Derrida with cat. Break it down for me man.
Derrida with cat. Break it down for me man.
Here’s a little recap of my favorite musical material that I was either exposed to last year, or tracks that got heavy rotation. It was a good year in music.
Never has so simple a message touched me so deeply. It is such a deceptively small perspective to illustrate, but perhaps one of the most profound. It’s something that’s easy in speech, yet difficult in practice, but the philosophy offered here has been of great benefit to me. And so, without further ado…
Forgiveness. Man…that’s a difficult thing to do sometimes. Oftentimes it feels better to be vindictive to prove a point or to find some version of fucked up skewed solace or bury our feelings behind a moat and drawbridge and castle built of hate to protect our self-centered view of the world. We build walls to keep pain out, but those walls end up being our own prison, and the residence of even more torture. Really original stance I’m taking on this issue I know. I read this tirade in an overly wordy fortune cookie. It’s true though. That shit we do to protect ourselves and our best interests only wind up hurting us more in the long run from isolation and paranoia and doubt.
But it’s just so basic to let it go. The simplicity makes perfect sense. Leave your chains behind.
It’s taken me a long time, but that’s what I intend to do. I’m going to leave all that dumb bullshit behind because it serves no purpose. The only purpose it did serve was making me feel lonelier and more confused than I ever have in my life. And who the fuck wants to live like that?
Maybe it’s time to let it go.
Since my writing is currently operating in other places besides this one, I figured I’d just play a little music. Allow me to dig out some of the deep cuts inside my memory banks.
Lloyd! A bit of the old jazz-funk my brother.
Every time I feel like forgiving someone, I also feel like I’m compromising my principles. In most instances, forgiving someone for their actions is equivalent to saying that what they did was okay. That I can accept it. But sometimes I cannot, and I struggle with it more than I care to delve into at this juncture. It’s an extremely difficult thing to cope with.
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Your songs tear open old wounds… but goddamnit if you ain’t got some good tracks.
You make me feel like a teenage girl all over again.
Or am I?
I guess I don’t really know anymore.
A hipster used to be the derogatory term I used towards kids with hideous mustaches, high top Converses, and Pabst tallboys in hand. It was a group I had inside my head that brought a bitter taste to my mouth. A self-righteous clique that seemed to overtake the collective consciousness. People who appeared as though they tried too hard to be something they were not.
Yet in Vegas, when some smart-mouthed drunken desert person slyly threw such a usage at me in an offhand manner, I was forced to reconsider my position.
Perhaps I myself was the thing I came to despise so much. Maybe I was one in the same.
Pretentious in the eyes of others. Desperate for acceptance. More ironic than an Alanis Morissette song. Fond of weirdness. Striving to be different. Critical of the things that don’t agree with my world perspective.
Well…I do probably fall into such a category. And I will be the first to admit it. But I feel that the discrepancy lies in the fact that my behavior and personal choices feel more honest than my contemporaries.
However, such an attitude discounts others who express themselves in a similar way. And most likely I’m being too harsh towards individuals who share my same disdain.
I think it boils down to my hatred of middle class white people, including myself. A group with privilege who finds joy squandering their time and resources in trivial pursuits and bored games. Those that judge their food and their friends under the same standards. The produce may be organic, but what you produce is not.
I suppose trying hard is a quality of what I’m against…….fuck it.
…into the wild blue yonder.
Or perhaps the unnerving chartreuse abyss.
The catastrophic taupe unknown.
What Monty Hall might host as “ The Insert Interesting Adjective, Insert Fun Color Name, Insert Mysterious Noun Game”.
Well, whatever the fuck we choose to call it, I’m leaving into it.
My own spiritual quest for peace seems to have inspired me to venture outside of my comfort zone into a world I know not much of. And so I’m off to find some kind of meaning for myself outside of PBR, confused women, hipster douchebags with ironic mustaches, and all the other distasteful things that have inundated my world with a heavy sense of dread.
Maybe I’ll return. Maybe I won’t. It’s up in the air at the moment.
But, if my efforts are for naught, at least you’ll have my cat pictures and drunk writings to remember me by.
Easily the illest groove in the history of the world.
I can see why Miles was tryna hit that.