October 6, 2011
joe@cafepergolesi.net
Re: that notebook
the name on it was sergio. found it on the veranda by cedar street with an umbrella. this is some of what was in it. do we have a lost and found for it?
----------------------------------------Time To Get Fake------------------------------------------------------
So why am I writing this? Oh, do I need a reason now? Maybe I am fixing to be an author, a real Henry-Miller type. Sounds nice. Be as lazy as a musician, but no tuning the strings, no recording sessions. Just carry a little notebook and pick up the pen when it hits you. it doesn't? No big deal, just guzzle cocktails, cigarettes and cheap women. You would have done so either way.
I am no author. If I was to be, I would have no morals. Write the world as it is, and throw yourself into every fucked up experience that proves just how bad it is. No, I am writing this like I'm writing to a friend. Except I don't want no friend to hear this. Openess is not a sin, it may even be a desirable quality. but it is something I am guilty of. A gluttony of it.
I am the true product of the service industry. My personality is all out there, it flows out of me. It wafts around the room, gets imbibed by each person differently, mixed to their taste. I am a social drinkmaker and I know exactly what all my clients want. I know every recipe by heart, the process is grooved in like tire tracks on a dirt road.
What isn't out there is tucked away in the dusty back boxes, stored away in a corner of my mind. I never get the time to go up and visit it, check the masking tape, so there it sits. Outdated. Circa 1995. 2008.
Up there lie the best bits. the most violent, vile, creative pieces of me. The parts that leave you blinking stupid, dumbfounded by how off the wall, how disgusting, how goddamned inappropriate what I just said was.
Left alone with these bits, I am sullen. I sit awkwardly, unsure what to say or do, how to act with an old friend I ignored and now barely know. Easier to float about, it's what everybody wants. Funny, charming, socialable. Always watching, feeling the tide of the conversation. Jellyfishing along.
Maybe if I had spent the time, unpacked those bits, run the town with them, put in the legwork of friendship. Maybe then I could sit alone and be content. Watch the world go by comfortable with who I am. Not have to leap to my phone for a lifeline, a message from a friend, a girl. Not have to throw words onto the page to make sense of it.
A man who builds that cabin in the woods, blood and sweat and suffering, who stakes his claim alone, away from it all and alone, is ten time more respectable than the man who dives in the current and floats. Of course we, all of us, will compliment his swimming talents-all we know is the water. We don't see the mountain where that man thrives alone. it is easier to bemoan and cast out those who go under, fail to tread in the surf. Unconventional, illmannered, unsocialble. It's like fighting, shoving your way onto a bus, then feeling contented about how you worked and worked to turn your life over to another's wheel.
--------------------------------------Never See The Good----------------------------------
This album; Never See The Good. The working title, but it's about as committed as a 3 year engagement. I listened to it today, and damnit I impressed myself. I am cutting back on one sin, so I may as well import another, here we go pride.
Such a minimum of filler, so little false to find in it. It is like a little 26 minute paperback book of my last two years.
And yet, the beauty of it is it's deception. So many hooks, so many quality pop tracks, born from sheer, injected inspiration but polished with the keen eye of a machinist. Tailor made, just quirky enough, digging into your ear. These tracks make me sound so damn simple. Even I can listen to this album and feel like I understand myself. Everyone else who bothers to listen to it will see it like me on my best day. Everything: wit, wisdom, fun, thought and melody.
Such beautiful deception. It is like a 50 foot bronze statue of myself. Why Love Santa Cruz is the best song I will ever write. Maybe I look back and laugh at my comment, maybe it is very true. maybe never again will I be this deep and inviting, Maybe it's only the begining. Maybe it's so good, all I'm doing is paying for it now.
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Cynacism is a great emotion. Imagine that for a second--------------.
That everything you care for, and live for. it can all be dropped at the drop of a hat. The moment it starts to hurt you, you let it fall. You never really cared.
And when they put the screws to you, really make you bleed for what you love, what do you have? Your life, that's easy to loose, it was never worth much to you at all.
------------------- ----------------------------------------- ---------------------
Revelations are coming a mile a minute, so that means they can't all be good. Or true.
if all those great philosophers (all those lucky enough to have 30+ years perspective) are correct that life-this life, has no great meaning, good or bad. I would say we are a blank slate.
Then what do you do with a blank slate? I set this up, naturally. The only great purpose is to be a painter. Life is for us to mark up, spill across. Draw rapid, wild lines and visuals in ink or blood. The point of life is to draw a picture that entertains us.
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