Today's listening - Kelly Mueller "We Keep On"
It's been a while. How have you been? You look hot.
Choosing to write my first blog of the year in April is totally typical of me. I'd like to say that it's because I've been so busy with new things, well - in a way I have - but in more of a chasing my tail kinda way than a straight arrow kinda way.
A listlessness which will be the death of me.
Points of note. My regularity with black clouds and trauma has persisted - I don't know if that's anything to do with the impending (apparently big) birthday I have coming up but.. c'est ca. My inability to conquer the waywardness of my creative output continues to be a bugbear. Starting things - fine. No problem. You want me to start something? I'm on it. All over it. You want me to finish it too? What? You're kidding....right? I don't DO finishing.
Acres of tunes - some middling, some blooming, some downright ominous, but all magnificently Amarta in their own way - sit whimpering on my hard drive like toddlers pining for ice cream. It's daunting turning on the computer these days, knowing that I'm inevitably going to confront a swathe of failure.
Maybe this is the way of things - maybe they're not meant to be finished. Maybe - they're shit and shouldn't be finished. Whatever the reason, they're NOT finished and it bothers me.
Focus is an attribute of the logical mind, not the creative one. Creative minds are annoying. They make you stare out of the window, holding nothing but a fascination for the changing light. They make you
introverted and socially abnormal, they consume you with doubts that harbour and never really go away. There's always a chink in the armour - there is never a sheen of calm, just a turmoil - sometimes prevalent, sometimes muted, but always there. It skews a mirror, making you twist so you cannot see your face the way others see it. It makes you see and feel things differently to most other people. Your eyes will meet mine and mine will always fall away first. I see words on a page and I hear music. I drive my car, and I see ghosts. I stare at walls and I see a landscape. Across all of this is the dichotomy of trying to live a normal life - work, pay bills, wash and iron clothes - and there is always an errant clash. It's like having a radio on a station, only to jolt the dial one tone too far and be bombarded with cold harsh white noise instead. It's not easy, and every day - is a struggle to do the right thing.
Why do I say all this? I don't know. I don't wish to appear pretentious, and I guess somehow I'm failing to do that, but - it's the best validation I can give at the moment for being...me. The way I am.
I am many things to many people, but to me - I am only ever myself. And that's the flaw. But then - aren't we all in the same boat?
'What life can compare to this?
Sitting quietly by the window,
I watch the leaves fall and the flowers bloom,
As the seasons come and go.'