(no subject)
This morning I woke up at about 10 and the first thing I did was eat a banana in some oatmeal. By noon, I'd smoked three cigarettes and drank a third of a bottle of Jack Daniel's.
I gave myself a pedicure while finally watching the DVD of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - the new one with Johnny in it - that Jack gave me as a birthday present a while ago now. I absolutely loved it, Tim Burton is so my hero.
We were supposed to be in Japan this week, which would've been cool, I love it there. We had to cancel though because Jack has some nasty vocal chord problems, so we're on hold now until Australia, which is soon, I don't remember exactly when we leave for that.
Thing is, I'm just as happy to be bumming around here at home as I would've been to be wailing on my kit on stage a million miles away in whatever direction. They say art, or creation in general, tends to come from angst, but I've never really understood that. For me it comes from an unending capacity for joy, which I think has something to do with refusing to grow up. I've never been a worrier, I've never feared infinite possibilities because I know that at a fundamental level I control them. As I write that out, I realize maybe it sounds deluded or grandiose or insular or something, but I really believe it, always have.
There are lots of people who've told me I'm an escapist. It makes no sense to me, though. Escaping what? I'm creating, even when I'm doing nothing. Creating realities, not denying others. Well, maybe ignoring certain things, but so what? I can't worry about the weight of the world, only of my world.
So, that was a little rambly. I have some work to do on this whole journaling process.
I gave myself a pedicure while finally watching the DVD of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - the new one with Johnny in it - that Jack gave me as a birthday present a while ago now. I absolutely loved it, Tim Burton is so my hero.
We were supposed to be in Japan this week, which would've been cool, I love it there. We had to cancel though because Jack has some nasty vocal chord problems, so we're on hold now until Australia, which is soon, I don't remember exactly when we leave for that.
Thing is, I'm just as happy to be bumming around here at home as I would've been to be wailing on my kit on stage a million miles away in whatever direction. They say art, or creation in general, tends to come from angst, but I've never really understood that. For me it comes from an unending capacity for joy, which I think has something to do with refusing to grow up. I've never been a worrier, I've never feared infinite possibilities because I know that at a fundamental level I control them. As I write that out, I realize maybe it sounds deluded or grandiose or insular or something, but I really believe it, always have.
There are lots of people who've told me I'm an escapist. It makes no sense to me, though. Escaping what? I'm creating, even when I'm doing nothing. Creating realities, not denying others. Well, maybe ignoring certain things, but so what? I can't worry about the weight of the world, only of my world.
So, that was a little rambly. I have some work to do on this whole journaling process.