#manvsself

There’s an awful truth that’s haunting me. It hugs to my back, turning with me whenever I try to confront it. When I’m alone with it I feel so small, almost like I were a child again. I am powerless against it, and it knows that. I know already how things would go. It’d eat away at me, and run my patience through the floor. It’d nag and jab to pull my attention back if it ever felt me wandering too far. It will lull me into thinking that I figured it out, but I wouldn’t have. I have this fear that I’d convince myself of things that aren’t real, and it knows that. It will drag this game out as long as it could, until I could finally reach around and grab ahold of it. I’d pull in front of me, and have a good hard look at some revelation about myself.

It’ll tell me about the real reason as to why I did some things, and often times it would be horrible and base. It’ll make me ask if all humans were like this, and I knew that everyone had things about themselves that they weren’t proud of, but every so often it’ll get me to wonder. And that’s when it has really won, when I start looking at myself as less than human. I’d dig a pit for myself and fall in it. Sometimes, it’s a while before I can climb out of it, and within a couple weeks there’d be another truth that’s clinging to my shoulders and whispering into my ear.

I started imagining this ‘Truth’ as a grotesque, malformed baby. It’s born of my sins, and it cries for attention like a child. It’s with me when I sleep at night, and it crawls onto my back when I’m alone. It’s crying is a muse for anxiety, and it’s always crying.

Yet, I’ve begun to realize now that when I’m alone, I really am alone. When I lay in bed at night, it’s just me, staring at a ceiling and conjuring fiction. I’m not fighting any horrible baby. I’m fighting me, and it’s always been me fighting me.

I don’t think I hate myself, so it bothers me to think I’d subconsciously want to bring myself down. I wonder if maybe I’d get another revelation for this, and I’d know how bad a person I am because of it. I feel like people often seek justifications for why they might be horrible human beings, because in ways it’s a lot easier being bad than being good. No one can contest your goodness if you admit to being shit.

Inferno - Chapter 4 (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/UiNb/Ca0NiL39LH 

"What's your name anyway?" She asked handing you a beer

You take the beer from her hand, should you tell her your name? You weren't that person anymore. F*ck, who were you? You smirk you knew who you were. 

"Inferno." you say chugging the amber liquid

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For you life has been anything but normal. At every turn you're met with a fist to your face and a spit in your eye. Even your own mother despises you. Why? Simple. You were born. The only one that's there for you is your Aunt Jenna. When you are sent to live with her things in your life spiral more away from your control. Little do you know you're not so alone anymore. What happens when you finally get what you want? 

^v^v^v^v^v^ 

This story is told from a really weird 3rd person/1st person Narration style If things get confusing tell me because I'm more than likely just as confused :) I try to updated at least once a month but life gets busy and I have no control of it so bear with me please. As always don't forget to vote and comment (hate not tolerated, criticism welcomed) 'Till next time, enjoy! 

I am here standing on the edge of the abyss. A voice deep down is calling out to me. I was yearning to give in to its tempting voice. Shall I heed its call?

In my journey in the street of life, I have absorbed a great deal of stories from voyagers with varying perceptions towards the withered leaves falling in front of them. Most of them are too focused on their destination that they just walk pass through the leaves of pessimism. Their torch of inspiration blinded my eyes. How could these insane people ram the optimism down their throats?

One gloomy day, I bumped into a weak old man. His hair grayed by the dying air that surrounds him, his skin tanned by the summer heat. Wondering, I asked him, “How come you’ve gone this far?” He murmured with a smile, “That’s what we are born to do.” The look in his eyes seemed like a windy and cloudy Saturday afternoon; serene yet melancholic. Puzzled with his riddle, I looked back to ask more, but I couldn’t see a trace of him anymore.

Bumping into this man gradually lit up the dying torch inside me. My path has never been this clear. Now, I am gracefully continuing my walk once again; ignoring all the withered leaves on my way. I am born to walk with them. I believed so.

Then a gnawing storm of doubts disturbed the straight path I am taking. The whirlwind is blowing the fire inside me. I thought I eluded the voice deep down. No, I did not. It became extremely deafening. It is as loud as the sound of a hard stone being ground. It is calling me once again. Old man, where are you?

Inferno (on Wattpad) http://my.w.tt/UiNb/WcaWBwuVay 

"What's your name anyway?" She asked handing me a beer 

 I took the beer from her hand, should I tell her my name? I wasn't that person anymore. F^ck, who am I? I smirked I knew who I was. 

 "Inferno." I chugged the amber liquid

 --------------------------- 

African Proverb

This is probably my favourite quote and it is completely inline with the theme of this blog; conquering self to become the best musician you can be. This is something I believe everybody has struggled with at some point in their musical journey. It is my goal to help relieve some of the anxieties often associated with being a musician.

That being said, I’m not hear to expound knowledge on to you like a condescending prick, but rather share and listen to ideas better us all.

Just so you have a better idea of who I am and what I do (yes, I’m a musician...), I am a Toronto saxophonist, flautist, erhu...ist and keys player (the later two are a work in progress). I try and perform as many genres of music as possible, because, in my humble opinion, life is too short to only play one. I was trained in the deadly art of jazz improvisation at YorkU. I have been performing for about 16 years now, I run a school and, until recently, operated an entertainment agency. If we are measuring success in dollars and cents then I’m doing alright. I live on my own, I’m debt free and perform regularly. Despite all that I constantly have an inner demon telling me that I’m not good enough at my craft, or I’m not good enough to play with certain people in the city etc. I’ve only recently decided to pursue music with all my heart and soul. I would love to blame the negative view of the fine arts society feeds us (hey, what’s the difference between a musician and a table?), but ultimately, it was my fault for being weak and fearful. I guess this is typically referred to as impostor syndrome.