Let me sit down and start typing while I try not to get electrocuted through my headphones by what the Grateful Dead sounded like in the 1960s. Improvisational, a trail of consciousness music, for freestyle thinking into a keyboard. I used to do this all the time before I got self-conscious about what I put on here.
My mentor and filmmaker Mariano gave me the green light to share the short documentary I’m featured in wherever I want. If you follow me on anything, you’ll notice how incessant I’ve been. That’s what you have to do when you make independent art; you have to promote it. No one else is going to do it for you; there’s no marketing department to put billboards on the 14D bus to Union Square. But here’s the cool thing: previous generations couldn’t just make their own films, music, or get their writing out without some kind of support from the entertainment business, the gatekeepers of taste with the budget to enable artists of all kinds to make their art. Now the ability to create things and distribute them is in the hands of anyone with a pretty modest budget. I make songs with a multitrack recording app, which does what a $40,000 mixing board did before the digital revolution. In fact, I don’t even have to know much about music to do it. Lately, I have artificial intelligence randomly starting ideas for songs that I can then work on and change to my liking, although I haven’t liked any of the results yet.
So, do I jam my film, blog, and SoundCloud down everyone’s throat? Heck, yes, I do. You know what? At the risk of looking like a toolbag, I’m going to shorten that sentence: Do I jam my art down your throat? Heck, yes, I do.
I just want to explain that I have never found that much self-confidence in anything I have done, up until I started putting my thoughts on paper again. I would estimate that it started a process of realizing who I am, which went on to include belting out the classic rock songs that put me in a short film. I am the creative type; I can’t imagine how I endured all those years when I wasn’t expressing myself in some way on a regular basis. Once I opened the door, there was no closing it.
I sing with Mariano every Friday, but we have conversations before and after we learn whatever song I’ve brought to the session. On Friday, we were talking about artists. He said that artists make art because they have no choice; they literally can’t help it. That’s me. In fact, I fear that I can’t really do anything else, and I know for a fact that I sure as all fuck do not want to. When people read my work and tell me to keep going, they don’t know that I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. When I go on these homeless drug excursions and lose everything, I miss it. When I don’t do it for a few days, I’m not my best self.
On paper, I have absolutely nothing going for me. I’m not going to list all the things I don’t have because that will just twist me out. Think about it: you might have toddlers or something, that’s what you have going on, and you like to post about your kids all the time. Rightfully so, good for you. Having offspring must be a challenge on all levels, and I congratulate you for pulling it off, driving to soccer practice and dance recitals. When I won’t shut up about my art, it’s because that’s what I have going for me. I’m self-aware enough to realize that I won’t shut up, and I try not to be pretentious if I can avoid it.
There is this interview with Trey Anastasio where he’s reading bad reviews of his band (Phish). I can’t remember his exact wording, but it was something like “well, I think it’s (my art) great.” I love that. What I’m doing right now feels great. People need something to be passionate about. We live in a post-apocalyptic, cyberpunk, late-capitalist hellscape; something has to make existence bearable. I found something, man. It doesn’t pay, but, hey, it could.
I haven’t had that much negative feedback for what I’m doing. Someone criticized me for calling myself a writer when I’m actually a blogger. I mean, I guess. This is the means that I have to get my crazy thoughts out. I took it to heart and started calling myself a blogger. Whatever, man, if you don’t like it…why don’t you do it better? Right.
I’ll get a little heavy for a moment, though. I think about dying. I mean, I’m a drug addict, and one thing we do is die. I think about that, and the idea of leaving some kind of mark on the face of things. I know that’s really morbid, but that’s the kind of thing I consider.
Alright, that’s a bummer, sorry.
The set (GD1969–11–02) ended, and I wrote something. There it is.
here is a link of all of my links, now featuring the film i wont shut up about: https://linktr.ee/evr0ck17
also, i could really use some help with cafe bustello at this point: https://ko-fi.com/Manage/
