It’s been a bit…
Since I’ve posted something on here. I was going to go to bed, but I decided some quality time with a laptop would probably do my mind some good.
So I’m laying in bed typing.
I’m kind of confused, but only a little bit. I’ve got a bit of a new perspective as far as things like this go, and I feel like it’s much for the better. I just don’t want to hurt anyone along the way ya know? Especially if they’re only indirectly involved. It’s a lot to think about, but it’s too early to think so far ahead. Gotta stick to the new perspective. Yeah.
Work is work. Most of the time I wish everyone would just leave me alone so I can get in there, do my time, and get back out. But I guess, unfortunately, in this case, I’ve made some friends there. I shouldn’t say unfortunately. I did though. I usually take the time that I have at work to write lyrics for songs I’m working on, or make parts for songs I haven’t even come up with yet, or just to listen to music. There’s this one headphone policy for iPods in a warehouse, but I consider it more of a guideline. I can still hear everything with two headphones in. Kind of.
Death is a weird thing. I’m not afraid of it. I almost think it’s kind of funny to be afraid of it. Yes, it’s sad in some ways. Losing someone. But when you go… who do you lose? Do you lose anything? Imagine going to sleep and that’s it. Like those nights that you collapse, exhausted on your bed and fall immediately asleep and don’t remember having any dreams at all. What would that be like for eternity? It would be like, nothing. Lol. It’s just nothing. No sadness, or happiness. You won’t feel remorse, or longing. You won’t feel. You won’t even be. Lol. It’s funny to me. To be scared of this thing, to try and resist this inevitable unknown. We came from, essentially, nothing (and when I refer to we, I mean the little voice inside each and every one of us that we refer to as ourselves. The thing that makes you, you) and when we die we only return to that. A part of me wants to believe that bodies are merely shells and that there is a soul, and that the soul is what I refer to as me, not this corpse I’m dancing with. But the better part of me won’t let me accept that as a complete truth. Some days I think that I am a soul, and some days I think that I am just a collection cells. I used the word corpse up there and I think it made this whole blog sound darker than I intended it too. This isn’t a sad kind of thing, this is just… I dunno, thinking I guess - a kind of targeted rambling.
I’m trying to make myself grow my hair and beard for the next, say, 6 to 9 months. It’s a constant battle of wills. Do I continue my pursuit of this unique ‘Jesus as a bum’ look, or do I make myself socially acceptable? Lol. In a life that’s concerned with finding love as much as mine is, I usually cave. Charisma and modesty can only carry you so far. Hope I can make it this time though.
I think if I had a single month to just smoke out and write music I could finish this whole album thing I’m working on. I’m thinking about changing the concept of the album. Originally it was going to be about the development of this relationship between a guy and girl, only the guy starts having sleeping problems and starts to lose his grip on reality while he loses his grip on the girl too. But it’s become more of a collection of dreams. Most of the songs for the album were written about dreams anyway. So I’ve just been thinking about writing an album’s worth of these dream songs and calling it something like The Dream Collection. Or something, I really don’t like that one.
My car broke down this weekend, transmission totally blew out, so I have to buy a new (used) car. I’m trying to get one for probably 1500 to 2000, just a daily driver that I can use for the next 5 to 10 years hopefully. This really sets me back as far as my long term goals are concerned, and everyone can forget about christmas presents from me. I’ve been working with Zappos for 3 months now, and all the cash I have to show for it is -177 dollars, because I overdrew my bank account, like I always fucking do. The goal is to have 10 to 12 thousand by August, which is looking to me like it’s just fucking impossible. I want an apartment in Lexington and I want to go back to UK, and succeed there. When I’m in my apartment I want to finish my first album, probably go to a studio and record it all, and see where that gets me too. But I can’t do any of this without money. I hate money so fucking much.
My boss comes up to me about twice a month and just says, ‘Hey Caylin… you doing ok?’ and I’m just like ‘…Yeah? I’m fine.’ and she’s always like, ‘Really, are you sure? You’re doing ok? You just seem kind of quiet… but then again you’re always kind of quiet…’ and I say ‘Yeah, everything’s fine.’ Next time she comes up to me I’m going to flip out and be like, ‘I mean… well, look at it this way. What’s your biggest fear? (Answer) Well, mine is growing old and rotting my life away every goddamn day in a factory, doing this mindless repetitive bullshit, never amounting to anything more than just being another fucking slave, another fucking drone of the queen bee. And you know what I have to do every single afternoon? I have to wake up and come to this hell and waste another ten hours of my life, not only facing, but living out my greatest fear. I have to look around me and really take in the scenery, the people, the smell - that smoggy warehouse aroma that goes down a little thicker than normal, fresher air and leaves a kind of thick residue from the dirt and dust - and try my hardest to let these things motivate me to get the fuck out of here instead of discouraging me to the point that I accept my life as a factory robot. So, yeah, I’m alright.’
That was a pretty big exaggeration, but I spend a lot of time dwelling on how this scene would play out while I’m at work. Alright this shit is getting lengthy, time to wrap it up. Later on, America!
Ah-mother fucking-men, this tragic lifestyle of the mid to late 20’s factory worker, it feels like history is doomed to repeat itself, here we are spending out glory days, the days that i know personally i will never get back, busting my ass listening to the bitching and moaning of the other commoners or laborers about how I don’t aspire.
Where the fuck do ‘you’ get off telling me i don’t aspire, everyday i have to tell myself Ryan try not to lose your temper or try not to get pissed at someone for saying something completely ridiculous. who the fuck gave you this self righteous attitude that allows you to come to me when we are in the same position.
thank god i apply some of the lessons of Claytonology to my every day life and just tell people to go fuck themselves. so Caylin here’s to you man for saying the shit that needs to be said. I believe Puffy said it best, “the more money we come across the more problems we see”
