I should give up writing all together.

I’m learning something about myself. I am compelled to write. It’s not that I want to write… I must write. Like Will Wheaton in “Stand By Me”, I’m often trying to convince myself that writing altogether is stupid… ‘a stupid waste of time’. For instance, I still have a journal from 1998 that I’ve somehow preserved through the years. I don’t think I own anything else that I owned in 1998..  I don’t even still own T-Shirts that I owned 4 years ago. I’m careless to say the least, but keeping journals that I’ve had over years has always been important to me. In 2000, I went digital. I created a Livejournal account that I maintained for 9 years. I deleted it….  thats right, I deleted 9 years worth of  pretty much constant journal entrys (in a Will Wheaton-esque pity party of course). The entries dated back to when I was 15 years old and in high school. I managed to save the first 2 years of the journal, but what I wouldn’t do to read those deleted entries… my oh my.

Some.. should just not write.. at all. I, should just not write at all.. I have never once read back anything I have written and it enjoyed it. Instead, I read back what I write and painfully agonize over every awkward sentence, every word that I forgot to put in, every that isn’t supposed to be there… every spelling mistake. I can’t concentrate on what I wan’t to write, because I’m too outwardly focused on how it’s going to be read… and that proves to be a metaphor for my actual life. Much like the word’s I speak, what I write is more like a censored, watered-down, “PC”  version of what I really THINK. This inability to truly emote anything emotional has been the basis of why I ever started to dabble in any form of self-expression, whether it be music or writing.

On another note, I’ve been up all night researching nothing and the sun is starting to dawn on a new day. I can hear the clanking of bottles as the can-collecting homeless men shuffle through the dumpster outside, the piercing shrieks of birds that I couldn’t identify, the squawking of sea-gulls (i can identify those) and I just turned my head away from the computer screen in time to see a brilliant sunset.

See…?   there I go. One minute I am writing about my inability to write, the next I’m spouting off about sunsets and sea-gulls.

The point is..  I think I’m depressed. Thing’s that any sane man would be over-joyed about I am dreading like it’s the coming apocalypse. For example, my band Stars Above has 4 shows coming up and a scheduled radio appearance. Don’t get excited now, it’s just “internet radio”. Not “real” radio, and 4 Shows might not seem like a lot, but after these 4 that will make it 9 shows in 2 months. That’s an influx of showage that I haven’t been used too in awhile. Now I’m fatter. Less cocky. Older. I should be happy about all the action my band is getting, but I’m not. It’s like a new responsibility now and my adolescent brain want’s to freak out and run away from responsibility (I know, It’s pathetic, but at least I’m self-aware, a trait I wish more people had). Anyways.. its called the Boston Local Music Show, and they want us there for who knows why. My only prior radio experience is when Pure Impact got interviewed on WFNX’s “New England Product Spotlight”. This will definitely be a different atmosphere and there will be much less pressure, but I’m feeling the heat nonetheless. Also we’re playing a memorial show for Joe Zippo*, which is going to be HUGE.

Well, gather up the cretins, freaks and throwaways because the methadone clinic is open…. LET’S HEARD EM IN

…this entry SORTA had something to do with music. so it can stay.

*Joe Zippo (Joe Kelly) was the lead singer of the infamous Boston-area punk band Zippo Raid. Immortalized forever in the Darkbuster song “I Hate The Unseen”, they played with basically every single punk band that ever played a show in the Boston area between the mid-t0-late 90’s into the late 2000’s. I personally knew Joe, having played with Zippo Raid dozens of times in Pure Impact, and thought he was one the coolest dudes ever. When I was just an 18 year old punk playing in dive-bars before I could legally drink, Joe always treated me with respect and kindness. I am honored to play at his memorial show!

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