Sitting in the car after work — on the driveway.

The cricket noise less intense. I look to the right, long blades of grass call the mower. You know what I don’t think I have it in me today. Simple — electric mower. It is a real organizational feat to get the damned thing done sure but it is also Monday.

I am fkn beat — flat out. I ate a banana on the way home, had some Rockstar Recovery brand and a bottle of water.

I can feel it — Mondays are always the same. Back to work — the walking, climbing, conversations. At times it feels like I am an actor whose words come from some other place: sku, P.O. issue, hanger, u-boat, breakroom, the vocab goes on like I am a work-bot.

I inhale, exhale. I went to bed at 2 AM, well tried to fall asleep by then. It just was not happening. So, my Monday is a double layered fatigue.

I think — what will it be Mark 1. Eat Food Coma routine?

I look at my freshly cracked phone screen and feel my ennergy fading, my feet practically throbbing in these old boots.

I resist the urge to write about anything else. I could fall asleep right here in this car.

My Riotgod Studio Odyssey.

My van is being looked at shall we say and I will leave it at that. I got a ride to the studio from DC, coming right from work fueled on RockStar sugar-free and some chocolate.

I am writing this while waiting at the tail-end of rush hour and a few busses have gone by but not the right ones STOP.

I am on the bus — $3.50 To get the fk home.

Bob quickly went over the songs for me, letting me in on the work he has done for them. The transformation is always pleasing, seeing the music almost “fully formed.”

Commuters and whiffs of alcohol as the brakes of the bus let out the unmistakable metallic tones. The shaking, the stops, pretty much my whole college commute when I lived at home or the commute to many a long ago band practice is re-discovered.

Yesterday when Bob asked me if I could come on Wednesday, I told him first about my van. A wee bit more stress on the Riotgod beamed scale…. All I all — I declared ” I will be there — there is no IF — I will be there.

The familiar landmarks, the strip malls, business signs a-light, the lurching coach and intermittant commuter aisle parade. Cell phones, iPhones, earphones, blonde with the workplace cleavage going on — with a hair style that looks windblown or “pre-makeover.”

Yes — I know this ride well over the years, this crummy deja vu. My phone battery on yellow level.

I think — of course. I think how fkn exhausted I am — there seems to be no shock absorbers on this craft — a daily dose of this would — at this stage of my existence — drive me further insane, without any doubt.

In retrospect I went through all this — for 4 newly recorded lines and a audio peek at the progress. Cue “What I did for Love.” In 3,2.

I rewrote a song I thought I had to — only to discover that the first version was fine.  I somehow became confused about ( were we going with that version?) it.

Parking lots evenly spaced lamps >>> glance >>>> another stop approaches the lights come on again >>>> like some bar that has a staggered series of closing times for different shifts of people. I can’t say this sucks — it just is.

I think about this weekend when I will see the dears — Dash and Daisy. Courvoisier? No no. That does not happen and I am fine with that, really. I don’t know what the fk is up now and ride out the overall loneliness trepidatiously.

I cannot think about too much lately for I imagine me — like Jacob Singer on that gurney — to be rescued by my own Danny Aiello’s — all the while in reality dead from some long ago consequence of stupidity and over-indulgence, those time-share suicides. Oh look!

We are in Freehold already.

People have advised me in various ways as to how to handle stuff.
“Dude – you’re single.”
“Time for a new car.”
“What ever happened to that blond?”
“Her? Dude — that was ages ago. I’ll pass.”

The noise of the brakes sounds like an alien violin.

I ask the driver to let me off at the mouth of the development.

Home now. First time I did a walk that I’ve seen others do. The street dark. Cars red alarm indicator lights blink to each other like communicating insects.

I passed by a home decked out in lights — Indian family it seemed. I loved seeing this house all decorated for something in this cool evening, the other houses sleep, drab.

I start to think thoughts that make me fkn sick — I should go eat.

Felt good to be home earlier than expected. I have overall a thankful strong vibe for those who have understood me, and forgave me, and a fk off for others, a rich enunciated fk off — yeah ‘ had better eat.

Sunday Morning Pre-Vandana

Listened to an interview by Krista Tippett with Richard Mouw and heard the line of his, referring to G.K. Chesterton, “It’s important to not have false gods but also to not have false demons.”

This hit me very hard. Shook me. Made me well up with emotion, not open tearful and I think the undercurrent of my grouped general sadness combined with dissatisfaction just became very close to my surface.

I will tidy up the place here after I return from my painting session at Vandana, I adhere to an attention, a yearning for focus.

These times are so lonely for me, and yet I am not going to be distracted this morning.

I miss performing, I have no other real choice but to concentrate on patience and relaxing attention to things I have no control over.

I am not laying these lines about sadness out there to collect sympathetic responses and commentary. It is what it is and at timees I cannot stand it.

Heat wave July 2011

I sit in my car. Lunchtime and I am broiling. We are scheduled to leave early today, having started earlier but I got here regular time. Whew. Day job. I can’t cry — just sweat.

These past few days have been brutal. I am as broke as I have ever been in my life. Fact, unvarnished. My meals are creative to say the least when I cobble together something once all the “regular” food is consumed.

I have been transferring VHS cassettes to DVD-R and I am overwhelmed at how practically unbearable I was. I look at the past me and don’t know where to begin. It was what it was of course. The only reason I save them is because as bad as my memory is — I can’t throw the records away. I see lackluster shows from past bands, old girlfriends, old versions of people who are still my friends. I listen to me talk b-llsh-t, I can barely take it. I see old commecials, Liquid Television episodes.

It effects me — especially in the frame of mind I have been in for the past month and a half.

>>>>>

Rocket ahead a few days with me. It is Saturday the 29th and I am at the beach. I came late, after finally finishing the Riotgod cover artwork. That was this last week. I had to drop everything else I was involved with — everything except for my day-job.

It came out quite good considering the rushed nature of it. It was a 2 phase process. I hurriedly gathered reference into a folder, got some inspirational reading material, thought about a design first offered by Bob sent while he was in Europe with Monster Magnet.

Experiencing the first deadline via a Friday message stating a Monday deadline I made a first version that kinda looked as Chris Cap ( http://intergalactico.com ) put it “Physical Graffiti-ish.” I knew in my heart it was a fun sketch but also knew it would not be the cover after the collage sat a bit. Especially after I identified with Chris’ critique… I would salvage the good elements and get in touch with the label asking for just a bit more time. I wanted it to be as visually “fun” as possible, as cool as I could get it within a week.

>>>>>>>

Let’s jump to August. Right now.

I am in such a state… I started to purge old photos from Facebook. I am about to thin out my Facebook “friends” list. All these purges are some manner of reaction from me not only an echo of my past relationship but a compounded wall of echollection, a flood considering EVERY fkd “relationship” I have ever attempted and with all due respect considering the women involved — this is about my awareness of my lack of true compatibilty. Each relationship found me failing in some fashion….

So — yes there is a deep sadness as I sit alone here but it is not a weepy sadness I feel a kind of poisonous nothing, a sense of not hopelessness but a mixture I cannot pin down. Fatigue, confusion, anger.

I rest a bit after a dinner consisting of a grilled cheese sandwich. Some rest and then something else. Work sucked today kinda — but I tried to keep my chin up thinking about rent and trying not feel irrational — crazy if you will.

Completed some Riotgod tunes that are truly sweet.
Had lunch with my mother and sister — that was nice.

I wish I had a few friends who would call me or something… what kind of insular life have I cultivated?

Dream Snippet July 7th

Spider — large was under or in a recessed corner — bigger than tarantula — in its web was some kind of prey. Like a huge locust — the spider wrangled it back as it tried to escape — the lair turning into going on within a vending machine similar in quaint design to one of those chicken themed one. Spider laid into the prey and at the same time seemed to turn into a rabbit — its skin turning into a patterned country quilt, patches and all. I watched this and then it turned into some kind of entertainment device that said to call a number to have it continue — I called and they told me for what I had viewed alone I owed 4000 dollars. Freaked out.

Had a gig in some crazy city looked like a crowded Hong Kong New York. Played at some old police station.

July 4th 2011

I stand with my friend from the 1709 days and again close-by resident Chris A. ( We were at the Freehold Raceway/Chili’s/Barnes&Noble complex awaiting the annual July 4th fireworks display)

Well — stood I should say. Now , after it is all over we sit in the car calmly awaiting the exiting throng.

Driving. I was. The ride home was brief. Dropped Chris off and bang back at the WPH.

Sometimes reaching for some manner of description, as it happens now, ends in failure. My ears ring in the silence of Scenic.

It’s 10 PM — do you know where your feelings are — really.

Parking lot there by the Racetrack was full of families, couples, groups of friends. I called Chris at the last moment, seeing if he wanted to take in the splendor.

For a brief period as the sun set we bided our time in the bookstore. I looked at some art mags and a
web developer publication. It was a short stay for the store was soon to close.

I have this inclination still — like a voice inside me — some internal lobbyist for melancholy — to say I am a feeling a bit “less than” but really it is such a confounding “nothing” I just leave it alone.

The rhythm of the display was a bit quirky and the finale was really only a bit more fantastic than the salvo that happened midway

Crvsr she did exactly who knows what. Hung out with some chick frm the bar. I wrote her a half-hearted email expressing a feeling of absence, I don’t really know where the fk I am with that whole experience. I didn’t really miss her per se — this was just something I had experiencedd with her for years back and Chris is not at all bad company — I just thought about her — and even worse, this new voice that is questioning me as to why I even do it. “Wtf is wrong with you you git. Really.”

Thought I might come home and work on music but nah…. quietude. Some meditative art before I sleep and gear myself up for my daytime job-job. Yeehaw.

Analysing Procrastination

Moving — initially prevented work, personal or obligational/”client.” Distraction via my separation from my long-time girlfriend recently began to really effect me. But after a recent intense burnout sequence, like that of a spaceships retro-rockets, or whatever they are called, I reflect. My art professional or personal is a part of my life, tightly woven into every aspect of the day.

I have had a site to construct for a business and I state now — throwing it down — that the reason I let it rest so long was two-fold.

1.) I had to familiarize myself with the WordPress environment. I had never dealt with that, small learning curve…

2.) The business in question desired for me to basically jack the site of another business — flat-out, shamelessly, novice style. Lift it.

I cannot rightfully do this. I will have to modify it from their “inspiration” ( victim ) site enough. I think to myself — who can I — when it is done — proudly show it to? It will show nothing of my ideas design wise. Almost a waste of time. This is one super-awful feeling.

My attitudes have been changing since I have started my adventure living alone. How is this an adventure? Believe it or not — I have never lived totally alone. Yes — true. For some this would appear unbelievable.

I have realised that in the past I would conveniently try to write off my own defects, veiling them with excuse, faulting someone else or some peripheral circumstance. This availability has become — that “convenience” has been taken away.

Sometimes I learn quick — and sometimes the deeper more insidious elements of my being, impede me. I am dealing with this now. I cannot blame anything on anyone now. It is myself, alone now, left to face my art and my methods. If I don’t work, if I don’t create as I am plainly born to do, than I am to deal with it.

It is a refreshing experience, if hard, like some “withdrawal” period and I am emerging, living through this, a hardcore survival attitude has only just begun to emerge. I celebrate this. I assert to myself, my-selves, that this is the new order of things.

The Madness: Identified and described. 05/05/11

Yesterday was a relentless day of awfulness. it just was, for everything came to bear.

In the immediate foreground, dominating my perceptions and feelings was that of Courvoisier, and for those in the know, you know who I speak of.

Everything hit me. The gal who was a daily part of my life, up close and personal, through great, good, better and bad, has been away from me since January. I have been living alone in a fairly isolated location since then. I have been living pretty much check to check and have had a day to day that has been a mirror existence, meaning it is now just me. I have had to — pretty much for the first time in my life take a look at the good, the bad and the possible and bear down on pure refinement, betterment.

Right now I am at that day job I have for the past year and after a night of pure sleep, gainful rest, the heavy obligations and challenges I experienced not only yesterday but for the past few months achieving a red line yesterday, have faded into a clearing of a clarity. In my case I have to hold on to this — like some cheesy “Quest for Fire” scene, cherishing this energy and not letting it become “extinguished” or compromised, perverted or distorted.

For the first time since I began living at Scenic, the Witness Protection House I feel this way and it is after all avenues of prior option, performed awkwardly, vestigially, were engaged in, whether it is drinking,  other distractions, even obsessive ill-timed tasks ( all day house cleaning, trying to shine that turd of a backyard — I am never going to “entertain” — who am I kidding!! )

I have had no real music ( band activities ) demands, let art and ideas sit unrealized and this I feel disappointment for. I have two versions of me — this me — and that me which is like a conspicuous chinese copy, the other me, the clown me, the one of little apparent self-respect, the weaker me. The people who have met that copy-me, that doppelganger, all possessed, humorous at first and maybe an asshole probably think that just is my main character trait. They can go fk off too, for the record.

Today that me lost out — it could not maintain.

My gaze feels intense, even here at the monkey-work.

In a nutshell.

1. The work I have to do to “pay-off” the computer I am using to do just that — will be done forthwith — no more avoidance or shying away from any difficulties. It is a super-priority
2. I will not pay an abundance of attention to what my ex-gal is doing — who the fk she talks to or whatever. That shit is ultimately for the birds — the ultimate weakness — I have compared it to zealous back-seat driving behaviour. I de-friended her to begin with ( to avoid such concerns ) and then owing to my recent random curiosity, she ended up totally blocking me from seeing her at all on FB — and that sucks a giant fkn egg — just that fact, that reality. I was tempted to just say fk Facebook. She wants to see dudes or whatever — it is not my fkn concern. Me — my bullshit — that’s old fkn news man. If I can’t come to the table with something new for her — even as a friend — then interaction is just a waste of time. Hers and mine.I have begun to ask myself hard questions — can you ever be the guy for her — could she ever really be the gal for you? I tell myself that all during our relationship, since she had left her marriage that she was changing — a change that was long-coming — gained momentum in the background while we were together and is now blossoming into whatever it will finally become. I know this, I feel it. I painfully accept it now. My reflection upon my own elemental stagnation over the past few years is truly beat for me to chew.
3. What talents I do have will — for the love of god will be fully engaged. I am not going to let anything get in the way of that — my obsession with womankind in general, ex-gal or any gal — the last thing I need is some relationship. That for now — is just not on the table. I have a NEW slate of current ideas for a project I really have faith in — and will get to it. Cleaned up my workspace — full of anticipation.

I am determined — and for fk sake if she does choose some other dude it will haunt me for a while — but what can I fkng do? I have to ignore those obsessions ( I have had this kind of obsession before but not as intense ) and just live, do, pay attention. The future will unfold as it will — with care. Think possibility, stay focused. Respect.

I confess to you Future Mark — did you follow this advice or will you look back on this and tell me — no — you again failed to capitalize. I don’t think you will tell me that. Use the Scenic House for what it is you bastard — write your music — do what will make you get ahead and make some fkng money you clown. If Courvoisier and you meet up again at some personal intersection — doing all you can for you now — will prepare you for that — or any other worthy encounter.

The Real First Morning at Scenic

Yesterday night after leaving work, a welcome exit into the Friday evening after a work day of relative futility, I knew one thing. I was wanting to go to Michael’s ( the local art/craft store ) to pick up a pad of bristol. Aside those thoughts were the ever-present ones of avoidance provision.

” Why not stop at the liquor store?”

I got into my decrepit van, started it up and waited a bit, checking Facebook, seeing the usual particular array offered up via the mobile interface, which is quite different than the regular computer browser layout. I get all the updates for things I have clicked “like” for. Yankees news, the Onion and all types of other shit.

I waited to leave 1. To let the old beast warm up 2. To wait until the majority of the other workers left. My car is such an embarrassment to me lately. From its overall appearance to the noises it makes — shame. This has to be taken care of.

I drove off into my new easy commute and I thought about the comic idea that has been gestating in my mind. I thought about Courvoisier and her new second job. I drove as the usual rush hour speed demons flew by me en route to who-knows-where.

“I don’t feel like driving up to Sayreville to see DJ J Reid at his bar gig… I don’t wanna drive all the way home possibly shit-faced.”

I made a stop at CVS to use the ATM. I briefly browsed the Easter crap now appearing. I left.

“Maybe stop at Friday’s”

Even though I had planned to go to Michael’s I made a last minute exit and swung my way toward the store.

I walked around allowing a bit of distraction: brushes, nibs, wooden boxes STOP!

” Dude you’re here for one thing – a friggin pad of bristol – get it and get the hell out.”

I purchased the cheaper variety produced by Canson. I hope the surface doesn’t microbleed. I like the nib sharp to leave a nice line across the smooth surface. This pad is for the record an 11″ x 14″ XL series recycled variety.

I walked outside and took a picture of the sky. I called it “A sky under which decisions are made.”

” You still got some cash man…what do you say? Stop at the Shop-Rite liquors?”

I drove toward Scenic. I knew I wanted to eat. I was plainly a bit beat from work, not just the physical from the day but the mental of the tallied week.

I drove past the Shop-Rite. I drove past the last option as well. I also drove past that Greek restaurant that used to be the ribs joint.

I came home, ate and read. I told Courvoisier about my mine-field commute. She told me about her second job experience.

And now I am awake on a Saturday morning. I am not hung over.

I have music playing and sit on the chair in the Ugly Lobby area. Designed with co-mingling Oriental, Trashmericana and Scottish/3M themes, as I sat down a dust cloud trumped only by that of the crumbling Twin Towers spread out into the sunlight. Blinds of the main window — I have opened them to their greatest degree since my first arriving here.

I will shower… music of the 70s plays on after Vivaldi. Garbage cans rolls around outside from the winds as the. Synth solo of ELP’s in the beginning fades into Queen ” You’re my Best Friend.” Away I go to shower.

Getting a bit more used to it…

I have been here at Scenic now almost a month it seems. I was foolish to think I was going to spring into any comfortable routine right away… art, music or otherwise. My main routine initially was the great internal move, day by day dealing with what was and still is, JTR’s possessions, now hidden.

JTR has now locked the 3 rooms I don’t deal with, the ones filled with his stuff. The only room with open stuff is the room next to the kitchen. It does not have a door.

I look at the art area, the desk and borrowed shelf now only partially filled with materials. I feel something has been off balance… me? I wonder am I procrastinating and realize this is not the case. Recently I hooked up the “stereo” and I can choose the music I want to listen to. Music is a big part of my creative process and it has to be the right music for the moment. I had only had radio and that was sucking hard after a while. I can feel it coming, a comfort level. I have not been truly at ease yet.

Morning. 5:19 AM radio. I wake up slowly. I have some of the vanilla creme brulee flavored coffee I got yesterday after coming home from work. I listen to the weather and news. I can feel the effects of yesterdays exercise at work. Pull-ups, push-ups. I do them, others, some of the locators at Monrovia engage throughout the day.

I made a pasta meal for dinner, subconsciously preparing ready food. I truly look forward to creative activity this weekend. I have no set plan yet but do look forward to it.

The most challenging time is returning home after work. It has taken (and still is being attended to) some getting used to, coming home to just me, myself and I. All that talk about creative solitude was at first words. I certainly have the capacity to sit down and do whatever I like but bucking that enormous post work combination of fatigue AND energy has been initially tough and the discipline required I could not imagine. My social animal, my procrastination engine has been a big initial danger — to come home to no one but me and these valid but vulnerable plans. I can’t and won’t continue a routine of casual avoidance but I have been guilty of it.

My talk of a creative period here I cannot allow to become empty boast. I know this will not be the case for I have shown myself what it can lead to, a whole lot of nothing, which I have had enough of. I said I “got nothing done” at various residences I occupied with Courvoisier and before and know the environments were only a partial impediment. Please — it was 90% me and this experience amplifies that truth for me, laying all the cards out again for me, my psychological solitaire.

So the challenge has been laid out by Morning Me to Evening Me — two vastly different animals. 

I went to bed last night after listening to the beautiful piano playing of Art Tatum… ready for Friday, the end of the work week and anticipating the beginning of a weekend of constructive behavior.

As far as life outside Scenic, earlier in the week I went up to have dinner at Abhaya’s house after dropping by KG to see Mizbee and the Little Peoplets.