Thinking so much differently

I've begun to accumulate unfinished drafts of blogs: a business trip to Las Vegas a month ago, a recent weekend in Philly, babblings about cycling... In working on each, I've suddenly reached a point at which I've wondered what the fuck kind of bullshit I was spouting, and why? I have nothing new, original or profound to say, really. Does anyone? Centuries of writers have said it all before. So those of us saying it now are just repeating the same stuff, except that some of us fake it better than others. Some have a way with words that makes it sound new and fresh, or that reminds us of how profound such rambling thoughts can be, or that's at least entertaining. Every now and again I fancy myself to possibly be a decent writer, or at least one of those who can fake it reasonably well, but in the moments in between I'm sure I'm just fooling myself.

Sitting on the square at Fells Point earlier today (literally, as I had forsaken nearby benches in favor of the curb), watching the masses of tourists who sprouted out of nowhere when the overcast skies suddenly cleared, I couldn't help but question (yet again) the concept of inter-connectedness. In my shorts, t-shirt and hiking boots, I blend visually with the crowd, yet the association ends there. I feel no kinship to the young lovers, young parents with infants and toddlers, older parents with teens, or to any of the middle-aged folk who would be my chronological peers. Worse, I have little to no interest in being connected with any of these strangers, yet at the same time I wonder just where that leaves me in this paired-up, species-perpetuating world.

My Buddhist readings tell me that this sense of separation is an illusion, a construct of my mind. The "self" that feels so alienated from the crowd does not truly exist, it's merely a story we tell ourselves, a costume, as it were, that we wear for our time on the stage. And when I think of what's beneath the superficial surface, when I imagine the muscle and bone and organs that make us all up, I do see that we are indeed all the same. But that mental construct, that "personality" that we each create, is a strong force. The thoughts, feelings, and actions of that creation cause us to not only feel separate and different, but cause others to often perceive of us in that way, as well, and to treat us accordingly.

Pardon Me

A decade ago,
I never thought I would be,
At twenty three,
On the verge of spontaneous combustion.
Woe-is-me.
But I guess that it comes
With the territory,
An ominous landscape of never ending calamity.
I need you to hear,
I need you to see,
That I have had all I can take,
And exploding seems like
A definite possibility to me.

So pardon me while I burst into flames,
I've had enough of the world
And it's people's mindless games.
So pardon me while I burn
And rise above the flame.
Pardon me, pardon me.
I'll never be the same.

Not two days ago,
I was having a look
In a book and I saw a picture of a guy
Fried up above his knees.
I said, "I can relate,"
Cause' lately I've been thinking of
Combustication as a welcomed vacation from
The burdens of the planet Earth,
Like gravity, hypocrisy,
And the perils of being in 3-D,
And thinking so much differently.

So pardon me while I burst into flames,
I've had enough of the world
And it's people's mindless games.
So pardon me while I burn
And rise above the flame.
Pardon me, pardon me.
I'll never be the same.



Well, that helped. Incubus in 80's rock band regalia on Mad TV (go back and watch the video) brings a smile to my face, no matter how deep into dukkha I've allowed myself to descend. Plus, I've been wanting to write about this song for a while. It's still one of Incubus' most powerful songs, and the perfect soundtrack to a dark mood. Cranking the stereo and shouting out the chorus is one of those wonderfully cathartic experiences that music so frequently provides. Yet, as with so many of Brandon's lyrics, there's a sense of hope behind the frustration and angst. It's not a suicidal song by any stretch. While it seems to promote immolation as an escape (figuratively, if not literally), the line "pardon me while I burn and rise above the flame" implies a phoenix-like renewal. The explosion of emotional "flame" is a cleansing one that allows a return to a more sane, balanced acceptance of the world's burdens.

So what's behind my latest (surely temporary) batch of depression? Crappy, unpredictable, overcast weather on the three-day holiday weekend, for one, making it tricky to go out and hike, bike or kayak. The possibility of getting rained on is one thing. I'll hike in rain because I only have myself to dry off and clean afterwards, but I'm none to keen on cleaning a wet, muddy bike. And kayaking is not a terrific idea when there's a supposedly high probabability of scattered thunderstorms. I can think of a dozen excuses to not get out and do something on grey days such as we've had this weekend. I practically had to force myself just to drive up to Baltimore for lunch today. So, not only am I suffering from endorphin withdrawal, I've begun to suspect that I may also be susceptible to S.A.D., though it seems to affect me any time the sky is overcast rather than just during winter.

Additionally, work has been incredibly boring again and the tea-shop/restaurant idea is back on the table. I finally got the 2007 financial statements from the owner of Shaharazade's, along with an explanation for the delay (waffling as to whether they really wanted to sell, then a family crisis that re-convinced them that they do need to). So I'm back to hunting for a financial advisor to help me figure out whether this thing would be financially feasible (especially in the current economic climate), and to wishing I had someone who could help me figure out whether I'm prepared to deal with the non-financial aspects of it.

On top of these other things, it seems that Incubus is apparently planning to take a very extended break now that they've finally ended 1 1/2 years of touring for their last album, Light Grenades.

"I'm of the mind to say it wouldn't be a bad thing to disappear for a year or two years," [Brandon Boyd] said. "A lot of people would say culture moves too fast and you need to remind people, but I would argue there's not any rush. Maybe they'll be a sex scandal or an arrest or something to keep us in the news."

While I'm happy for the band to be exploring different territory and learning new things, I feel as if I'm losing my muse. No Brandon for one or two years? There damned well better be a sex scandal or arrest at some point, though I think I'd much prefer a new book. In the meantime, I'd better begin exploring some new territory, myself. To that end, I recently picked up some new music: The White Stripes Icky Thump and The Essential Leonard Cohen.

I've wanted to get into White Stripes for a while now. There's something about their sound that's very appealing to me. Icky Thump's been in the car cd player for a week now. It's great, creative, fun, cool-sounding stuff, though I doubt either Jack White's lyrics or voice will ever move me in the way that Brandon's do (Edit: I should know better than to make such predictions).

It's actually thanks to Brandon that I gave Leonard Cohen a try. During a radio takeover of Philly's Y-Rock radio station, he played Cohen's So Long, Marianne and described Cohen as "one of the coolest mo-fo's out there". A glance through a book of Cohen's poetry in a bookstore confirmed that the guy is, indeed, pretty damned cool. The man's not only a revered songwriter, he's also a poet and novelist, and spent several years in seclusion at a Zen center. His lyrics are wonderfully beautiful, and his voice is flat-out sexy (later tunes are sung in a much lower, more gravelly pitch than earlier pieces like So Long, Marianne). But the music that accompanies his songs, unfortunately, does nothing for me. It's a product of its period. The acoustically rendered tunes are ok, but those with lilting female backing vocals just sound so very dated. I may just have to get into Cohen's books and leave the music alone. Or, maybe that's something Brandon should do during the band's hiatus, an album of Leonard Cohen covers, done Incubus-style...

It would appear that I can still spout a tremendous lot of bullshit when I get going. Being in a black state of mind seems to make it easier. Perhaps tomorrow the weather will allow me to get out on the bike and "burst into flames" and get back to normal.

It's done: From Cornell... (Part I)

This is the first of what will be two long, rambling babblings about music, so if you're not into Incubus or Chris Cornell you may want to skip both of them. Unless, of course, you find my writing incredibly compelling, in which case, read on…

On 11/9, I drove 4 hours from DC up to Allentown, PA, with the two-fold purpose of seeing Chris Cornell perform at the Crocodile Rock Café and to meet a bunch of people from the Cornell forum. Leading up to the show, I realized that I was more excited about meeting the forum folks than I was about seeing Chris. Since getting into Incubus over the summer, I haven't even listened to Cornell for the last two months. No Soundgarden, no Temple of the Dog, no Euphoria Morning. But I was still expecting to be entranced and transported once he walked onstage.

So, all of us forum folk found each other in line at the Croc, and we all managed to get right up at the front of the stage, directly below one of the speaker stacks hanging from the low ceiling. Some of us had seen Chris at least few times this year, and some hadn't seen him perform for a handful of years. Every one of us was fairly giddy with anticipation as we waited through the opening act and the set change.

And then it began. The lights dropped, the band members filed out and began playing on stage, and I craned my neck to watch for Chris to emerge from the backstage door. I could see a tall shadow reflected on the wall and knew it was him, and the disagreeable thought flashed through my mind that Chris Cornell was making us wait so that he could have a grand entrance. That thought was disregarded, though, once he finally strolled out and hit the stage to tear into "Let Me Drown" and "Outshined". The one-two punch of those ripping SG tunes had me banging my head and dancing as much as was possible in the confines of the crowd, even after I realized that I couldn't hear a single note of what Chris was singing. Now, everyone says that the sound is always terrible right up front, but I swear I could hear every screaming note from the two guitar players. They were mixed so loudly, though, that I heard nothing of The Voice. The music was ridiculously loud. Through the first several songs, the guitars shredded my ears and the bass literally had my guts quivering to the point of nausea. For a while, though, it didn't matter, since I recognized the music, I could hear the people around me singing the same words I was singing, I could see Chris mouthing those words, and it got me excited. When the band left the stage for Chris' acoustic set, I finally was able to somewhat hear the golden tones I came for. And that was the turning point. One of the tunes he played acoustically was "I Am the Highway", which for the past few years has been my theme song, if you will. I had my hands up, swaying along with the song, and I gradually became aware that I really wasn't feeling the rapturous emotional response to Chris' singing that I felt in Baltimore and Philly earlier this year. I realized that I was just going through the motions. That and the twisted sensations in my gut suddenly left me subdued. There were a few points further on when I felt a nostalgic exhilaration in response to an old SG tune or two, but for the most part I just did not enjoy the show.

When it was all over, the crowd began filing slowly towards the exit. The forum folk all stopped to re-group near the swag table, and a few expressed interest in the t-shirts. Now, I generally don't wear clothing that advertises anything, not even the music that I'm into. And the fact that every single one of the Cornell shirts incorporated his illegible signature into the design was slightly distasteful to me. I don't know whether it was an impulse brought on by sheep mentality or what, though, but I ended up shelling out $20 for a shirt with one of the cooler, more obscure designs.

Afterwards, we all headed to a local diner to grab some food and hang out. I felt like crap and couldn't bring myself to consume more than a cup of soup and some tea. After a while, the conversation became targeted on how skinny, haggard and unhealthy Chris had looked during the show. Was it the clothes he was wearing, was he tired out by non-stop touring since March..? None of us had a real clue, of course, but we were all disturbed by it. The talk continued as people brought up things that had struck them about his facial expressions and antics on the stage and then, as will happen when you get a group of fanatical music fans together, we began to analyze various examples of Chris' bizarre behavior as represented in the media over the last several months. Photos of his home in a recent issue of In Style, an interview in a Turkish mag that included photos of him and his wife Vicky lounging around and having a pillow fight on their hotel bed, the cancellation of a couple of shows so that he could perform at a media event for Paris Hilton… Based on postings at the CC forum, things of this nature have many of his fans confused, and have blatantly turned off many others. At one point during the conversation, I posed the question that I've considered many times over this past year: What would the 20-something punk rock Chris Cornell of Soundgarden think of what he's recently become? The general consensus around the table was that the early Cornell would be scornful of the actions of the current one. But what do we know, really? We're just a bunch of fans basing our opinions on what we see and read, much of which is either taken out of context, misquoted, or totally created by the media. What I do know, though, is that the t-shirt I bought after the show is now a symbol of my nostalgic love of what Chris Cornell was and the music he once made. I am no longer a fan of the new Chris Cornell. **

That said, I've also been considering lately what it is about Incubus that I responded to so strongly this past summer. As I've mentioned before, I've known of the band for several years and never gave them a serious listen. I've written already about what made a couple of particular tunes jump out and grab my attention a few months ago, but as I began buying and listening to the rest of their catalog, I began to think about which elements of their music turned my initial reaction into a full-blown addiction. As with every other band with which I've been obsessed over the years, it comes down to the same two things: Words and a voice. (See part II, if you're so inclined)



** I feel that I should add some kind of caveat to the statement that I'm no longer a fan of Chris Cornell, since it was very hard to write that. As my Incubus obsession levels off, I know that I will definitely continue listening to Soundgarden and other Cornell music previous to the second Audioslave album. And if I hear that the guy transforms again and quits acting like such a fucking Rock Star, I'll certainly give his next album a fair listen. Until then, I am a confirmed Incubus addict.

What's new: Music and Friendship

Strange summer so far. I seem to be entering into one of my periodic extroverted phases. After a winter of self-aggravated discontent, self-imposed isolation, and self-indulgent introspection, the hermit seems to have wandered out of her cave for a bit.

This foray into sociability comes on two fronts (possibly three): the internet and the outdoors (the third hasn't yet gotten off the ground, so we'll just have to wait and see how it develops). Regarding the outdoors, I've always gravitated towards activities that lend themselves to solitary enjoyment-- hiking, kayaking, cycling. Many, if not most, people seem to do these things with others, but if one is sufficiently self-sufficient, then these activities are an excellent escape from the annoyances of society. Being alone by myself in the woods, on the water, or cranking the pedals, allows me to think about whatever I choose. I can mull and brood over issues at work, contemplate deep philosophical ideas, or just plain let my mind go blank. Last year, though, I began to experiment with kayaking and cycling with people I met on 'net forums geared towards those sports. One in particular, the Team Estrogen Women's Cycling forum (I absolutely hate the idea of posting at a site named for a female hormone, but it's really a great forum), has led to becoming part of a group of DC-area women who've begun to ride together on a fairly frequent basis. And now it's branching out-- a few weeks ago, three of us got together for kayaking, and one of them invited me to a get-together at her home. This has made it difficult to find time to paddle with Lee, my occasional paddling buddy of the last two summers and a fellow introvert. Even more disconcerting, I'm finding that it's been a few weeks since I've had a weekend entirely to myself. Obviously, this is not something to cry about, but it's requiring some adjusting to. These people want to spend time with me, and I have a good time with them. What might be considered strange is that I can't decide when it's time to begin referring to these people as friends. For two years, Lee has been "the guy I paddle with". The Team Estrogen ladies are just that, or "the women I cycle (and now kayak) with". At what point do they cross over from being people I enjoy certain activities with, to being friends? (Ugh. I just realized that question sounded like something Sarah Jessica Parker would say in a voice-over on Sex & the City.)

In addition to the TE cycling forum, I've also been posting at a couple of sites dedicated to Chris Cornell. I've ventured into music forums/chat rooms in the past, and actually began forming some virtual friendships that were pretty close. Throughout it all, I waffled between enjoying the anonymity that allowed me to comfortably open up and the dis-connect of not being able to see people's facial expressions and hear their tone of voice, of having interaction that is entirely intellectual as opposed to physical. I always felt strange reacting emotionally to the words of someone I couldn't see or hear and questioned whether these people I interacted with could really be called "friends". I mean, they couldn't come over and help me move furniture if I needed, or give me more than words when I needed comfort. Nor could I offer the same things to them. So were they really friends? This thought is what led me to cut ties with everyone I considered a "friend" a couple of years ago. After that I descended into full-on hermit mode, enjoying my books, my bike, my kayak and the great outdoors all on my own and finding great contentment (and occasional discontent, of course).

So now I find myself out in the world, beginning to form attachments again. Do I want this? Do I want to have a busy schedule of "dates" to do this or that with other people? Do I want to care about how people at some music forum react to my words and about what they think of me? I don't know.

On another note, I'm beginning to explore new musical territories. As mentioned in my My(WasteOf)Space profile, it takes a lot for music to really move me. I'll listen casually to all sorts of different things, but for me to want to go out and buy an album and listen to it repeatedly I've got to be touched emotionally, provoked to thought, or sucked in by a beautiful voice. For several years, I've listened to anything by Maynard James Keenan. For a while there, MJK's involvement with A Perfect Circle meant there was plenty new to listen to in the years between T00l albums. Lately, though, between his vineyard and T00l's latest epic tour, it looks like it may be a while before there's anything new from him (I'm looking forward to his Puscifer release, but I have a feeling there won't be much in the way of moving lyrical content to that. I could be wrong, though.).

And, of course, there's been Chris Cornell. It took a handful of years of casual listening to break through the density of his lyrics, but once through, the addiction developed with frightening intensity. In recent posts, though, I've written about my concerns over the direction his music's taken. The things I related to so much in Cornell's music over the years were the sense of isolation, the confusion over human interactions, the combination of melancholy in relationships and strength in solitude. At least, that's what I took from it. With Chris now a happy family man writing songs about love and his wishes for a better world for his children to live in, there's much less for me to relate to. And, as I've stated before, it seems that his incredible talent for imagery has been tempered by sobriety. I don't know how long it will be before his next album, but I'm both eager and tentative in my anticipation of it. The handful of songs from Carry On that I enjoy make me feel it's very much a transitional album, and that he'll find a way to combine those elements I've always loved with his new attitude and pespective. It'll be sad, though, if the next album reveals that it's time for me to move on.

To that end, I've begun listening to Incubus. Similarly to the way I got into Soundgarden, I've been familiar with Incubus since 2001 but only on a casual level. A friend sent me files of a few songs from their album, Morning View, back when it was released. I've listened to these songs periodically over the last several years and enjoyed them, but never really paid full attention to them. I recently had a project at work that required more focus than the distractions of the office allowed, so my boss gave me permission to plug in my earphones and crank some tunes. Hearing those Incubus songs through earphones gave me a chance to really hear both Brandon Boyd's voice and his terrific lyrics. So, I went out and bought Morning View and it quickly supplanted Cornell's Carry On in my cd player. One song, in particular, has been set on 'repeat' on several occasions:

Wish You Were Here

I dig my toes into the sand
The ocean looks like a thousand diamonds strewn across a blue blanket
I lean against the wind
Pretend that I am weightless
And in this moment I am happy...happy

I wish you were here (x4)

I lay my head on to the sand
The sky resembles a backlit canopy with holes punched in it
I'm counting UFO's
I signal them with my lighter
And in this moment I am happy...happy

I wish you were here (x4)

The world's a roller coaster and I am not strapped in
Maybe I should hold with care but my hands are busy in the air

I wish you were here

When I really listened to these words, the sentiment of them struck me like a punch to the solar plexus (a punch softened by Boyd's lovely, mellow vocals). I've felt that way so many times. I've written here in my blog about it, that feeling of freedom and contentment that is so delicious on one's own, but that you can't help wishing you could share. But with whom? A friend or loved one is the first thought, but really, sharing it with anyone who needs that feeling in their life would be fulfilling. Which kind of brings me back full circle. Do I want to make the effort to try and turn these recent real & virtual internet acquaintances into friends and risk the frustrations that will be part of that? Or do I maintain my disattachment and keep them at arm's length, enjoying sharing words &/or activities with them and leaving it at that? Do I "wish [they] were here" in those special moments of euphoric contentment? I just don't know.