Hey, World. I feel motivated to share.
Now, this doesn't often happen. It could be the three bottles of Stella I've had, or rediscovering Kerrang, or being left on my own for the weekend while Mrs. Monkey goes to Leeds for a girly weekend. Then again it could be the book I'm reading.
Anyway, this came on...
...and it made me think. About lots of things. I was trying to read Milan Kundera's Art of the novel at the time, which could be what set me off. I didn't know this, but apparently he was a classically trained musician before he was a writer, and a composer to boot. (There you go. I learn several startling new things everyday without even trying. The trick is to not forget them again...) The point is that he was wired.
I know a lot of wired people. (Hopefully the repetition will disabuse the one or two of you who initially read that as weird - I know a lot of weird people too, but that's another story.) Wired people, though. People for whom the normal course of their thought processes are bound by no conventional notion of causality. People who have no known limitations in conversation, thought, spirit or imagination. Meta-thinkers and clever buggers all. Many of them are musicians, of one kind or another, but it doesn't really matter. They could be anything - artists, actors, poets, singers, cartoonists, dancers, bodhrán players, nuclear physicists, concertina drivers... and so on and so forth. Some are friends, at least acquaintances, some mentors, inspirational figures. (Kundera, Hill, Spence, that's you lot I'm talking about.) Some are on my flist. I'm even related to a good few, living and dead.
My point? Well, I guess it's this. We all want to be rock stars. There's no point denying it, the video is quite correct in that respect. We all want the recognition. The fame. Or at least, the five year old deep inside does, even if only for the shiny things we could buy with the rewards that it would bring. Who doesn't want a guitar shaped swimming pool?
But.
And it's a big one. (No pun intended - stop laughing mara_sho!)
There are people out there for whom this is the only goal, the only aim. They want more than anything in this wide old, wicked old world, for the vote of the great vox populi to lift, nurture, nourish them into the heavens, if only for that famous fifteen minutes. Not so the wired ones. They do what they do because to not have this thing (whatever it is) in their life would leave such an aching void in their soul that life itself would cease to have meaning.
So that's it. Go. Find the thing that makes you who you are. Because if you don't, there's going to be a bloody great hole to fill, and all the fame and fortune in the world can't do that. Here's to the Wired Ones, here's to doing what makes us whole.
_
Anyway, this came on...
Click to view...and it made me think. About lots of things. I was trying to read Milan Kundera's Art of the novel at the time, which could be what set me off. I didn't know this, but apparently he was a classically trained musician before he was a writer, and a composer to boot. (There you go. I learn several startling new things everyday without even trying. The trick is to not forget them again...) The point is that he was wired.
I know a lot of wired people. (Hopefully the repetition will disabuse the one or two of you who initially read that as weird - I know a lot of weird people too, but that's another story.) Wired people, though. People for whom the normal course of their thought processes are bound by no conventional notion of causality. People who have no known limitations in conversation, thought, spirit or imagination. Meta-thinkers and clever buggers all. Many of them are musicians, of one kind or another, but it doesn't really matter. They could be anything - artists, actors, poets, singers, cartoonists, dancers, bodhrán players, nuclear physicists, concertina drivers... and so on and so forth. Some are friends, at least acquaintances, some mentors, inspirational figures. (Kundera, Hill, Spence, that's you lot I'm talking about.) Some are on my flist. I'm even related to a good few, living and dead.
My point? Well, I guess it's this. We all want to be rock stars. There's no point denying it, the video is quite correct in that respect. We all want the recognition. The fame. Or at least, the five year old deep inside does, even if only for the shiny things we could buy with the rewards that it would bring. Who doesn't want a guitar shaped swimming pool?
But.
And it's a big one. (No pun intended - stop laughing mara_sho!)
There are people out there for whom this is the only goal, the only aim. They want more than anything in this wide old, wicked old world, for the vote of the great vox populi to lift, nurture, nourish them into the heavens, if only for that famous fifteen minutes. Not so the wired ones. They do what they do because to not have this thing (whatever it is) in their life would leave such an aching void in their soul that life itself would cease to have meaning.
So that's it. Go. Find the thing that makes you who you are. Because if you don't, there's going to be a bloody great hole to fill, and all the fame and fortune in the world can't do that. Here's to the Wired Ones, here's to doing what makes us whole.
_