The third day of my little escape from the mundane has begun. Caught up on some news and a few SG sets that caught my fancy. Already had breakfast and am tempted to interrupt my entry to brush my teeth.
All in all, it has been going well so far.
I can feel my creativity wiggling around inside and kicking. I wish it would just burst out.... I feel like I'm carrying it to term or something. Pregnant with a microcosm of ideas. Once born, I have faith that my little bundle of creation will grow and become a part of the world...
but right now I feel like a sham.
Every attempt to reach out to other artists to help me break through the umbra, to escape my inward facing mind... has failed. And with every failure, I feel like they loose faith in me -- they start to believe I am more talk than I am results. And as I walk down the street, bloated and fat on visions and potential.. I start to believe them. I question who I am and start to think that maybe they're right.
Maybe this is all a miscarriage... conceived in my mind by a Muse, but lacking whatever it is to bring it to life. Wether fear, stress, or doubt -- maybe whatever it is that plays sweet music for me in my mind's theatre will only be there to torture and delight me. Alone.
All in all, it has been going well so far.
I can feel my creativity wiggling around inside and kicking. I wish it would just burst out.... I feel like I'm carrying it to term or something. Pregnant with a microcosm of ideas. Once born, I have faith that my little bundle of creation will grow and become a part of the world...
but right now I feel like a sham.
Every attempt to reach out to other artists to help me break through the umbra, to escape my inward facing mind... has failed. And with every failure, I feel like they loose faith in me -- they start to believe I am more talk than I am results. And as I walk down the street, bloated and fat on visions and potential.. I start to believe them. I question who I am and start to think that maybe they're right.
Maybe this is all a miscarriage... conceived in my mind by a Muse, but lacking whatever it is to bring it to life. Wether fear, stress, or doubt -- maybe whatever it is that plays sweet music for me in my mind's theatre will only be there to torture and delight me. Alone.
I'm also wise enough not to tell people what they should and shouldn't like. I just need to be vocal about certain opinions. Like how much of a dipshit Ashlee Simpson is.
It's not her fault really -- she's just the face afterall. It's the fault of all the idiots behind the facade -- the AR reps, marketing people, producers, pop writers, label execs, et al that make me sick. Their sheer lack of vision, creativity, and entrepreneurial sensibility is a real drag on the rest of the world that is completely apathetic to the very creations they force on us.
The thing that kills me is -- how are they getting away with spending all that money? Whoever is funding this thing has to start noticing at some point how much of a failure it's becoming.
Or maybe it's at such a point now that the sheer volume beats out the margins any day -- and so they can continually fill the world with fake musicians and call them artists and even if only 2% of the population buys into it, they can be well on their way to producing more crap.
So maybe our apathy defeats us.
Wow... what a long-winded point.
Sorry.