"You're too self-absorbed to change"
Writing has gotten almost cripplingly hard to do as I feel like any time I’m not spilling my guts it’s not worth it. I really kind of wish it was the opposite way and I could be mundane, but the fire burns out a lot easier these days.
I could write about feeling like a giddy 10 year old watching the Sox play in a 95% empty stadium from the row directly behind the Sox dugout. I could write about an illuminating conversation with an ex-girlfriend. Or about the girl I liked but disappeared, reappearing with a new boyfriend. I could write about my Labor Day weekend in Metro East/CoMo/St. Louis. Or about my party and the dubious events that followed. I could write about the weekend filled with finally seeing a band I’ve wanted to see for almost 2 years (the Good Life), finally watching a Fulham game on TV and the thrill of seeing them tie Chelsea; a Take Back the Night rally that mixed together an emotional cocktail of awkwardness, guilt, abject sorrow and empowerment and the bittersweet memories of the final Sox game of the year. I could even write about last weekend, the joy of watching the Cubs swept out of the playoffs, seeing a dropout filled, poorly managed marathon and feeling just as exhausted, tired and bitter as the runners (well not quite, but you know the point). Even about winning $74 at the casino and the re-emergence of Kristina into public life and my circle of friends.
And of course, about how I believe unrequited love isn’t love but emotional masturbation; about the true roots and nature of the Sox-Cubs rivalry; about my thoughts on feminism and women’s rights…
Of course, I want to write about all these things- but I can barely find any energy other than to type gimmicky, formulaic crap like this (starting every sentence with either “I could write” or “Or”- a conjunction for God’s sakes! Really? And I’m creative? I’m a good writer? Really?).
But the true gimmick was summing up a month in a paragraph relatively concisely.
Anyway, at the Good Life show I picked up three albums: Album of the year on vinyl (breaking my rule of not double buying things, but it sounds great on vinyl and is one of my favorite albums ever), the new album (it’s really growing on me, actually- not the best they’ve done- much more downbeat and atmospheric and singer-songwriter-y but still a few standout songs) and the Lovers Need Lawyers EP, which has blown my mind.
The song “For the love of the song” actually is probably the reason I’m even writing this entry. Basically, it’s why I love Tim Kasher as a songwriter, even self-deprecating writers don’t seem as sincere as he does and if he’s willing to cut himself open in front of thousands of people, I figure I can do it in front of the five people who bother to read this tripe. I’m putting the lyrics behind a cut, it’s sort of the Good Life’s companion piece to Cursive’s “Art is hard” (which is obviously, his more successful band):
I thought I'd start this simple song
with something you could sing along
like, “Na na na na na na.”
But then I felt a bit cliché-
I started “Beaten Path” that way-
and besides, that didn’t get me very far
I guess the well is running dry,
(I’m not surprised)
It’s been thirteen years of lies.
Running at the mouth about
these lovers I can’t live without,
well, I’m not exactly huntin’ ‘em down.
Down and out an overweight-
under the influence of three years straight
drinking on the job.
If it’s not some love affair
then it’s a song about the great despair
of the loner at the end of the bar.
Well, you are what you are.
You are what you are.
you are, you are,
you do, you do-
“Na na na na na na”
One-hundredth verse
same as the first,
I’m a Dictaphone of drunken slurs,
press rewind- it’s a new album.
“Hot off the press,
and this guy sounds depressed
(again)!”
So, you can never drop this drunken bit
Or the fits of pain you still stomach-
It’s for the love of the song.
Oh yeah, the song…
I thought it was supposed to be a sing-along.
[fading with barely audible snippets of “The Beaten path” including “You love him, you leave him, you hate that you need him” AND “You’re too self-absorbed to change”.]
I’m scared of bombing the GRE, of applying for Grad School and not getting in or of not getting enough money to be able to afford it without my parents’ assistance. And I’m scared this is the last chance I can really take without feeling like Daryl Strawberry or Robert Downey Jr. in the sense that I don’t deserve too many more chances. I’m scared of not going to grad school and living out the rest of my life in DuPage County and eventually falling into the close-minded provincial stereotypically suburban attitudes that I hear drunk people spout after the bar at my apartment. I’m scared of going the opposite way and becoming a self-righteous prick who thinks he’s superior. And I’m scared of people fitting me conveniently into a box for anything before I speak a word - maybe it’s a bit of pride or arrogance- but I don’t think I fit the stereotype of my race or my gender or class or geographic area or religious beliefs or political beliefs or musical taste or dietary habits or sports fandom. Everyone gets judged, a lot of people worse than me- but that doesn’t make me any happier that I’m constantly on the defensive. And I’m afraid I’m destined to fall into self-parody, sabotage, awkwardness and fuck-ups with every girl I ever like and doom any potential relationship into non-existence before it even starts. Most of all, I’m afraid my only talent is turning everything I’ve ever had into nothing and rendering the fact that I have above-average looks and intelligence, an okay conscience, writing skills, a very fortunate upbringing and supportive family and friends rendered useless due to my own personality flaws- the glaring ones which are self-absorption and a lack of confidence.
Putting any of that in a public forum is absolutely absurd and a way to make people dislike me and I can’t say I don’t want to throw a pity party when I’ve already set the gears in motion- but the goal isn’t to make people feel sorry for me. It’s to get all of this out of my system for an emotional release. Most of the time, I feel pretty happy about things- remarkably happy considering I don’t have much hope for the future sociopolitically and that I don’t have the comfort of believing in an afterlife to fall back on. But every now and then it gets to me. So I’m just going to keep on keeping on, all I’ve got left to believe is the Golden Rule and a pseudo-belief in karma (mainly because I think a fear of karmic revenge gives me an incentive to treat other people better). And I’ll make no apologies or hold myself to any societal black and white standards outside of that. And this entry makes me feel like I’m a 16-year-old know-it-all again. I’m sure in five years, I’ll disavow half of it and laugh at how “emo” I was. But for now, it makes sense. Writing all that out felt good. And truth be told, that is a primary motivation for all people. I don’t really believe being a vegetarian or trying to buy clothes and shoes that weren’t made in sweat shops or occasionally doing a protest or writing letters or signing petitions or voting will really make a difference in the long run. But it might make a small difference to a few people. And even if it doesn’t it makes me feel like I’m making a small difference and feeling better. In the end, perception is reality and reality is what you make of it.
I may not feel the same way about any of this next year, but for now this is reality and this is one of the most honest things I’ve ever written.
I could write about feeling like a giddy 10 year old watching the Sox play in a 95% empty stadium from the row directly behind the Sox dugout. I could write about an illuminating conversation with an ex-girlfriend. Or about the girl I liked but disappeared, reappearing with a new boyfriend. I could write about my Labor Day weekend in Metro East/CoMo/St. Louis. Or about my party and the dubious events that followed. I could write about the weekend filled with finally seeing a band I’ve wanted to see for almost 2 years (the Good Life), finally watching a Fulham game on TV and the thrill of seeing them tie Chelsea; a Take Back the Night rally that mixed together an emotional cocktail of awkwardness, guilt, abject sorrow and empowerment and the bittersweet memories of the final Sox game of the year. I could even write about last weekend, the joy of watching the Cubs swept out of the playoffs, seeing a dropout filled, poorly managed marathon and feeling just as exhausted, tired and bitter as the runners (well not quite, but you know the point). Even about winning $74 at the casino and the re-emergence of Kristina into public life and my circle of friends.
And of course, about how I believe unrequited love isn’t love but emotional masturbation; about the true roots and nature of the Sox-Cubs rivalry; about my thoughts on feminism and women’s rights…
Of course, I want to write about all these things- but I can barely find any energy other than to type gimmicky, formulaic crap like this (starting every sentence with either “I could write” or “Or”- a conjunction for God’s sakes! Really? And I’m creative? I’m a good writer? Really?).
But the true gimmick was summing up a month in a paragraph relatively concisely.
Anyway, at the Good Life show I picked up three albums: Album of the year on vinyl (breaking my rule of not double buying things, but it sounds great on vinyl and is one of my favorite albums ever), the new album (it’s really growing on me, actually- not the best they’ve done- much more downbeat and atmospheric and singer-songwriter-y but still a few standout songs) and the Lovers Need Lawyers EP, which has blown my mind.
The song “For the love of the song” actually is probably the reason I’m even writing this entry. Basically, it’s why I love Tim Kasher as a songwriter, even self-deprecating writers don’t seem as sincere as he does and if he’s willing to cut himself open in front of thousands of people, I figure I can do it in front of the five people who bother to read this tripe. I’m putting the lyrics behind a cut, it’s sort of the Good Life’s companion piece to Cursive’s “Art is hard” (which is obviously, his more successful band):
I thought I'd start this simple song
with something you could sing along
like, “Na na na na na na.”
But then I felt a bit cliché-
I started “Beaten Path” that way-
and besides, that didn’t get me very far
I guess the well is running dry,
(I’m not surprised)
It’s been thirteen years of lies.
Running at the mouth about
these lovers I can’t live without,
well, I’m not exactly huntin’ ‘em down.
Down and out an overweight-
under the influence of three years straight
drinking on the job.
If it’s not some love affair
then it’s a song about the great despair
of the loner at the end of the bar.
Well, you are what you are.
You are what you are.
you are, you are,
you do, you do-
“Na na na na na na”
One-hundredth verse
same as the first,
I’m a Dictaphone of drunken slurs,
press rewind- it’s a new album.
“Hot off the press,
and this guy sounds depressed
(again)!”
So, you can never drop this drunken bit
Or the fits of pain you still stomach-
It’s for the love of the song.
Oh yeah, the song…
I thought it was supposed to be a sing-along.
[fading with barely audible snippets of “The Beaten path” including “You love him, you leave him, you hate that you need him” AND “You’re too self-absorbed to change”.]
I’m scared of bombing the GRE, of applying for Grad School and not getting in or of not getting enough money to be able to afford it without my parents’ assistance. And I’m scared this is the last chance I can really take without feeling like Daryl Strawberry or Robert Downey Jr. in the sense that I don’t deserve too many more chances. I’m scared of not going to grad school and living out the rest of my life in DuPage County and eventually falling into the close-minded provincial stereotypically suburban attitudes that I hear drunk people spout after the bar at my apartment. I’m scared of going the opposite way and becoming a self-righteous prick who thinks he’s superior. And I’m scared of people fitting me conveniently into a box for anything before I speak a word - maybe it’s a bit of pride or arrogance- but I don’t think I fit the stereotype of my race or my gender or class or geographic area or religious beliefs or political beliefs or musical taste or dietary habits or sports fandom. Everyone gets judged, a lot of people worse than me- but that doesn’t make me any happier that I’m constantly on the defensive. And I’m afraid I’m destined to fall into self-parody, sabotage, awkwardness and fuck-ups with every girl I ever like and doom any potential relationship into non-existence before it even starts. Most of all, I’m afraid my only talent is turning everything I’ve ever had into nothing and rendering the fact that I have above-average looks and intelligence, an okay conscience, writing skills, a very fortunate upbringing and supportive family and friends rendered useless due to my own personality flaws- the glaring ones which are self-absorption and a lack of confidence.
Putting any of that in a public forum is absolutely absurd and a way to make people dislike me and I can’t say I don’t want to throw a pity party when I’ve already set the gears in motion- but the goal isn’t to make people feel sorry for me. It’s to get all of this out of my system for an emotional release. Most of the time, I feel pretty happy about things- remarkably happy considering I don’t have much hope for the future sociopolitically and that I don’t have the comfort of believing in an afterlife to fall back on. But every now and then it gets to me. So I’m just going to keep on keeping on, all I’ve got left to believe is the Golden Rule and a pseudo-belief in karma (mainly because I think a fear of karmic revenge gives me an incentive to treat other people better). And I’ll make no apologies or hold myself to any societal black and white standards outside of that. And this entry makes me feel like I’m a 16-year-old know-it-all again. I’m sure in five years, I’ll disavow half of it and laugh at how “emo” I was. But for now, it makes sense. Writing all that out felt good. And truth be told, that is a primary motivation for all people. I don’t really believe being a vegetarian or trying to buy clothes and shoes that weren’t made in sweat shops or occasionally doing a protest or writing letters or signing petitions or voting will really make a difference in the long run. But it might make a small difference to a few people. And even if it doesn’t it makes me feel like I’m making a small difference and feeling better. In the end, perception is reality and reality is what you make of it.
I may not feel the same way about any of this next year, but for now this is reality and this is one of the most honest things I’ve ever written.