was gonna tell you ‘bout this girl I know. She works at the clinic with Cheri. I wanted you two to meet. I don’t know man…I’ve got this strange feeling…she feels different somehow…I think you two will get along…,” he ranted in his typical manic fashion. “Here I go playing Mr. Matchmaker again,” he crooned, trying to sound enlightened, but only managing to sound like a cheap salesman.

I had already become used to Kaiser taking credit for milestone occurrences in my life, whether they be relationships that he had a part in introducing, or attaching his name onto an idea that I had come up with, or attaching my name onto one of his ideas in order to give it more credibility. When it came to entitlement, Kaiser wasn’t ever bashful at naming and claiming.

I’ve discovered that this too is a form of sorcery. The human brain is susceptible to all sorts of suggestions, and like the art of the Jedi mind trick, claiming things over people’s lives is a form of inflicting your will upon others. Kaiser was a master at this tactic, but in order for it to work, the victim has to be weak-minded, or easily manipulated, and must consciously/subconsciously agree with the party making suggestions. This was the mysterious gift that he possessed; he had a way with words, and no matter how bi-polar an argument with him became, he had this way of getting the last word in, so that it seemed that all involved parties agreed with him.

If it had been 10 years ago, during the beginnings of our friendship, I would have been taken in by these mind tricks. In those days, I was under Kaiser’s wing, and was his wingman. He came rolling into Colorado like some sort of mythical creature, part saint and part devil. I’m sure that he appears this way to all of his new friends; grandiose and exotic in a larger-than-life sort of way. From the time that I met him, I knew there was something special about him. In the early days he was more humble about his gifts, and that is why he and I had become such fast friends in those days.

But so much had clouded what that friendship had become to signify over the years. I had long since crawled out from his shadow and had come into my own. The problem was that Kaiser seemed to be the only one who hadn’t noticed. I had begun to build a pretty respectable reputation both as an artist and a session musician, and my goals and his goals began to diverge at some crucial point. We had met at the Crossroads, walked along the path together for a while, and enjoyed each other’s company while it lasted, but like so many things in life, friendships can be fleeting and bittersweet.

I should have known not to trust Kaiser’s matchmaking instincts, as his previous attempts had turned out to be massive failures, including the friend of a friend that he had set me up with on a blind date, who I ended up proposing to, and we split up after being together for a mere four months. Perhaps it was the strange mood that had set over the early parts of 2008. Perhaps it was the tinge of spite I felt towards Eve that sent me rocketing in any direction, as long as it was away from her. Maybe it was my self-masochistic way of testing fate. Whatever the case, I abandoned my better judgment to this particular meandering road along the Crossroads, and I had no idea just how consequential that choice would be…

End of pt. 1

8436-300x226-Circle_of_friendsI’ve reached the point now where I look back at my past in roughly 5-10 year increments. The reason for this is simple. I’ve reached the age where my memory can actually reference a span of 10 years at a time. Although I’ve been alive for three decades, it is only now that my “adult” mind can put these larger chunks of time in perspective. My so-called “child’s” mind at age 10 certainly could not perceive the concept of 10 years into the past or future (at that age, I would agonize over how long it took for a mere hour to pass during boring events, and conversely, when I was busy at play, time would streak by).

Life at that age seemed to pass with a paradoxical slowness and rapidity, mostly marked with physiological and academic milestones. At age 20, I could by now, remember back to age 10, but the memories were fuzzy and I was driven by a desire to escape my childhood and define myself as an “adult.” As far as projecting any years into the future, it seems that I was afflicted with the same sort of myopia that most young adults experience. It is a type of nearsightedness towards the seemingly distant future between late twenties and thirtysomething, a type of youthful indulgence bordering on thinking oneself to be invincible.

It was during my 20’s that I really started to notice the sensation of time passing more rapidly, and I both savored and splurged away what some would call the “prime” years of my life. It is nothing I regret, but nevertheless, I arrived at age 30 with all the abruptness of a monsoon rainstorm in the desert. Just like in the days of my childhood, time seemed to fly when I was having fun, but long gone were the days of trudging through boring hours or minutes. Now time flies, period.

I bring up the subject of time and memories to touch upon another subject, which is friendships and how I relate to people. I feel that I have arrived at a unique point in my life where I am able to reconcile my past and future. At this important crossroads, I can recognize the different phases and states of growth I have achieved over the last three decades and also have the perspective of scale to appreciate the sanctity of youth and the brevity of time.

My friends have always been like an extended family to me. They are an extension of myself, for I would not know myself without the help of my friends. What curiosities they are! I have often contemplated the forces that brought us together and the mysterious lines of connection that forms the web of our intertwined lives. What remains equally baffling to me are the forces that break friendships and the lines of repulsion that drive us apart. Actually, the conclusion that I have come to is a maddeningly simple one: friendships end because people outgrow each other.
No one party is usually to blame for this phenomenon. To grow is to change, and life is always moving and changing. People continue to grow throughout their lives and some friendships grow together, while others grow apart. This fact is not particularly surprising nor profound, yet the sting of loss felt by a cherished relationship never fails to ambush me at the times when I long for it the most.

I have often felt like the one left behind, clinging to a particular friendship or idea of a friendship. I haven’t had very many long-term friendships that have endured the test of time and growth. I attribute this mainly to moving around a lot as a kid, losing touch with those whom I bonded with during some very formative years. Perhaps I simply got a taste of life early on, and how it tends to move on, and move us on as well. Whatever the case, it is what it is, and I am left pondering at those forgotten friendships of old, and grateful for those that have remained.

Most of my friends and acquaintances these days have their own lives and wives (kids too), and they have “moved on” in that sense. I have come to realize that this is natural and to be expected. But there are definitely those certain friendships that I had hoped and intended would last a lifetime. It is these relationships that I have placed the most fervor and importance in keeping in touch and maintaining contact. But it seems that no matter how much I may want a friendship to continue, sometimes it is doomed to end.

It is like my emotions and memories of these people are locked in a time machine that is stuck on our connected past. I keep pursuing these people, expecting them to be the same, and whatever fundamental force that brought us together would still be alive and well, if not for anything else than the virtue of me wishing it so. The memories I have of these relationships are like snapshots, static and unchanging. Well, actually, perhaps my memories of some of my favorite relationships have morphed over the years, erring on the side of idealizing these people, my mind making larger-than-life characters out of them, and maybe that’s why I have such a difficult time letting go. Maybe it’s just me longing for the “good ol’ days,” a time when there seemed to exist endless possibilities, when the future wasn’t so determined, a time before I became jaded by this so-called “adulthood.” And then I realized that nothing lasts forever, and people move on with the motion of their lives.

As undoubtedly cynical as I have become with the disappointment of broken friendships, lost loves, and severed connections, I too have represented the agent of change, moving on from relationships that I have lost interest in or outgrew. This has typically been unintentional, but as life moves, I have moved with it and I am left with the awareness of having pursued people, and of having been pursued by people. I like to call this the cycle of pursuit/rejection.
What fuels this cycle, especially during adulthood, I believe, is the notion of time being an ever-increasingly precious commodity. For those of us who are aware of this phenomena, the thought of wasted time is scornful. Essentially, the older we get, the more strategic we are (and perhaps more frugal we become), with our time allowances. We put time into the relationships we want to nurture, and marginalize the ones that don’t matter as much.

Perhaps I’m sounding a bit cold about the whole thing, but I truly believe that a person will pursue what they want to experience, and reject what they don’t. Hence the cycle of pursuit/rejection. Even though I am now aware of this cycle, I have found it to be the source of much distress and energy expenditure. So what is the remedy for breaking this apparent cycle? Letting go.

In the reckoning of my lost past relationships, I have had to learn to let go of them. I have had to let go of my attachment to my ideas of them. I have learned to accept them, not as being any better or worse, but simply different. I like to think of this acceptance as “growing our separate ways.”

Another type of acceptance is the realization that many relationships are only meant for a season. These are crucial times when paths overlap and interests are compatible.
Relationships come and go. Friends come and go. Who are we to determine, in our limited scope, the duration of such things? The important thing is to let go when a relationship has served its purpose. Who can say when that is? What about those lasting, enduring friendships that stand the test of time and change? What are the marks of a friendship?

I think that friendships, or relationships in general, are marked by relating. After all, it was common interest(s) that initiated the relationship to begin with. As long as you continue to relate with one another, there is the possibility of relationship.

Will you always relate on everything? Do you completely relate with all of your friends now? As I stated before, growth and change are inevitable. It is the compatibility of these changes which determine the course of a given relationship. Maybe you will find your friend or partner even more compatible as time goes on. Perhaps the process of growth and change will have made the relationship stronger over time.

Another hallmark of an enduring friendship is a renewed and continued interest. Both parties have to make somewhat of an effort. But this again reflects on the incentives brought on by relatability.

Trust is a key factor. In my experience, trust only comes with time and experience. But I have also had friends that I had deeply trusted betray me. It is often easier to betray those you are closest to, as you are more aware of their vulnerabilities. So even though trust is important, one can never be 100% certain of another person.

Intimacy is important. Some of my most enduring friendships have been marked by completely non-gay expressions shared between me and my male friends. This serves to affirm and re-affirm the friendship and provide ongoing feedback. I have seen this materialize organically within my closest friends.

I have discovered that some of my most satisfying friendships over the years have been marked with the uncanny ability of being able to pick up where we left off. Months or years may have passed, but when we reconnect, we have the same rapport and the friendship is easily rekindled. It is fascinating to see how we have both changed and grown throughout the years and have maintained points of contact throughout it all. And this aspect may be the most amazing part of it all; that throughout all of life’s twists and turns, we are able to connect with others, and remain connected.

I am a firm believer that one should go after what they want to experience. If you feel that you are lacking in a certain aspect of your life, or lacking in a relationship, seek it out. It may not always arrive in the package you expect, but if you are proactive in seeking what you want, you will eventually find it.

stock-footage-hi-tech-elements-motion-graphics-hdPLE
INTERLUDE
Early Excursions Into A Cosmic Doctrine

BEGIN TRANSMISSION>>

the world is a much bigger place…life looks different from behind the window of a moving car…things swirl by in motion at different rates-therefore time is different for the Explorer on foot…the Explorer on foot walks upon the skin of the earth as if walking on his own skin…the earth and the universe as self…the vehicular traveler-isolated-disengaged from direct communion with nature observes the world speeding by…passive mind…meditative thoughts…the wellspring of creation…looking under rocks for signs of life…creatures that thrive in the darkness of log-rot…fear and fascination…learning about electricity for the first time…making small light bulbs glow takes many batteries…will not work properly unless there is a complete circuit…universal principle…all positive and negative terminals must be connected-aligned…same as magnetism…here is a great mystery: positive/negative-North/South…everything is cycles…reading book about powers of the mind…can sense-feel that physical matter can be manipulated by the mind…concentrate hard…close eyes…believe…no results…something left out…blocked somehow…what is blocking me?…flirtations with the martial arts…calm deliberation in one’s actions…protection-power…elegantly moving bone-muscle-mass through time-space…no longer stepping on the universe’s toes but dancing with it…mesmerized by fire…what substance are flames?…they move-dance with a sort of intelligence…something real-tangible but untouchable…dangerous beauty…being surprised by a spider then seeing myself through its eyes…the spider as self…strong sensation of awareness of the presence of another life form…sharing consciousness…looking into mirrors…seeing other worlds…a small window to which my mind can travel into-through-around…do I look into the reflective world of the mirror or am I the reflection of someone else looking in?…saw magic trick…coin disappeared in midair…some magic is real…music-art-writing…the ability to touch another soul…to evoke real emotion by the expression of sounds-images-words is magic…dreaming of the source…all is one…answers to everything because there are no more questions…ultimate knowledge…ultimate peace-for a time…connected to everything…we are all one…during conscious state-partitions in place to block access to universal consciousness…we are all one-but separate…there are ways to gain access…insights-glimpses…the conscious human mind was not intended to retain ultimate awareness…only in death do we return to the source…life=struggle…chick must break through egg shell as a demonstration of its will to be born…to live…seed sprouts break through the soil…human existence is to fight a losing battle with gravity…in the end gravity prevails…to live on is to continue to struggle…to enter into motion…karma is motion…life is motion therefore karma=life=struggle…life is a game…perhaps the ultimate game…life is a choice…to go on living is a choice…all things must come to an end sometime…more cycles…birth and death…crest and trough…on and off…life does not have to be preserved indefinitely…some death is honorable…death is as natural as life…life is illusion…self as an illusion…there is always a choice…there is a way out of the illusion…death=game over…

END TRANSMISSION>>

crazymusic

 

episode 002:

The Sound of Music

No quest to rediscover one’s past would be complete without exploring their musical tastes. I’m not just talking about run-of-the-mill genre-surfing or a distillation of one’s essence through musical hairsplitting. What I’m talking about is my own musical appreciation, irrespective of anyone else’s experience or any other trend of the times. It seems like I have absorbed a lot of music out of sync from the times they were most popular, thus bypassing waves of fanaticism and death by radio. Bands like Led Zeppelin, Alice In Chains, Pink Floyd, and Tool are just a few examples of bands that I have come to appreciate as their popularity has waned.

As with fitness I believe that I have experienced music at a somewhat different pace than many other people. This is true not only within the context of my own musicianship but with the music that I have listened to for enjoyment. This music has, like none other, inspired, influenced and shaped me during very crucial times in my life. I find it fascinating to look back at my earliest musical experiences and see how differently my young mind had interpreted them, something more as an abstraction than as a comprehensive analytical experience.

When I listen back at some of these tunes with my adult mind, and years of hardened musical training, they sound different to me. This training has helped to tune my ear to the richness and depth that so much music contains. I am now able to pick out individual riffs, or bass lines, or intricacies in the vocals. I can picture in my head a session player as he or she lays down tracks in the studio. I can hear the subtleties invoked by the editing and engineering process. After all the years of music appearing to me as an enigma, I finally have a working knowledge of it.

Paradoxically however, as my training and experiences in music-making accumulated, so did my disillusionment with the process of producing commercial music. I have often wondered if this disenchantment would someday ruin my ability to simply enjoy music aside from the technical components that make it up. Would I be able to use my knowledge in order to deepen my enjoyment of music, or would I become like a musical mad-scientist, cynical and unappreciative of more simple compositions?

Like any discipline or craft I believe that one should never lose sight of their basic enjoyment of music. I don’t think that there is a single person out there that doesn’t enjoy music in some form or another. Music has a very personal meaning and significance to each person, each having his or her own musical journey which is as unique as their own fingerprint.

I used to lament over the possibility of my CD collection getting stolen back in the day when I still had CD’s, back before the digital revolution took over and made them practically obsolete. The thought of the sudden loss of my beloved music was indeed terrifying, not only because of the money invested, but more so because it was MY collection.

I remember the days of wandering through new and used CD shops listening with wonder at the treasures I found. I thought to myself that I would be devastated if someone snatched my collection (which numbered at about 700-800 discs by the time I went digital) because I had handpicked each one of these CDs and no one else could really appreciate them as I did. Sure, some enterprising sneak-thief could have made a modest fortune selling them. But all the time I spent harvesting the music, all the love I put into these particular songs and bands…well, like I said, the thought terrified me and fortunately my collection went un-stolen and remains with me to this day. Some of my friends were not so fortunate. But the point is that I spent, and still spend a great deal of time pursuing music, not only as a creator, but as a listener.

Some people listen to music as mere spectators, not having the slightest idea how to play a musical instrument, nor do they care to. They could care less about the inner workings of the record industry, or the studio recording process, or any other technical component involved in getting the music from the players to the listener’s ear. I used to hold these people in contempt for I was a: Maker of Music. Surely music meant more to us musicians who understood the language of music, who had the ability to dissect songs and point out what key- or time-signature they were in. Surely we who participated in the creation of music were the ones who really understood. But then I began to realize that music means different things to different people. It is a very personal experience, even akin to one’s religious beliefs for some.

The great thing about music is that it is a language that speaks to the emotions of a person and therefore cannot be qualified by someone else’s subjective opinion. This is where I believe music critics err. Music is feeling. Music is color. Music is nothing short of magic itself. The simple fact that music has the ability to touch us in a way that nothing else can, is a testament to its magical qualities. Think about it. Music has its origins in the hearts and heads of its creators who, by an almost alchemical process, transmute these thoughts and vibrations into tangible patterns that reach out and touch another’s soul. Anyone who hasn’t gotten the chills from listening to a song needs to have their souls examined. There’s something almost ineffable in the appreciation of music.

Now, I’m not saying that one should approach music without a critical ear. It is natural to want to make distinctions based on favorable patterns, but no one else can give or take away the meaning that music brings to us. This is why I feel kindred to the lessons of Pink Floyd. The discipline of Led Zeppelin. The iconoclasm of the Beatles. Bands before my time who have not only transcended the human-to-human gap but also the generational gap.

I try to think of what it must have been like to hear these bands when they first came out as true innovators. Now I’m no Beatlemaniac by any stretch of the imagination, but I can certainly appreciate their music, especially when placed in the context of human history. The Beatles started out making mostly bubblegum-esque pop rock similar to other music of that era. Then they started getting weird. Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is a prime example. Here was an album that cut against the grain for its time. Even more remarkable is the fact that the Beatles didn’t have “The Beatles” to inspire them like so many other bands that were inspired by the Beatles. The sound they created was original and by God, even catchy!

I have received much scoffing over these observations by indignant classic rock patrons complaining that “You youngsters don’t know what real music is,” as if my own personal connections with that music were somehow invalid because of my age, my second-hand discovery of it, or my surprise that it was so ahead of its time. I used to get offended by their admonitions, but now I just laugh to myself, wondering if the day will ever come when I will be the crotchety old-timer chastising the younger generation’s notions of music, defending bands like Nirvana, perhaps. But until then, my goal is to listen to music with the same wonderment and fascination of the virgin y(ears) of my youth.