Thursday, April 29, 2010

Walt; the learn'd astronomer

WHEN I heard the learn’d astronomer; 
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; 
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them; 
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, 
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;         5
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself, 
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, 
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

It's when I see something like this, or hear about something like this, that my firm belief of never being
a scientist of some sort really takes it's hold. I confine myself in the safe learnings of whatever whatever
so I can maybe some day have a stable income for a family. Something like that. Little fence. Little feet.
Painted yard. Painted house. Little house. Little neighborhood. Little dreams. It's like you watch it from
afar when you think about these things. It's not something I necessarily want to settle for, but it wouldn't
be so bad. Still, I'd like to keep the aspiration of being an active family man at least on the back burner
so I have some inkling of believing I'll be a musician some day.

I've grinded away at this for years. Honing my talents, spreading my name, keeping up a facade per say so that some day my reach might extend into the echelons of the stars. Fame doesn't even matter at this point. I know it sounds radical, but all I want is a shitty apartment and a band who'll play for me. This is all I want, yet it's too much to ask.

I spend hours a day looking for new music to listen to, looking for something new and exciting to worship with my ears. It's the buzzing and the static of new music that frustrates me most. I just want to get out there, I want to hear my own music, plastered across the lobes of youth and old alike. It's all I want to do. My piece will play a part in this. I will not be forgotten that easily. I don't want to be talked about in the past tense anymore. It's all these quotes and phrases that I steal from others that embody exactly how I feel.

Here I go whining about the same thing again, two blogs in a row, I'm on a roll. I think it's this city that does it to me. The wasting away music scene. The dying demographic. The wasted talent. The apathy the apathy the apathy. No one gives a fuck anymore. Everyone can feel free to show your support, yet you can't come to the shows anymore. It's too much for you to do to go see a band who doesn't have one of your personal friends in it. It's too too too much, but maybe it's our own greed causing this. Maybe we have to reach out a little bit further. Maybe that's all we have to do to get the ears of the greedy to listen, and relent.

Maybe that's what I'll do. I'll start so humble I'm barely alive musically. I'll hand out CDs, won't ask any price at all. Make capital investments. It's all I want, is to be heard. I could care less about the support right now, or the financial out put. Maybe I can just throw my music and people and hope a few of them catch on, a few of them enjoy it just enough to listen again.

Anyway, I'm sure I'm burning ears off at this point.


1 comment:

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