Nietzsche-Peachy

To me, the most life-affirming thing is to have soul conversations with similar human spirits. Makes you feel a little less insane and maybe validates your existence and what you're about, just a little.

For instance, sheeple. You know, the unawakened, unenlightened. Those who go about their sleepy existence thinking that this is it, this is as good as it gets and this is how things must be everywhere. Television becomes a deity worshiped on asscheeks around the world. I'm not saying everyone has to share my disdain for how spiritually retarded we've become as a human collective, I just want questions to form in your mind when faced with authority or social injustices and I don't want you to just go along blindly with the popular opinion. Have one of your own! Even if it's not to have one.

What is it that causes one person to wake up, and another remain asleep? Is it choice? Or something else? A condition of the heart, perhaps: A hardening, a great constriction of the thing to hang on to what it holds so true, so dear; a defense mechanism for a world out of sorts.


  I've gone back to reading Nietzsche lately, so you'll have to excuse my recent philosophical bent. The man is my idol, however, and not only that but my literary guru, to boot. Most everything I learned about myself, I learned largely in part thanks to him. No bullshit. Reading him changed the course of my life permanently and I am ever so thankful for this world that produces such people who open our eyes and inspire us, especially when we're bombarded incessant;y every day with the mediocre and inconsequential. Nothing matters. Nothing we're told does, or should, anyhow.
  What matters is going home at the end of the day to something or someone you love, and doing what you do for the betterment of yourself and others, not just wasting away on a little cloud of consumerism and fantasy everyday that everything is just ok. Denial gets tricky, best not to mess with it.

  Mr. N and I disagree on a lot of surface things but it's never the surface I'm really concerned with. Something as simple as having a conversation with someone is enough, sometimes. Some study the words spoken, others the tone and timbre; still others, myself included, lose sight of the words immediately in favor of what lies behind them. It's very much like deciphering code.
  Well, in a way it is a code. Our psyches are so efficient and skilled at erecting our grand defensive archetypes that many times we aren't any the wiser about it until one day we are. A lot of times, I don't even listen to what's being said; I space out studying the space the words are coming from and the feeling behind it. It stands to reason then that this is why I've never been a "lyrics person", when it comes to music; for me, what strikes me first and foremost is the feeling driving the piece. What the group is saying, because each member (provided these are real musicians and not some poppy piece of bubblegum shoe shit no talent ass-clowns) is telling you a story.

  This is a huge digression but the nature of my writings have always been a bit rambling and more akin to something conversational (believe me, if you've ever gotten me into a conversation of something I'm really passionate about, you'll hear my neediness assert itself proudly), so they never really have a clear destination most times anyway. But I was talking about music, and for the aforementioned, this is probably the reason I always aligned myself so readily with metal music, though I truly love all types. Like attracts like, and I am attracted to intensity of thought and feeling, to speak to my own. Not saying The Eagles lack this but I'm a true junkie and metal has given me the only fix strong enough to give me that little taste of death they all go for.

  There is no logical conclusion to this entry, but there never was one intended. I just wanted to write a few things and talk about something I was fired up about and inspired enough to write myself (publicly) out of the funk I've been in. Any of you who read me regularly will probably notice it's been a little while since I've posted anything. Well, yeah. For me, the creative process is very cyclical, and just as the moon and our own biorhythms go, my creativity is largely at the whim of waves and mercy. But, it is most importantly a craft, and as such, should be practiced ad nauseum, until it's like breathing.
  I also wanted to mention the actual web site I'm working on (that I largely procrastinated on for months, it seems) is in the works (really) and is beginning to take on some form. I don't know if perfectionism comes with being of a creative mind but it really does get terribly frustrating sometimes, and very unproductive but shit's getting done, and I'm getting excited about it, most importantly. This blog was ultimately just a starting point, a dip of the toes to test the water before jumping in head first, and it's gone amazingly, thanks to you.

Thank you,
Shane

in the beginning pt. 2

“Buckin’ Muck Fulligan..”. He was obviously a little agitated, and confused. Ulysses was the recent topic of discussion; you know, Joyce? And what else would you expect working in a psych ward.. I mean, have you read it?  Phineas Poe told him about it, the crazy nut. Actually, there had been word of it from scholars and other pretentious hipster-types who liked challenging pieces of literature to read (because it makes them feel edgy). We all have something to prove, don’t we?

I guess I should take the time to explain who him is. Notice it’s not capitalized, because it’s not that Him; him. Shane. Me. It happens that I sometimes talk about myself in the third person; not really sure as to why that is, though…  It’s probably not life threatening but thanks for the concern ahead of time, just in case it is.

So I’m writing a book, or in the process of writing one, and it’s just not as easy as it seems, let me tell you. It’s never been very becoming of me to make up stories with elaborate plots, because really, I lack the imagination for that; the certain type required, that is. I’ll likely never create life on a planet like Arrakis or spin epic tales of Middle Earth but one thing I do have is the incredible ability to point out the obvious. Well, what’s obvious to me anyhow, so that’s what I’ll do.

       Reality is often kooky enough that you can make a really neat story out of it; I’m living it every day, and so are you. You just may not be aware of it. You’re in it right now, in fact. It’s not witchcraft, it’s fictional reality (thank Slayer for that one). But on a serious note, we’re in this together, you and I.

        

        Let’s get started.

There are many forks in the road but they all eventually lead you back to yourself, whoever that would be at the time (as in the present). I’m almost 30 years in, and the changes are beginning to take place. I can feel them, subtle yet gross; the return of Saturn in all her Copernican glory. She’s returned to teach a very important lesson but I never excelled at doing my homework, so I might be in a slight bit of trouble here; I really would not care to repeat the last 30 years over again. Not that they were bad, it would just be nice to have learned all the hard lessons and passed the test with flying colors now. Life. 

Some call it karma, others call it, well, whatever. There is always some consequence, perceivably good or bad, to each and every decision or choice we make in life; you know the story. Some people just can’t get out of their own way; some of the time I am this person. Some don’t produce enough forward motion to even have a way, just floating along eating bits of particulates and gorging on sunshine; most of the time this is where I’m at but everything grows into something, and it’s not always bad, so I try not to get too down on myself anymore and just keep making some semblance of forward motion. 

This does not, however, necessarily constitute as having learned a hard life lesson; for that, it’s the big things in life we have to look at, such as why you might always have the tendency to drink a little too much when you go out, knowing you have to drive, or who you associate with. Even what brand of toilet paper you buy or the way wipe your ass could mean the difference between loving yourself and just not giving a shit; or, also, it could possibly just be that toilet paper is not really something that important to most people. And in essence, it’s not; what I’m trying to get across is that nothing is so small that it is inconsequential, and to overlook even the smallest things is to overlook certain aspects of yourself. 

It’s our minds that are sick, not the world; what we see and know of it acts only as a mirror, of sorts. You know, like the old saying “you get out of it what you put into it”; that kind of thing. Sure, it’s fucked (the “world”) but we do it to ourselves nine times out of ten; it becomes a problem of an inaccurate perception then, a choice of living malevolently, not towards everyone else necessarily, but yourself.  

Think things are bad on the outside? Try looking into the hearts of man, or your own. Your true self, especially the ugly parts you know you can’t run away from (permanently). That’s where the real terror lies. That’s also where the conclusion is reached that it’s useless to fight it. That helpless feeling? That’s the battle waged between reality and the idealistic ego; it’s telling you that something’s wrong, and you know it is because you can feel it but it’s ominous in its omissions and you never quite get the full picture until it’s too late: Things tend to reveal themselves to us once we’ve dropped our preconceptions of them.

A mind has to want to change, the owner of the mind has to want to change it. And it’s a lot of work. It’s a lot of damn work. 

I thought about writing a book; instead I’m left with what’s turning out to be the memoir of a life not yet lived. Happens. But having a creatively neurotic, slightly overactive imagination is not the worst thing that can happen to you, oh no. For that, the prize goes to becoming aware of this fact, and trying to go on leading a socially accepted version of what a normal life is every day. At first, reality loses a bit of its lustre, and there’s usually a very dark period that comes when one is being wrenched out of their little sleepy dreams and into the big, bad world.  

Now, by this point you’re probably wondering just what the F am I babbling on about, and is there any purpose to all this nonsense? Well, no. Not really. I mean, there is but it follows its own formula generally but it’ll all make sense in the end.. Hopefully. I mean, give me a break; none of the writers I look up to put out all zingers; this is the awkward creative adolescent phase I’m stumbling through and will continue to until I’m about 87, when, I will have produced my life’s work. Hopefully. 

Borrowed Creativity.. Do the Astral Plane!

  I'm on a bit of a yoga high right now, having just finished up an hour long vinyasa class, and man am I loving life. Sitting here, staring out at the beautiful sunset there really is nothing else that matters.

  I could be out, running errands and spending money I don't need to spend on stuff I don't really need at this exact point and time but instead I'm here, and there's no place else I'd rather be, no time or place it could be but now.

  Feel it. Suck air. Kick out whatever jams you love loud as hell and let's do this.

until the quiet comes

  Flylo on the Hi-Fi, lights down low.. it's a good way to end the day.

  Alas, the world is still ending, and will be for quite some time yet. I read these things on natural (or man-made) disasters and feel this sense of immediacy, as I'm sure most people do. After all, it's never a big deal until something terrible happens, then all this shit needed to get done like yesterday. It's a vicious cycle; there's hope, though.

  Uncertainty is the new certainty.

  Correction: it's the only certainty.

  Nothing is guaranteed in life and even as desperate as it all seems, it's unlikely any of us will wake up tomorrow to find out that the world has come to its end. It will give several death rattles, and shake its little fatalistic maracas like there's no tomorrow. You picked up on that, right? Nudge nudge. Cheap humor makes the world go 'round..

  ..so, laugh love cry mate feed kill repeat. Play some guitar, turn your stereo up and raise the finger in the middle to the apocalypse in our minds, because the real one isn't here yet.

  There's still time.

Eat a Peach.

  Ok. Admittedly, I've never been a huge Grateful Dead fan; I respect the adoration and devotion of their fans but I never really "got" the whole thing. I still don't know that I do but without straining my mind on it, I've come up with that it's just a lifestyle more than anything, the festival life/ roadie life/ hippie life. Doing the tour circuit along with the band, following them wherever they may go.
  That's a portion of them, the rest just like some chill ass music to take drugs to, not that I have anything against that; I mean, it's better to drop acid at a Dead show (or any other side band affiliated with them) than, say, The Acacia Strain (even though I like them too). There's certainly something to be said for any band who has maintained such a devoted following, and of generally positive things. Sure, there's lots of "drug" use there but people just want to escape for a few hours to a place of magic and wonder. Can you blame them?
 
  Coming fresh off a weekend music festival high up on Montage Mountain in Scranton, my faith in humanity and life itself has once again been salvaged and restored, for the most part; there's always a handful of assholes but that's just life. The whole thing was beautiful, though. My girlfriend Rachel might disagree (haha) with me on that because not everyone's idea of fun consists of trudging up a ski slope to your tent site but for me it gives me camping wood, plus the view was to die for. And let's not even talk about the sunsets. Yes, be jealous. Then get yourself a ticket and go next year!
   Anyways, there was a lot of initial anxiety regarding not being able to camp with your vehicle, as I'm accustomed to, and having to grab your gear, head to a shuttle pick up area, load up then be taken to the camping area. The first trip was disorienting and exhausting but we managed to be broadsided by the kindness of strangers, thanks to our neighbor, Bob. I forget what Bob does or where he came from but for a few hours we co-existed as if we've known each other for years. It's that random kindness from people you don't know but who are there for all the same reasons you are that really make me go all soft inside. It's a beautiful thing.
  Now, Bob isn't perfect. No one is. He was a little clingy, got belligerently drunk and nearly inflicted permanently disfiguring oil burns on all of us by his drunken clumsiness around a camp cooker but we survived, and the fact of the matter is he went along back with us on our second trip to the truck to grab more gear. Had we not met him, it would have taken three trips back and forth, easily. The man even fed me beers until I got my own, so he's ok in my book.
  Rachel and I walked around with Bob the first night, got drunk and just wandered, eventually losing him but ending up laying on a blanket gazing up at the clouds on a beautiful mountain night with The Allman Brothers Band as our soundtrack, hoopers and trippers surrounding us, the landscape awash in grooving bodies and lit up by glow sticks and the air perfumed by marijuana and patchouli. Definitely a good night.

  Eventually, we ended up back at the tent, just what time it was exactly was irrelevant at that point, and that's the beauty of festivals. Shit, camping in general or just spending time in nature does the same but couple that with three days of music and no reason to be anywhere soon and you're living, my friend. You're living.
  It doesn't take long for your biological clock to reset itself. Maybe you go to bed early, maybe you stay up late but get up earlier. Do whatever your body feels like without having to strap yourself to a schedule. In that respect, I definitely get the whole vibe of these bands and their fans, that culture. And it is a culture, for sure. Me, personally, I feel very much at home in it, for the most part. I dig the earthy/artsy/eco things in life, and I like to live simply as much as I can, but there's always a part of me that's either ready or at least accepting of the fact that the dream can't last forever; at some point reality has to come back in to play.
    We got to spend one more whole day of just resting, relaxing and exploring on Saturday, which entailed checking out Karl Denson's Tiny Universe's whole set, along with jamming out to Citizens Band Radio later, who just tore it up in that southern boogie style and capped the night off with round two of The Allman Brothers, who opened up with my favorite tune, "You Don't Love Me". Don't let the title fool you, though: I was definitely feeling the love all weekend long :)

  Our weekend came to an end that night, as we sat together in our tent with the "door" open, letting the cool night air in, just taking in the sights and sounds, and eventually turning in, cuddled up together in the chilly night air. The weather was perfect, as was the company the time was spent with.
  We didn't stay for any of the bands Sunday, as I'm ready to get back home and unpack and relax before getting slammed back into the vocational doldrums Monday. I would have liked to see The Black Crowes but there's always another time; I'd say we did pretty damn good with what we did do, as so often it's easy to do too much at a festival like that. Bonnaroo especially, since there's so many good bands that you want to see but you just can't do it all. Times like that you just have to take a minute and breathe, remember that this is supposed to be your relaxing vacation, not work with more schedules and having to be somewhere at a certain time. If you do, fine. If not, even better. It often goes that the best show you see is the one you never planned on by a band you never even heard of.

  It's a little depressing seeing everyone suck back into themselves, packing up and going back to their own individual planes of existence in their corner of the world. You go back to being total strangers but you'll be back, and there will be a whole other completely new and different, yet similar, brand of experiences with people you never knew you knew.

  This makes two festivals for me this year, and as much as I'd love to make it three, it just may not be feasible. I have to be careful not to spoil it for myself though, as these things can be an addiction of their own, and sooner or later it loses the appeal for me. I never want it to because for a few days, I get to live off the grid. I can turn my phone off once I get there (after making the appropriate calls to loved ones ensuring your safety) and not worry about it until it's over. I can feel like a human being, I can feel like myself and not have to answer to anyone or put on a front to appease my employer.
 

   Until next time,
 
   See you there.


-Shane
8.18.13