The coalmine canaries

Thinking about starting back on the books...but no promises. I keep losing my confidence as a writer of fiction. I refuse to make the world worst with my art. and have actively spent most of the last couple of months trying to find more constructive outlets. Those are less destructive to me and others, like painting miniatures and such.

 

My main problem has been that I don't want to leave negative graffiti on the walls of the universe just because I feel bad. It's not fair to the perfection of creation as lucid and straightforward as a diamond in its glory. I want to inspire people. Not make me into a laughing stock. I mean, technically, both give a kind of joy... but I really can't take much more psychological violence, even if it is self-inflicted.

 

I have spammed so much crappy art across the walls of the internet. That karmically, I feel like silence is a justified penance. So if it takes a while for those projects to be finished, then know that it may be for the best.

 

I almost want to cry typing this, but as I said, I refuse to make the world a worst place just because I am screwed up. I would love to spew out positive energy, but I don't feel like I have it in me at the moment.

 

On a more positive note, Earl Mach Rouch is releasing the new Buckaroo Banzai. So I hope to spend most of the following month reading it (I intend on reading it slowly, like dangerously so)

 

I have a memory, maybe being seven or eight, and waking up and seeing the jet car scene of buckaroo banzai on the sci-fi channel. I fell asleep since as it was midnight and I was a kid. but I mentioned it to both my dad and uncle and they both told me the classic line, "No matter where you there, you are." Not seeing that movie was a regret of my life until I did get a chance to see it when I was thirteen or fourteen. After being obsessed with it, I got a copy of the novelization and was utterly blown away. Buckaroo Banzai remains my northern star, and since I am at a juncture in my life, I feel some time for selfish reflection is necessary and honestly overdue.

 

My dad is going to the doctor to find what is going on with his heart. After losing my mamaw last year, I hoped for half a decade of stability, but it's God's show, and we are just along for the ride. So I am praying he will be O.K. and just taking some time to reflect on how selfishly I have lived for the last decade and trying to spend time with my family.

 

After all that, I will emphasize I reserve the right to pull a one-eighty and write novels as a substitute for coping with reality.

 

I am listening to Buddy Holly as I write this and am amazed that I have been blessed to live more than a decade longer than his tragic life allowed. Sometimes I can't decide who I like more Al Jorgenson and his band ministry for a trinity of albums that are like being thrown into the heart of a storm. Or Buddy Holly for the simple ambition to sing and be heard. Yes, I know that is the romantic way of looking at it. Yes, I know Buddy wrote Midnight Shift which is the fifties equivalent of just one fix (a ministry track), but we are all wounded animals looking for love, whether it's the kind you can put a price on or not.

 

They say that birds sing in the morning to let their mates know they survived through the night. Whether that is true or not, I still love to look at that particular ambiguity in that specific way. If only because my first band was called the coalmine canaries. So a loss of music in the dark has always been a fear of mine. But will always fight that dark off with a simple phrase "A love for real is not fade away!"