An Eclectic Mess

I knew, even then, that whenever I nodded along in ignorance, I lost an opportunity, betrayed the wonder in me by privileging the appearance of knowing over the work of finding out.

When I'm awake I'm happy sometimes, but I don't know that I'm ever as happy awake as I am when I'm dreaming. Awake, I've got all this nostalgia, this feeling that I'm separated from something I can smell but can't touch. I get these sudden, unbearable realizations that I should have been more present during all those moments in my life, that I should have taken the time to be like, "Oh shit, man, this is my life, and it's fucking awesome sometimes." Dreaming, I just swim in the joy and the intensity and the now-ness of life.

Sometimes people need a reminder that Nazis are supposed to be on the wrong end of the gun.

When in doubt, go to the museum, the gallery, the record store, anywhere you can find art. The world might not change, but yours could.

I resist any idea of trying to get back on any horse I got off of. I just don’t see the point. I don’t want to be what I was. I want to be what I haven’t been yet.

Music is perhaps the single most consistently good thing I’ve ever known. No matter what’s happening around you, if you can hear some music, you stand a chance.

Useless information that no one gives a damn about is one of my favorite things. Think about how lonely a fact would be if it lived for decades without anyone staring at it and saying, “Ah-HAH!

We humans are a fantastic pain in the ass because we’re right about everything. Just ask us. Knowing that it’s rare that someone changes their mind about much of anything, I try not to waste time or put myself in situations that could be detrimental to my good looks and abundant humility.

What made me angry when someone called themselves an artist as though they were telling me their astrological sign was that I thought art should leave marks on the creator. It should not come easily and a price of some kind should be paid. If being an artist was easy, then what good was the art? I thought real artists were damned to serve the mad monster that raged within them. They were alone, lashed to the mast of a ship in a turbulent ocean, with no land in sight.

I believe in pushing artistic situations into distortion, exhaustion, collapse and eventual extinction, to where the only thing left besides the recorded or photographic evidence is legend, tall tale and flat-out lies.

I just think the past is sad. It holds all your failures, humiliations and unrecoverable victories. The future offers opportunities to improve, so why wouldn’t you run at it with all speed?

If high-minded ideas and great songs could lead to momentous change, everything would be different. Dylan’s music would have prevented future wars, Marley’s would have made peace the law of all humanity.

Denial will get you every time. It never did me any good. I am an addict who is always, I mean always, looking to score. Need for experience, information, adventure, employment and music keep me moving. My modus operandi is based on this unfillable chasm. I am lucky that I became unhinged as a young person. I watched normal people live their lives and had the same reaction as when I watched that gore film in driver’s ed. It scared me plenty.

A lot of the time, all we want is something more than what we wake up to. That’s just how we are.

I think a lot of people are constantly looking to escape, if only temporarily, not only their inherent complexity but a life of almost constant compromise, comparison, restraint and limitation. Factor in fiscal insecurity, debt and the anxiety that comes with it, and a lot of people live in a day-to-day hell.

To matter forever, you need to matter to those who don’t care. And if that strikes you as sad, be sad.

Without guts, talent is useless.