There’s this band I like called Spiritualized. I once caught them in concert, and found it odd that the singer / songwriter Jason Pierce sat facing the band, and barely acknowledged the audience. I found it cool that he didn’t give a shit about putting on a show for us, but concentrated on playing the best music he could, by being in complete unison with his musicians. I also enjoy Spiritualized because of their clever and quirky lyrics:
I get me all confused, and the reasons why are confusing too
I could be with you, try to sort it out
If I tell the truth, I like to lie about”
And because Jason Pierce is one obsessive motherfucker, he will often rework his songs, not once or twice, but a gazillion times. And this is where our blog post begins.
Trent Lewin recently asked me, “Do you ever worry about running out of you?” The short answer is NO. The long answer goes something like this…
I am never satisfied with what I write:
- The words didn’t come out the way I was hoping they would;
- For some reason, the English language didn’t cooperate, and what I typed were translated thoughts from my native French;
- I got scared of the feelings of what the finished sentence might convey, and I hid behind calculated objectivity and refuted all words dictated by my heart.
Dad called me the night before he killed himself, for a face-to-face over a cup of coffee. I declined his invitation, and I have been living with the guilt of ignoring his cry for help for seventeen long years. I have recycled my words around that night in one, two, a gazillion articles, and yet, I’ll write a shitload more about it, because I haven’t put the finger on the essence of the message. And if this wasn’t enough self-imposed pressure, what I felt last year about that particular event isn’t even close to what I feel today…
I love my kids, and the crazy intense tsunami that is my daughter. You have read about her demonic possession, her stubbornness, the little sleep she needs, her disgust for all food groups but sugar, because I have written twenty too many posts about it… I will face her wrath and write twenty more before I die of exhaustion.
Have I told you about my love/hate relationship with Facebook? And how I shouldn’t invite bloggers into my personal life? Well let me tell you again…
I used to drink, and I used to love cocaine. Did you know I was a recovering addict? I know you did, but what about you, new reader?
I love my wife, and I will write about her until you vomit in your mouth. Again.
I write about “me” since “me” is what I know best, even when I am as articulate as a six-month old trying to let her parents know s/he’s thirsty by screaming and crying and kicking them in the gonads. I know a great deal about the me of yesteryear, less about the me of today, and I am looking forward to meeting me tomorrow.
I like to sit facing my words and pretend like none of you is here with me, because I don’t want to put on a show, because I want to write the truth that I like to lie about.
Prompt: Do you ever feel like you are writing the same post, over and over again?