AAAAAAAAAAAARGH! Reality blows.

Well, shit. I have to go to work today. I know what you’re thinking: What about all the ad revenue and the blimp and shit? Well, firstly, it’s a zeppelin. Secondly, I checked my account, to see how much I’ve earned so far with the ads that run on the side of this page…about five bucks. I get a check when it rolls over to 100, so MAYBE I’ve over estimated things a bit, eh? Long story short, I gotta work today. What a kick in the balls.
Regardless, let’s say today is the depressing crash back to earth that I’ve probably needed ever since I monetized my blog and went out on my whirlwind world tour/airborne adventure. Also, I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol since my brother’s wedding and let me tell you something: I still feel terrible. Worse. Way, way worse. This “livin clean is the best livin” horseshit might work for some people, but, well, first thing I thought when I woke up this morning was “wow, I’m hung over as shit!” Hardly makes any sense, because all I’ve consumed in the past few days is natural food and tea and water. Fucking hippies and Californians. What a crock of organic toilet paper. Look, I’m done with this. Today is too depressing. I wrote this new song and I’m gonna figure out the end before work. It’s a “Chapter 2” type song for an old song I wrote, a kind of ‘where are they now,’ if you will. Could that be less interesting? “Oooh. Here’s some insight into another dumb song! Again, ooooh.”
Okay, no. I’m staying. You know what drives me up the fucking wall? Listening to artists talk about what they do. It’s fucking irritating beyond belief. Here’s the type of story that I like: Keith Richards, in the midst of a drug induced stupor, wakes up in the night and plays the opening riff to “Satisfaction” into a dictaphone. Next morning, he had no memory of doing it, but he liked the riff and it went on to become the most famous piece of guitar playing, probably ever. THAT’S the kind of thing I’m interested in. I don’t give two fucks what Christian Bale thinks his character in the Machinist might think about modern society at large. I don’t give a fuck what any dumb artist has to say behind the scenes. It should be there in your art. Period. If it’s not, then it’s not there. Again, period.
Yes, I know I just spent this very space talking about what a song I recently released meant to me, and that’s because it’s tempting to do and it’s fun and it fills space and all that. I’m not immune to this dipshit move just because I decry it. Heavens no. Fuck, man. If I never did any of the things that I thought were lame and questionable, I’d be a pretty boring and downright different man. My tastes depend wildly on my own stupid actions and the self congratulatory pride, feelings of inadequacy or self loathing that they produce. Isn’t that how everyone works? Eh, maybe not.
Regardless, people that make art, myself included, tend to think that they’ve got some special gift and that they’re touched and that everyone needs to hear about the process, but the truth is this: People who create fall into one of two categories: They do it compulsively and almost without pleasure, or they’re doing their best to imitate those who do it compulsively and without pleasure. Both methods can produce great work and both methods can produce complete shit, but make no mistake, that’s it. Anyone who gives you an intentionality behind their art as anything other than the above is bullshitting you. I’m not even really counting actors here, because they’re so fucking self important and barely artists that it’s ridiculous and deserves it’s own fucking entry. Acting. They call it a ‘craft’ as though it’s somehow more on the same level as carpentry than with painting. Hey, dildo, news flash! You’re standing up there next to Tom Cruise pretending to be a talking dog. It barely qualifies as anything, much less a fucking craft.
Now, don’t get me wrong, acting isn’t easy. BUT, it’s a ‘you get it or you don’t’ type of things, as with most things. There are tons of people out there who will never be great actors, and there are tons of people out there who will never be great musicians or carpenters or comedians or salesmen or DJ’s or gymnasts or lawyers or dominatrices, but man, lots of people fall right in and they’re good at it INSTANTLY. That’s no craft, Will Smith. That’s just dicking around. If Cuba Gooding Jr. can win an oscar, the shit’s working on a pretty wacky scale. Just saying.
Okay, I gotta play through this song and go to work. I hope they have fucking zeppelin parking on the roof of my bar. Never really checked before. Oh well, the captain will figure it out. Turns out he’s a pretty good guy after all.
Thanks for the translation, by the way.
See you tomorrow.
Sigh.