*clears throat* Hey, WordPress – are you listening? Cause your fucking delete comment sucks shit! Do it by accident – just had my second boo-boo – and your friends’ comments are gone, gone, gone. Can’t you make an UNDO for dat shit? C’mon. By the time your shit program reacts, I get a fucking FLASH of ‘comment deleted. Undo?’ for a nano-second before it fucking goes away. Fucking IMPOSSIBLE for me to undo. Is it asking SO very much to have a permanent ‘undo’ button somewhere on the fucking page? For fuck’s sake!
Sorry, Lola. It was your comment that got trashed. I meant to say thanks for the support and wow! You shaved your legs; better than me.
So. By noon yesterday, I’d called victory on the day. By then I had not only smiled but laughed thanks to my duckie buddy, George. He didn’t do his jumping trick. He just sidled up by me – slowly, from the left. Then he looked up at me with those eyes that are ten times brighter than the rest of the ducks’. I called his name and he cocked his head at me. My knees bent and I sunk slowly down, extending my hand. Then in he came. A gentle duckie snap of the beak and he had the bread I’d wanted him to take. I felt it was a double victory; a victory for George for overcoming whatever fear other people put into him and a victory for me for laughing and loving him so much. Once again, a wild duck has made my day.
After that, I realized I just had to coast through the rest of the day. Not get upset. I’d already won.
Music immersion helped. Headphones on, visualizer trippin’ out on my screen, and joint in my hand. The volume set as loud as I can get it without damaging my hearing. And my screen poured out my chosen color – yellow. Silly of me, I know, but I take it as a sign. A sign that it’s ok. I’ll be ok. As my unreleased stuff poured over my ears I let myself go. Tears came. Then calm. Blah is right; I have a special connection with my music. Whatever I’ve put down moves me. Deeply. And it’s okay if I’m the only person on the planet who gets it. That’s what it’s there for: to comfort me. I kept listening for ‘mistakes’; problems with this or that. I heard nothing but stuff that made me want to move and sway. Get up and dance. Heartbreaking melodies intertwined in club beats. Bits that repeat and work alone and then get laid with a counter melody and give a whole new memorable line.
The one sucky thing that happens when you’re out there long enough as an artist is you start to care less and less about what other people think. You’ve got to, to get through all the rejections you’ll get. But it happens for the praise, too. When you hear from a thousand people who think your stuff is shit and you learn to say ‘okay, whatever’ to it, when someone likes your stuff you tend to say the same thing – ‘okay, whatever’. I mean, it’s nice to have someone like your stuff. But it means the same as someone NOT liking your stuff. At least it does for me. I guess the only thing that matters to me is whether or not I like it (and can keep doing it). I’ve heard about artists who can’t read or listen to their own work. I’m like that with my older stuff: too many things I’d change now that I know a thing or two. I tend to hear (or read) only my mistakes, and that’s hard. Hard to enjoy, hard to listen to, hard to appreciate. But everybody should have at least one piece where they feel they’ve reached a state of perfection, when everything came together just right to create the sublime. That’s the goal, right? To pull this shit out the air – whether it be words or pictures or sound – and create a representation of it here and now. To step back and say ‘Yes; I got it. This is it without my ego coloring the picture, this is it without my inadequacies holding me back.’
Well, I got it. There’s only two of my roughs online at the moment, two of these gems I think reach the level of awesome sound. They’re not getting much attention. That’s ok. They’re gonna get pulled in the next year, anyway. ‘Cause I’m gonna get this shit compressed. Hooked up with an old friend who’s doing mastering work now. Someone I actually TRUST with my sound. Sorry; you can’t just hit a button on your computer and expect great sound to be shat out. Mastering takes some finesse. It takes an ear and someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing. This guy does. At least enough for me to pony up a nominal fee – great rates ’cause we’re buddies – to see what he does with the club sound. Then it’s all planning and marketing bullshit. Press releases and twitter and soundcloud, oh my! I hate that shit but since I don’t have an agent or rep, it’ll fall to me. Again. Hope I don’t let myself down. Wish I had more fucking money to spend on it. Wish I had ONE person to review it BESIDES me.
But I’m ahead of myself again. Right now, I’ve only got roughs. I guess my neighbors are gonna hear some club music on those long winter days while I mix down my finals.
At least my head is above water right now. I’ve got swimming in a hour and I feel like I can deal with the day ahead. I’m shielded from the world by a duck and some music. Right now, that’s good enough.
P.S. The delete thing happened again. Sorry, Stephanie and thanks for your words!