Mercy, Lord

Sometimes the best answers don't hold water ... today, they fell to pieces.

Dear God,
Did you take a Sunday off? Sleep in for a change? Party too hard last night? Or did you do it on purpose? Did you want the world to see it? Did you think it'd be funny? Did you think about the kids, the family? Or did you stand and watch, with your hands behind your back? Did you let the merciless hand of fate do its worst, just for the sake of principle? Did you refuse to step in and take control? Do you even have the power to do so? Are you even around?

The Lord said to Job:
"Will the one who contends with the Almighty correct him?
Let him who accuses God answer him!"

Then Job answered the Lord:
"I am unworthy -- how can I reply to you?
I put my hand over my mouth."

Art

Is there a point? Is it worth the effort? Does it cease to be art if there is no audience?

Or does it breathe on its own, apart from appreciation?

Sometimes I second-guess myself.

Who ordered a Big Mac?

The Flat Line

The title of Quiet Riot's 1984 release, "Condition Critical," was a sort of self-fulfilling prophesy. I can now attest to this fact, having purchased said record at Goodwill today.

Next time you come over, ask me to play "Stomp Your Hands, Clap Your Feet" for you. A stadium rock tragedy.

The fire in me

"Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn't want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn't want them back."

- from "Krapp's Last Tape" by Samuel Beckett

Retreat

"Oh, my childhood, my pure and happy childhood! I used to sleep in this nursery. I used to look out from here into the garden. Happiness awoke with me every morning! and the orchard was just the same then as it is now; nothing is altered. It is all white, all white! Oh, my cherry orchard! After the dark and stormy autumn and the frosts of winter you are young again and full of happiness; the angels of heaven have not abandoned you."

Nostalgia

Went to Lubbock and Abilene last weekend ... I must say ... Abilene is probably the ugliest city ever. Fun show, ugly city. This weekend, I'm playing in College Station and Houston, so tell yo' homies.

I realized this morning that my brain revolves around my childhood. Everything I think, everything I do, all gets contrasted with distant childhood memories. Why am I so facinated with the past? I think I'm stuck there because life had no purpose then, and it didn't have to. At present, my life has no aim, but it needs one desperately. I go to school, I write music, I drive all over and play shows ... Where's it all going? What's the point? I have to find a way to crawl up into my imagination and make some cash. I'd be happy there, away from reality. Yeats may have questioned escapism, but it sounds great to me at the moment.

I need cold air, bright lights and a box of LEGOs.