i quit my job

stability has flown out the window along with tener cuidado or tread safely. i quit my job. just walked out a couple fridays ago. didn't even give two weeks. i've just paid too many dues to suffer this mental health anymore. at the hands of neurotic, nit-pickers. i felt like i was 16 again, or 26. those were the other times when i just walked out on jobs without so much as a bye. you know the type where you burn the bridge. that kind. where you can't use them as a reference and you know it's pretty bad when i don't even give a fuck.

i can't give an answer as to why or how i did it. i just knew i didn't want to go back, and couldn't bear another 2 weeks. the answer was so simple. right then. and now there are no regrets. to speak the truth, that job was bad. stressful. neurotic. from day one. who was i kidding? i've been in the work force for a long time. i know a good job from a shitty one. i guess i liked the people, who are there still, convincing themselves still that the job is worth it. but i know the truth. it doesn't have to drain you like that one. plus now i can focus on the things that are important to me.....

my mother already has that role.

somehow people still mistake me and forget that i'm anti-materialistic, anti-manicured bullshit anti-mainstreamsociety, anti-hollywoodnamedroppingglamourgalbeauracracybull, and i wonder why i ever tried to care, believed all scenes are created alike, when they're not, and now i know because your friendship is meaningless to me and i have no more time for the lies, falseiquities, or so-called friends who don't get me or who want to change me. i've got my mother already filling that role.

history and reverie

so i spent a day and a half just lying around moping around the house or peddling around the city, visiting different people, and places, and old friends who inspire me and live off the cuff, who have done things and continue to do things against the grain despite the masses telling them to do one thing, the same thing, but then instead following their hearts instead of the other's words. and filling my head with different stories about southern baptist revival singers, and jazz trumpet players, and classical violinists and old motown r&b singers. and i smell the old vinyl records, watch their aged hands move and i'm filled with the smallness of my own youth and a growing reverie for history, and music and those who followed the dark but colorful and free path before me and i travel down these old roads that take me to places like the bayou or some island off the coast of new orleans, some brothel in nashville, or some artsy mid-western bar in chicago with a string quarter, or some lesbian sex shop in hollywood filled with latex and lube. i reckon how comfortable i feel around musicians and lesbians, and people who nourish the artist and musician in me, and the anti-corporate in me, anti-9to5 in me, i no longer giving a shit about so many things except for this anymore. and i remember i don't have any more time for the frivolity of present day society. with this wink and a wave i say goodbye to ye.

new names, old truths and the gretsch

for several years I played a mexican made fender stratocaster with 10 gauge ernie ball strings. your basic metal rock guitar. made for the american. the neck on the fender is much longer and the frets are further apart. made for bigger hands. made for men who rock. granted it's solid body gives it a strong and stable sound. it's most definitely for the rock. the traditional rock. don't get me wrong tradition is good. but now it's time for a change. because earlier this week I saw maxim's abortion of a guitar a red strat torn apart she would later tell me because she tried to add a neck or something from some other place and exchanged the original strat body. whatever. she doesn't play it, it hides under a bed hidden in a case. instead she plays her gibson-les paul heritage.

so last night, after a week of laboring over a new song, i decided to plug in my german made gretsch electromatic, a much heavier guitar, into my fender blues deville tube amp. with a smaller neck and narrower base, this is a guitar that has a hollow body. a more british sound. fuller. the pedals continue to give it a rock sound, if needed, but like i said we'll see if we need it. i'll see you when i see you when i see you attitude.

then we rock. maxim and the motor. it's a long and treacherous haul tonight. not every rehearsal leaves you breathless and amazed. but still smiling and full of passion we render ourselves of the world that deceives us, belittles us, and wants us to change. and then the brazillian boys show up, back from the surf that maintains their endless summer. or vice vers. they're the house guests of maxim but have become our loyal audience. kind and chivalrous. tipping the tow guy when it should've been my job. but it was late. i was tired. it was dark. damsel in distress.

and difficult it is for the person who loves a musician, unless of course they've been down this road before, because at some point they must come to the realization that they are competing for the love, the time and the number one position in the musician's life. as maxim says, "we're not normal." or rather, "they're the normal people." we have a passion, a drive, something internal that forces us, pushes us, shoves us and guides us towards the giant entity of music and creation that takes over our entire mind and being, to the dismay of our lovers. and in many cases our friends and family too. call it a little voice. call it a strong force. whatever it is not everyone has it. and not everyone gets it. love us or leave us. we're not going to have time to sit around and cry about it. sure. we'll feel sad. but given the hand and heart we have already been dealt, the sadness is just another hardship we must endure in this life. on top of the angry masses that we call our family and friends, because we just don't have time for them, and they don't understand, or in some cases maybe even envious or jealous, so they'll put us down, tear us to shreds with their words. they will try. they will try. to convince that what we do is wrong. bad. stupid. foolish. unnecessary. because we're trying to do it for fame or money. which is natural for people to assume we are doing it for external reasons like fame or money, rather than the internal reasons that drive us, because if they don't have it how can they possibly understand it, unless of course someone explains it to them. or they are old. and wise. and understand that eveyone has to live their life.

fickle is as fickle does....

fickle is as fickle does and i'm cleaning out the fickle pickles that linger in my trunk because the smell is getting stale. i throw 'em out little by little. until today i realized it had all gone bad. long gone bad.

fickle equals weak-le, falling tumbling in the wind, fickle is a sad state of stinky mess freakle over your self.

if getting older means getting wiser means appreciating things for what they are
then i have to love live the path set in front of me. unlike fickle which fall prey to false images of grandeur.

those images and beings that allude leave one hanging on to an empty word a sacred past just that long gone past while present whizzes by not caring if one is hurt, insecure, meek. not waiting for your fickle pickle to stickle

then i'm reminded that fickle is inbred in a lickle where living, drinking, laughing, carrying on for society's sake loses its meaning. for the benefits are no longer reaped unless balanced in a healthy breath of sunlight that presents itself in safe clean manners. and hours of dedication. serious strength. and i tell you i've become a hermit and all i will do is create music and you tell me it's ok, every flower needs a gestation period in order to bloom.

the fickle has finally left the room.

le' cottage par la plage

in the cottage on a hill by the beach, where pink and red flowers green foliage satisfying the food chain for the bees and insects line the sandy gravel path to the wooden door of hidden seclusion of a la maison blanche (the white cottage) past the aluminum kitchen to the opening where i sit planted to a white couch or a mangled bed, or standing with guitar in hand for hours and hours at end. we can't explain the madness that is growing around us as Maxim Velour scurries around hooking up this microphone and that chord. we are finally setting the PA up. Deciding which mixing board to use, one is for recording, the chaos of finding the cables, the clips, or a working 9 volt adaptor since the houseguest is a mad organzing-cleaning fiend. "just put the pedal back in the stash when you're done," she says and I am quite happy with the different rock sounds coming out of my amp and the re-adjustment of my strap and the new techniques I've picked up in the last few months.
two hours later with electricity. with a sigh of relief or happines or excitement i swizzle down my soy latte and bagel with peanut buttre food and music in my stomach easing us into the slow country road ride of our first song...

The Wrong Impression

I am sorry, but I have given you the wrong impression. Whereas you want to go out and have drinks and try out a new restaurant or night club, make new friends, be seen, and enjoy life in general, I have given you the impression that I would like to join you, that somehow I need your friendship, or want your advice, or that we should even hang out. I have given you the wrong impressions, because I am either too nice, or I am afraid to put my own needs first because of guilt, concerned about upsetting you or hurting your feelings because it in return may make my life harder. Plus, maybe I'm always stock-piling for that rainy day, when I might by accident be all alone in this world, and unprepared then I need to have people to call right? Even though most of the time I am a hermit. Do you even know that I am mostly a hermit? So I guess I engage in a sort of stock piling, even though I don't share the same philosophies as you and think you to be not-so-smart or ignorant or conservative or not-so-brave. And, I figure I'm just networking, preparing myself for the day when I decide to become some uptight, career driven, manicured girl who's gonna need some connections. But, maybe I was also hoping to find something, an inch of edge even, someone like me. A new friend. But, then upon being being mostly disappointed I come to further realize you are not even being nice to me in return half the time, so on top of it all I am getting treated poorly, when i've been kicked out of classier joints, and because maybe your jealous or envious or you think rightly-so that I am judgmental or condescending, looking down my nose on you most of the time anyway, god I'm such a bitch and then I get angry when you blow me off, because clearly you think you are better than me. it's just stupid idiotic because we're not meant to be friends, so why do we even try. my world is so different than yours, but that's my point precisely. I don't want to be closed minded and a reverse hypocrite. So, i let you in, open myself up to our friendships so that at least I have some friends, despite your suburban, corporate, biblic ways, since my close friends are scattered all around the world, and are lesbians, while your friends are married with children and the husbands are accountants. or something that this society probably needs to function but shows no braveness. no creativity. no passion. no soul. yet, for some reason, i still let you in even though I am totally and overly disgusted and opposed because you are ultimately what I call straight poop when I sum it all up, and you associate with straight poop and ultimately live in fear. and then i know he is right. It's reverse discrimination. i'm guilty as charged. I guess I tried to hide it, and deny it. But the truth cannot be ignored. I am a reverse discriminator, a heterophobe. And I only like the bi ones if they are primarily gay. I hate straight bi-curious girls and boys. Why? I've been racking my brain. And I've determined that it's the strength of gays and lesbians that I admire. A bravery that most straight girls I've met lack. So, the rest of you, though, I gave you the impression we were going to be close buddies are just associates, colleagues, network buddies. We'll stay in touch, but I seriously doubt we'll ever be good friends.

seclusion

ultimately i crave seclusion and solitude. not to mention i need the solitude to create. most artists are like that anyway, preferring solitude, peace and quiet to the excessive drama of socialization.

spreading myself thin

i'm really good at it. always putting myself in a position where i have to choose. so now i'm here again.

karen love semanek (aka maxim velour) and I have been writing music on and off for 6 months. she's a lead guitarist first, as well as a drummer, and as a child she was trained on violin. she's also an encyclopedia of music. now she's got a recording studio in the works, so she's a budding engineer and producer too. wearing many hats. and she graciously pours time and energy into my little songs to make them amazing rock jigs. but for some reason i have not been 100% devoted to my own music. call it insecurity. call it fear. this last week however due to a last minute gig opportunity i was given, we have been working triple time to hone down the perfect sound for my 8 songs (plus a couple of hers). they are sounding so much better, fuller, and hopeful. i'm impressed and excited. i had forgotten how much time and energy it takes to start a band from scratch. which is what is happening here. i realize that i have forgotten how to be patient. this impending fear that i'm running out of time.

and whether I was not willing out of fear, and halfway hoping my old band would get over its ego maniacal hangups and hook back up because it is soooo much work to start over (it will be a year next month since zeitgeist auto parts went on official hiatus, and two years since we went on unofficial hiatus), those feelings are now gone daddy gone. the reality of my situation has set in.

so, when i resurfaced from the haze about two weeks ago, came to my senses that the music is in my blood, i must seek it out for it won't find me. i sent out my feelers. i reconnected with karen number one and discovered we're already half way there. and another prospect that landed in my lap was the opportunity to play rhythm guitar in a female fronted heavy rock band, just be the guitarist, learn the riffs, show up for rehearsals and shows and get to play out of town. fun. fun. fun. right? someone else's project, and vision, she does all the work, writes the song, all i gotta do is show up and play. easy peasy and fun.

now the dillema.

my heart says: be brave. forge ahead. do the project you want to do. believe in yourself.

my head says: there is no harm in having fun, putting your eggs in a couple baskets for now. getting out there and playing. getting experience and meeting people.

my heart says: true. it would be fun and good experience, but......you can play guitar in anyone's project,,,

my head then says: but beware of spreading yourself too thin. both projects could suffer. you could end up putting your own project on the back burner for someone else's project.

i think i've answered my own question.

frivolity

randomness, i guess i like it but reckon you should only keep the good ones near even when we share a phone call, an evening, an event but no reactive attachement disorder because what are you really looking for my dear? sweet revenge? a message that says i don't need you anymore. grow up that is so childish. so last season.

this place is falling apart today

the coffee was cold today the roaches are taking over the kitchen, the hallway this week, probably for a while now. "don't leave your purse on the floor." geez. duh.
there are no paper cups to heat up some coffee in the microwave at least my personal thermal cup is metal, actually it's Jenae's, but mine for now today, and not microwave nor bomb friendly but i guess it's time to buy a new one. a ceramic one and the powdered non-dairy creamer i drink has no cover perfect for ifestation of the mighty nuclear cockraoch. not to mention the toilets. the toilets are on the brink. all 3 of them? all of them she said. does that mean all 3? i guess so. they're spraying water on the flush all over the floor. flood. no where to pee anymore.
and Jenae's computer is buzzing off the brink, sounds like it's going to blow. the computer guy came over "don't die, don't die," i told him i was scared. if it starts blowing sparks we'll run. before we die. before it dies.

and in his hurt, in between his anger and pain, he insulted my friends this morning. it's an old pattern i know too well. and i used to take it personally. now i don't take it at all, but think about running away instead. running away like a preadolescent child. because his anger and pain is just all so childish and unnecesary. and holds me down, pulls me back. no more i say. no more i say. but its really not such a big deal. tomorrow it will be forgotten. overall. both of us knowing. love is a battlefield.