Will You Heed the Master's Call?

I went looking for quotes about music, because it is something I feel strongly about. I thought I could find something interesting to say about it, to write about it, something true that had not been said.

I was wrong. Greater individuals than me have said so much more than I could ever say on the subject, and I have no doubt that their feelings on the subject are every bit as potent and deep as mine are.

I feel that the only way I can show how I feel about music is how I play my music. Whether I'm playing bass in the Christian rock band I'm in, or relaxing on one of my keyboards or a piano, or just simply playing in someone's basement, playing back-up on a simple blues jam for hours, I feel that that is when my feelings for that beautiful thing called music really show through.

I was raised with great music. The first song I remember hearing as a child is "To Cry You A Song" by Jethro Tull, off of their phenomenal album Benefit. My father played in bands since the late 70s, and loved the music he played and listened to. He always of course claimed that Christianity was his religion, but I'll say this: I knew times when he lost his faith in God, but I cannot remember a moment when he lost his faith in music.

The man had over 5000 songs on his computer, mainly from the 50s through the 80s, and mostly in the rock and alternative genres. I had a backing in those songs my whole life. My father bonded with my younger brother while they rode his motorcycle together, and he bonded with my sister in the way that a father bonds with a daughter, but with me, it was all about the music. Not a day goes by since he passed that I don't hear a song he introduced me to and think "Man, I completely forgot about this song," or that I don't hear a song he would like and think "It'd be awesome to tell my dad about this song." I can't, of course, but that's how deeply our relationship revolved around music.

For my 6th Christmas, I came out into the living room to find a cheap Yamaha 61-key electric keyboard. I've still got it gathering dust in a corner in my house. Along with the keyboard was the starter set of Alfred's Piano Lesson books. I was hooked. I worked my way through those books in less that a month. After that, my parents got me lessons. Sort of traditional piano lessons, you know, the kind that make people hate playing piano. I loved it.

When I was 15, a couple friends and I got together and formed what we called a Christian punk band. It wasn't really anything of the sort, just a jam band in a friend's basement, but we all started somewhere. It went from being a Christian punk band, to a Christian rock band, to a Christian metal band, to just a metal band, to breaking up when I was 18. I learned so much from those experiences. What sounded good and what didn't. What people liked at shows and how much practice was enough. Even more important stuff, like how to stand up for myself and how to talk to women.

I became what a lot of people would think is a goth. I loved, and still do love, the color black. I wore everything black back then. Some people at my church started calling me Johnny Cash. The others weren't so good-natured about it, thinking I was becoming a heathen, especially considering the kind of music that I rode around listening to. I thought I was something else honestly. But I never lost my faith. I would sit and debate Scripture, while blaring Highway to Hell out of my stereo, and if any of my more Christian friends said anything about it, I would shrug and say, "God never said anything against good music."

But I'm getting off topic. I fell from the music for awhile. I quit playing, got interested in other things. But my music is more apart of me than almost anything else is.

I'll tell you this. You have never experienced a drug that can give a high comparable to playing a live show for people. The feeling of walking off a stage knowing you did what you came to do. The untouchable feeling of adrenaline you catch when you're on stage and every instrument hits just right and it all comes together to create a wall of sound that moves everyone in the building and gets not just their bodies moving but their spirits moving as well. The joy of hearing someone humming the songs you wrote as you're loading up equipment. And yes, even the crappy diner food you devour after a show, because the club's owner stiffed you on the payment and that's all you could afford. It's all beautiful, and addictive.

A lot of people will tell you that it's out of character for me to join a purely Christian band now, and they're right. But I did it because I spent too long without that beautiful feeling of the music coursing through my veins, shooting out of my fingertips, me becoming one with my instrument, and with the other instruments and musicians around me, and with the audience and the very sound waves that our brains arrange into coherent beauty, and producing music, no matter what the lyrics say.

The music itself is what's important to me, and if I have to perform songs about my other, less popular beliefs in order to get that feeling I will. It's everything to me, and I couldn't give it up if I wanted to. It's an addiction, just like any other, one that I have no problem with never breaking.

There's nothing more I can really say about it. The best thing I can leave you with is to just listen. Go listen to some decent music. Maybe listen to The Rain Song, by Led Zeppelin. Or Across the Universe by the Beatles. Or Love Reign O'er Me by the Who. There are so many great ones out there, too many to name. And I can promise you, you haven't heard nearly enough of them.

Fascimile

Don't worry, it's misspelled for a reason.

So many Americans spend time talking about how wonderful our country is and how we stand for freedom and liberty and all that stuff. But those same people will turn around and embody the exact opposite of those terms they throw around so easily.

See, when you attempt to force someone, by law, to believe the same way you do, there's a word for it. Fascism. And supposedly America has tried to fight against that. And yet somehow, the ones who claim to be the most patriotic, the ones who supposedly believe truly in America, or claim to, (the far right), have turned into fascists.

Listen, I'm absolutely fine with something that is voted in democratically. If you want to ban gay marriage in your state, and you can get the votes for it, then so be it. I don't agree with you on it, and I think that the government has no business going around enforcing people's religion for them, but hey, that's democracy. But if your state votes it in, democratically, and it's not actually affecting your freedom in the slightest, then you can't expect the government to change its mind, simply because it makes you uncomfortable.

Because here's the thing. Gay marriage does nothing to affect those who don't agree with it. It's not like gun rights or environmental laws. Gay rights doesn't make you have to marry someone of your own gender. It doesn't make preachers have to agree to marry gay couples. All it does is make you a little uncomfortable, which is no reason to act like an idiot over it. You know what else made people a little uncomfortable? When they ended slavery. And one hundred years later, everyone's fine with that.

And guess what. In another one hundred years, the homophobes who stood against gay rights are going to be remembered in the same light as the people who supported slavery. You won't be remembered as some big champion of the faith. I'm not even sure that homosexuality is a sin. Jesus never mentioned it at all. Paul did, but Paul was also a sexist who said women were too stupid to talk in church. He also hated marriage and carnal relationships of any form. The only other place it's talked about as a sin is in the Old Testament, where it also says that if a woman gets raped, the guy who raped her just has to pay her father the money she's worth and it's cool. Oh, unless she's a servant, in which case it's her fault for tempting the man and she should be put to death.

My point is, is that you cannot expect the government to enforce your moral laws for you. It's not their job. If you want to make your beliefs the backbone of the country, then rally your churches and your people and get them to the box on voting day. Elect representatives that line up with your beliefs. What you don't do, is throw a temper tantrum, saying that the government should fix everything simply because you want them to.

I believe in this country. I don't believe in some past romanticized vision of our founding fathers, nor do I have much hope for our current state of affairs. But I see the way our country could be, if our ideals were carried to their logical conclusion. Freedom for all, as long as it didn't interfere with someone else's well-being. I believe that's what makes a patriot. Not a dedication to the right or the left. Not a need to return to the policies of the past. But a striving to make the country everything that it is able to be.

To make the country of the United States of America, great.

Scorched Earth

Heat is one of those complicated words. It means so many different things depending on the context in which it is mentioned.

At the moment, I'm typing this in my bedroom, which is running at roughly 80 degrees. See, we can't actually afford propane for the central heat, so we use extremely powerful space heaters. They are very effective when it is cold outside. However, they are much more effective when it's been 70 degrees and humid outside all day. I prefer the temperature at about 65 degrees with an overcast sky. Needless to say, being in my room is like being locked in a sauna. I've turned the heater off and the fans on, but it's going to be about an hour before it cools in here.

So, heat. Obviously there is the context in which I am resenting it now. I, of course, love it when it's actually cold in my house. Heat is what keeps many of us alive in the winter (those of us who don't simply drink a bottle of brandy and give a gentlemanly harrumph). Yet in the summer, we resent it. We bloody well hate the heat in the summer,

Some places have a context for heat that I can't even comprehend. Deserts and such. I should probably stop complaining, but I am American after all. The heat in those places makes 80 degrees look like a joke. Heat isn't just a word for them, it's a way of life, a force to be reckoned with.

Then again, heat isn't always just about the temperature. In the right context, it means passion, love, lust, desire. That's a wonderful context for it. One of the most amazing sensations on the planet. Not the sexual part, although that's great too, but the rising temperature when you are attracted to someone in every conceivable way. That flame burning inside that cannot be ignored. It's incredibly powerful.

Of course, heat is also the name of several crappy colognes.

There's heat in physics, essentially one of the most important and complicated forces in the universe. It's incredible. Measurable change in our world, simply marked by the changing of temperature. Oh, to have been there when the laws of thermodynamics were made.

I've looked back at this entry and realize that the heat may have addled my brain. I have jumped around a ridiculous amount, and I apologize.

Ugh. Heat.

These Are the Good Old Days

Anticipation...

It's a mockery almost, that emotion. Or feeling, or whatever it is. You look forward to something for ages, thinking about how great it will be, excited about the prospect of change. And then the day comes, and it's never quite as good as you expect it to be.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not entirely let down. But somehow it's not quite as exciting as I thought.

I find myself going through life this way. I look forward to things and then they slightly let me down. Not in a major way. Just kind of. Like a sort of hollow feeling deep inside. It's wrong of course. I have a fairly good life. I love my family, my home. Love my wife more than anything. Only thing I really have a problem with is my job and my finances. But somehow, every time something comes along that is supposed to make me happy, it comes up short.

I think it's indicative of the human condition. Always journeying, never arriving, and all that. It seems like we go through life so intent on getting something more that we never enjoy it when we get it, we just look to the next thing.

But I believe that's what makes humanity so great. Always searching, never satisfied. It leads us to invent new things, go new places, think new ideas. All of course in the name of filling that gaping hole in our chest. Sad but true.

I found someone that fills at least the romantic and physical side of things for me. My wife is the most wonderful woman I could hope for. She makes me happy in ways that I could never imagine. She is the one thing that never truly lets me down, beyond simple husband/wife things. But I'm always happy to see her, always excited to talk to her, and always inspired by the sight of her. She's amazing.

Maybe that's the key. Drive and reach and explore and never be satisfied, but hold on to one solid thing, one pure reason to do what you do, and never neglect it.

Sea Lion With a Ball at the Carnival

I know I typically don't talk about the casual things in life, like work, but today I'm making an exception because I have a few things I feel need to be said.

I work at a bit above minimum wage at a common chain store that almost everyone has shopped at, one time of another, and because of their prices, most people in lower income brackets shop there all the time. I've worked there for four and a half years, while I'm finishing college, and so I've seen quite a few things. Some absurd, some angering, some good things. But the thing that stands out to me most out of that, is how rude, entitled, and mean spirited many of the people who shop there actually are.

I try to be nice to everyone, which doesn't come easy to me. I really don't like people all that much. But I'm polite, and I try to help anyone who asks find what they're looking for, and help answer any questions they might have. But when you yell at me because prices have gone up by twelve cents, it makes me want to take a baseball bat to your face.

Look, in chain stores, no one working there controls the prices even slightly. All the prices come from corporate, and we have to put the prices out there. Don't blame us if a shortage in sweet potato crop because of rain has caused it to make an apparently massive jump from 34 cents a pound to 42 cents a pound. We have nothing to do with it. It bothers us more than it bothers you, because not only do we have deal with your ridiculous complaints, but we also shop there, because we can't afford to shop anywhere else.

How much did you make last year? 30,000? 40? Maybe you're down on the lower scale and made 25,000. But I know you make more than me. You know why? Because no one who makes my pay range yells at me about prices. Why is that? I make around 10,000 a year. In case you're not aware, that is less than most people on welfare and disability make. So it'd actually be a better career choice for me not to work at all. I'd make more money. So why is it that the people who make around 10,000 a year don't complain about prices, even though a price spike of a few cents means we might not be able to buy it, but the people who make 4 and 5 times that complain about it like it's the end of the world?\

It's because people who make my pay grade are in jobs where they constantly have to deal with people like you too, and so they understand what it's like to get yelled at for something that you have absolutely no control over in any way, and not be able to defend yourself. That's right by the way. At my job, if I talk back to a customer, or act in any way that might imply that he/she is an entitled prat instead of a shining cloud-wreathed god in the sky, I get fired. Dignity's all well and good, but it won't pay for food. So I have to keep my mouth shut and smile, and say thank you for your comments, and all that other crap, because I can't afford to not. People who make decent have a few weeks of leeway where if they get fired they have a bit of time to find a job. Not me. If I get fired, I have to start working the next day, or else I'll sink.

So for God's sake be a decent human being to the minimum wage slaves.

Tears of Love Lost In The Days Gone By

Frailty.

What does that word bring up in your mind? Perhaps you're like me. You see someone old, broken down, barely alive anymore. Or perhaps you see a wilted plant of some sort, clinging to life, about to let the last of its leaves fall. I had an old dog once. She had been in my family for 14 years, and by the end, she was so broken down and decrepit, a far cry from the puppy we had 14 years before. Frail. Weak. Falling apart. Sick.

Whatever comes up, I'm sure it isn't yourself. You probably don't associate the word with yourself in any shape, form, or fashion. I know on a day to day basis I don't. It is a fault of the age I find myself at, to feel that you are invincible. I know I am not, and yet the feeling remains.

But today I have heard many tales of death. Of lives snuffed out before their time, like a candle wick, tossed by an errant breeze, and put out without intention. Three stories I've heard today. Each one was young, around my age or younger. Each one had a significant other who was depending on this person to be with them to walk through life's trials for the rest of their lives. And each died tragically, in a manner that they had no control over, no expectations for. Just like that, they were gone. And whether or not they had religion, whether or not they had money, or plans, or knew how to defend themselves, whether or not they had a clean bill of health, or had kept their bodies pure of influences, they died.

Human beings are so incredibly frail. A small amount of pressure here, a foreign object inserted there, and it's all over. As simple as a distracted driver, or a loose bolt, it could end. Those who seem neurotic and paranoid, afraid of every little thing to the point of insanity, are seemingly the sanest among us. They're right. Just about anything can kill a human. There are cases of people being killed by paper cuts. People falling three feet off a ladder and being paralyzed for life. The simplest introduction of chaos into our systems and we fall apart.

And that's not to mention all the many diseases that cause our bodies to turn on themselves. Those that turn the immune system against the internal organs, the virus that causes a fever so hot the brain can boil, pain so great that the mind can simply break and leave a body empty of anything resembling consciousness. We are a walking time bomb of death. And everything around us is in a hurry to accelerate the process.

And yet somehow, we carry on. We push and we strive and we accomplish great things, in spite of all our weaknesses, in spite of the fact that death surrounds us everywhere. We go out every day, and risk our lives, simply on the basis that we have to make money in order to provide ourselves with entertainment. By rights, we should be locked up in a bomb shelter somewhere, trying not to touch anything sharp. But we strap ourselves into what amounts to 2,000 pound guided missiles powered by explosions every day, drive to buildings that are powered by harnessed lightning and held together with small bits of metal, and do things that deliberately place us in harms way constantly. For what? To simply improve our lives. A normal human would not think of running and hiding in a shelter for their lives, simply because it'd be boring.  Can you imagine that? A species that endangers its existence, simply because it would be a bit dull otherwise. Its ridiculous and beautiful all at the same time.

And, by God, it works. Look at our cities. Look at the monuments to ourselves we have built. More importantly, look at the inventions we have made. We invented a metal case, once again, powered by explosions, that flies, because the guided missiles on the ground didn't get us there fast enough. What sort of creature would dare look up at the sky, in all its infinite glory, and say to themselves, "I want to go there"? We did. And we continue to push our boundaries, no matter the cost or danger. We run into danger, because to do otherwise would be unthinkable.

To do otherwise, would be inhuman.

Who Will Save Tomorrow?

Where are the heroes?

I understand some of you will take exception to that, and believe me, I completely support the troops. I believe there are cases of heroics there, every day and everything. But 50 years ago, you saw example after example of famous heroes. Heroes we could all admire and look up to, who embodied the very ideals of our countries, day after day.

Now we're left with super heroes in movies, action stars and muscle bound psychopaths, drenching their environs in blood and piles of spent brass. We spend time idolizing those, and yet, when it comes to it, what are they truly worth? How is your life better for having admired those people, following a script on screen? Not to mention the fact that many of them are hypocritical about the roles they take, being completely anti-violence and anti-guns in real life.

The real life heroes, meanwhile, in the military, are stuck fighting pointless wars, attempting to force our way of life onto countries that have existed before we were even thought about. Again, I support the troops themselves, but I do not and will not give support for a war that can never be won, not if a thousand years were to pass and the sun were to go out and the sky shine with different stars in the night. War is such a political game now. There is no glory to be had. And I suppose it's a good thing that our soldiers can sit safe in a base a hundred miles away and still accomplish things, but I believe in heroic symbolism.

Don't get me wrong, I don't believe that there is much that is glorious about a battlefield. All the blood and guts and excrement and screaming and gnashing, never ending. But there is something glorious about the men who come back. Those who, although they saw all that, come back and raise their families, and live among you and me, like normal people, when they know they can never be that.

There is something more to be said in dying for what you believe in, in a battle far away. A glory that is innate to the ultimate sacrifice. But that's precisely the problem. How can you believe in an utterly pointless cause? There's nothing to be gained, nothing to be won, by striving in the desert day after day, just sorrow and death and scars, both mental and physical.

It is unfortunate.

The time of heroes has past, and we are left all the worse for it.