tour journal hiatus
I've been home from tour for a week now, and all I've done is fart around. I still need to enroll in my classes and do a fuckton of other things, but I'm suffering from a little stint of post-tour depression.
I have about $30 to last me until payday 2 weeks from now. Starvation FTW. Plus I'm massively in debt from the trip, but I have to say that it was completely worth it. If I could support my entire life from town to town and performance to performance I'd do it in a heartbeat.
All the poverty and subsequent maladjustment aside, the trip made me realize that I need to seriously begin to work toward my educational and creative goals. I can't remember any time in recent years that I felt so...vital.
Tour was purposeful and exhilirating regardless of the sacrifices and long sweaty hours in a 115-degree van. For all its minor discomforts this trip was one of the greatest experiences of my life. All too often I lapse into disaffected complacency and find myself squandering the most valuable years of my life on sedentary nothingness.
I haven't drawn a picture or written a song in almost a year. When I don't feel like I'm actively bettering myself my inspiration dries up and flakes away into nothingness.
Every night of tour made me feel like I was learning something, even if each night was just an object lesson inside a dive bar in a strange place.
Now that I'm back I feel lonely, out of touch and a little bit paralyzed. I'm scared that whatever spark I had can only come about in extreme circumstances where I have no choice but to adapt to something totally foreign.
I just need to find a way of feeling truly alive in my everyday life. I don't dislike where I'm at at the moment, but there's this level of detachment that makes me just feel like I'm eternally drawing a blank.
"there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?"
-bukowski
I have about $30 to last me until payday 2 weeks from now. Starvation FTW. Plus I'm massively in debt from the trip, but I have to say that it was completely worth it. If I could support my entire life from town to town and performance to performance I'd do it in a heartbeat.
All the poverty and subsequent maladjustment aside, the trip made me realize that I need to seriously begin to work toward my educational and creative goals. I can't remember any time in recent years that I felt so...vital.
Tour was purposeful and exhilirating regardless of the sacrifices and long sweaty hours in a 115-degree van. For all its minor discomforts this trip was one of the greatest experiences of my life. All too often I lapse into disaffected complacency and find myself squandering the most valuable years of my life on sedentary nothingness.
I haven't drawn a picture or written a song in almost a year. When I don't feel like I'm actively bettering myself my inspiration dries up and flakes away into nothingness.
Every night of tour made me feel like I was learning something, even if each night was just an object lesson inside a dive bar in a strange place.
Now that I'm back I feel lonely, out of touch and a little bit paralyzed. I'm scared that whatever spark I had can only come about in extreme circumstances where I have no choice but to adapt to something totally foreign.
I just need to find a way of feeling truly alive in my everyday life. I don't dislike where I'm at at the moment, but there's this level of detachment that makes me just feel like I'm eternally drawing a blank.
"there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?"
-bukowski