I sat down to write, and one painful paragraph into the effort, I have abandoned it.
There is something infinitely tedious about the whole process of telling one's own story.
Who cares?
There's plenty to tell. And most of it is outrageous enough to actually attract a reader or two. But I have no idea how on earth I'm going to extract it from my fumbling fingers and feeble brain.
I keep thinking if Katie Price can attract readership....
Maybe I'd be better off if I were a simpler creature, and didn't over think things to death.
But, then, I wouldn't be me, and I wouldn't have had my life, so there probably wouldn't be anything to say.
I'm listening to a Smith's playlist on Youtube, and it forces into focus the degree to which this music has influenced me as a thinker and writer. I often wonder if I became who I am because of what I listened to, or if I was attracted to this music because I was already this way.
It all emerged so early on for me, it is definitely a chicken/egg conundrum. I was eleven when I latched on to The Smiths, but I do distinctly remember what made me seek out Morrissey's music.
I read an interview where he made the comment that people should "disregard any notions of hipness or coolness and simply be themselves". That, for me, was a core value.
Oh, and I HATE to have to do this, but this brings to mind that the comment may have been the last rational thing he said!
Morrissey is totally messing up Morrissey for me.
There was a long, long time, like, twenty years, where I didn't read anything he said, hear anything about him, or even meet more than a handful of people who knew who he was, (and that includes people I exposed to The Smiths!) I had this very private and pure relationship with the music.
I had an intense aversion to technology for years. Computers were something I had to use at work, and the thought of home computing seemed like work invading home. I didn't have the patience for the early internet, when it could take hours to load a graphically challenged webpage. I didn't really bother with any of it until about 2004, and it was limited even then.
In 2005, I started dating a brilliant programmer and through watching him, I became fascinated with computers and finally embraced it all full on. He helped me to rake up the years of aggregate knowledge I'd picked up through work computers and make it relevant for other pursuits. By the beginning of 2006, I was f***ing fierce. My knowledge was multiplying exponentially, it was all quite natural.
And that was when I was finally at a computer long enough to read up on Moz and what had been going on during all those years of my refusal.
I'll never forget seeing those interviews on Youtube of him when he was really young, watching them and feeling like I was getting high off the sound of his voice and the way he speaks. He was so beautiful, so perfect. He fit the physical description of every boy I had ever loved in my life. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, blue (or green) eyes.
There were endless parallels between my life and his words. More so in the words I had yet to hear. Up until 2005, I hadn't heard any of the albums past Vauxhall and I.
I had this terrible fear that it would all suddenly come to a grinding halt. I had the same fear about Viva Hate. I had to special order it and it took me ages after I had it to finally break down and give it a listen.
I have spent my entire life protecting my love of Moz and his music. To get to this point and have it all pissed on by this bizarre individual I struggle to recognise as the literary and musical genius I have deeply loved for damn near all of my days, well, it breaks my heart like I knew it would.
It would have been easier to take if he had sold out.
At least that would make sense in my mind.
But what's happening looks painfully like madness setting in.
It just wasn't what I expected.
But, you don't get brilliance like his without nature balancing it out, and often times, nature issues cruel counters to it's amazing gifts.
He hurts his causes with these extreme statements. He is marginalising himself and the things he feels passionately about, and I doubt the end result will benefit either.
There is such a thing as bad publicity.
I tapped this entry out with no trouble whatsoever....
I wonder why I can't write with the same ease on my other project!!
There is something infinitely tedious about the whole process of telling one's own story.
Who cares?
There's plenty to tell. And most of it is outrageous enough to actually attract a reader or two. But I have no idea how on earth I'm going to extract it from my fumbling fingers and feeble brain.
I keep thinking if Katie Price can attract readership....
Maybe I'd be better off if I were a simpler creature, and didn't over think things to death.
But, then, I wouldn't be me, and I wouldn't have had my life, so there probably wouldn't be anything to say.
I'm listening to a Smith's playlist on Youtube, and it forces into focus the degree to which this music has influenced me as a thinker and writer. I often wonder if I became who I am because of what I listened to, or if I was attracted to this music because I was already this way.
It all emerged so early on for me, it is definitely a chicken/egg conundrum. I was eleven when I latched on to The Smiths, but I do distinctly remember what made me seek out Morrissey's music.
I read an interview where he made the comment that people should "disregard any notions of hipness or coolness and simply be themselves". That, for me, was a core value.
Oh, and I HATE to have to do this, but this brings to mind that the comment may have been the last rational thing he said!
Morrissey is totally messing up Morrissey for me.
There was a long, long time, like, twenty years, where I didn't read anything he said, hear anything about him, or even meet more than a handful of people who knew who he was, (and that includes people I exposed to The Smiths!) I had this very private and pure relationship with the music.
I had an intense aversion to technology for years. Computers were something I had to use at work, and the thought of home computing seemed like work invading home. I didn't have the patience for the early internet, when it could take hours to load a graphically challenged webpage. I didn't really bother with any of it until about 2004, and it was limited even then.
In 2005, I started dating a brilliant programmer and through watching him, I became fascinated with computers and finally embraced it all full on. He helped me to rake up the years of aggregate knowledge I'd picked up through work computers and make it relevant for other pursuits. By the beginning of 2006, I was f***ing fierce. My knowledge was multiplying exponentially, it was all quite natural.
And that was when I was finally at a computer long enough to read up on Moz and what had been going on during all those years of my refusal.
I'll never forget seeing those interviews on Youtube of him when he was really young, watching them and feeling like I was getting high off the sound of his voice and the way he speaks. He was so beautiful, so perfect. He fit the physical description of every boy I had ever loved in my life. Dark hair, chiseled jaw, blue (or green) eyes.
There were endless parallels between my life and his words. More so in the words I had yet to hear. Up until 2005, I hadn't heard any of the albums past Vauxhall and I.
I had this terrible fear that it would all suddenly come to a grinding halt. I had the same fear about Viva Hate. I had to special order it and it took me ages after I had it to finally break down and give it a listen.
I have spent my entire life protecting my love of Moz and his music. To get to this point and have it all pissed on by this bizarre individual I struggle to recognise as the literary and musical genius I have deeply loved for damn near all of my days, well, it breaks my heart like I knew it would.
It would have been easier to take if he had sold out.
At least that would make sense in my mind.
But what's happening looks painfully like madness setting in.
It just wasn't what I expected.
But, you don't get brilliance like his without nature balancing it out, and often times, nature issues cruel counters to it's amazing gifts.
He hurts his causes with these extreme statements. He is marginalising himself and the things he feels passionately about, and I doubt the end result will benefit either.
There is such a thing as bad publicity.
I tapped this entry out with no trouble whatsoever....
I wonder why I can't write with the same ease on my other project!!
