The Blank

For those of you who have read some of my previous posts and know even a little about me, I consider myself a musician and a composer. My method of composing is very simple: I wait for something to inspire me and I start translate that inspiration into music. I never make it a point to sit down and force any music out; its always very spontaneous, hits me all of a sudden anytime and anywhere and I never know when its going to happen. It can be another song I hear, something someone says, a poem or story I read, an event, or even just a word, and for some reason my brain begins translating it into music. Usually this happens a couple of times a month. I can count on being 'hit' with inspiration often enough that I don't have to go desperately looking for it.

Lately, though, this has NOT been the case. I'm not sure what happened, but about three or four months ago my muse flew the the coop. I didn't realize it at first, but after about a month or so I realized, 'hey, I haven't done any music lately'. I mean, I will still from time to time sit at the piano and mess around, but no solid compositions or ideas have resulted. When I first realized it I wasn't bothered that much; I figured I just had to wait a while and it would come back. That's not working. And when I try to compose or create something its horrible or just ends up being just like something I'd done or heard before. I don't know what happened. I've jut blanked.

I don't know if it has anything to do with what's going on in my life or the fact that I'm just getting older. I've read that schools and education actually hinder creativity in most kids, and that kids get less and less creative they older they get. I do notice my expectation of the world and life getting more and more complicated, and this could be strangling my creative voice. Who knows.

I'm sure this also has to do with why I haven't been blogging as much lately. I'm the type that doesn't like to force things, music or literature. Sometimes I can feel a certain way and have certain thoughts but I just can't find the right words. Is it wrong if a person doesn't want to just force something out that doesn't accurately reflect what he/she is feeling? I know a lot of people can do that, but I just can't see myself doing it.

Anyways, I'm actively seeking inspiration. I'm not going to force music out just because I have to, though. I'm trying to keep my eyes and ears open to anything and everything, and hope that moment comes...

3 January 2011

Well, I thought I would have some crazy dream after falling asleep around 2 AM New Year's morning but, alas, I was robbed. It wasn't until last night that the subconscious creative energies and other mysterious forces of inspiration kicked in for 2011.

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I was taking a trip downtown on my bike, on my way to the Barber Shop where I usually get my haircut and somehow I got extremely disoriented. I knew exactly where the Barber Shop was and I'd been there countless times before, but for some reason, it suddenly was like the entire city had been dumped upside down and I had no idea where I was.

When I thought I found my way, I rode for a little while longer until I arrived at what I thought was the Barber Shop I normally went to. The exterior of the shop looked generally the same, except more of a run down, grungy version of where I normally got my hair cut. I leaned my bike against the old brick wall and hesitantly went to the screen door and opened it. As soon as I looked inside I realized I was in the wrong place, but I had already taken a step through the door and the people inside where staring directly at me.

I sat down in a worn down old sofa directly across from an old man who was getting his hair cut by another old man. They both stole suspicious glances at me from time to time as I tried not to make too much eye contact with them. Finally, the old Barber said, "How ya doin' son?" "Good." I replied. "I'll be with you in a few minutes..." he said.

I didn't respond as my attention was drawn to the many pictures on the wall above the Barber's mirror, faded old images that looked like they'd been taken back in the 1940's and 50's. Some of them looked like the old Barber when he was very young, some of him in military uniforms.

There was also a small television with a black and white picture sitting on a cinder block and wood table. There was a talk show on, one of those where the people on stage have absurd disputes with each other. I didn't know exactly what they were talking about but the people on stage always looked like they were on the verge of having a fist fight with one another while the host just stared with a grin on his face.

Just as I was starting to understand what the show was about, the Shop door opened and an old man walked in. I could tell by his grungy, tattered clothes and his disoriented limp that he was probably homeless. He kept tugging up his pants which looked like they were held up by a rope instead of a belt. He had a beat up, faded black hat pulled down over his head and such an angle that I couldn't see his face. A slightly sour smell floated in the air from him in my direction.

"Joey! What's up, man?" The barber said. I guess he knew him.

"Awww, man, just trying to make it that's all." The homeless man said carefully taking a seat in a cushioned chair at an angle from me. I still couldn't see his face.

"It's gettin' kinda hot out there, huh?" The barber asked.

"Hey, man..." The homeless man, Joey, started, not really paying attention to the barber's question, "You got any blank CDs man? I need some blank CDs."

"Now what you gonna do with some CDs?" The barber asked, chuckling.

"Aw, man I got this song. This song man..." Joey started humming to himself.

"You still trying to play that piano man? You still doing that music stuff?" The barber asked. That's when I noticed the man who's hair he was cutting was still staring right at me.

"Aw, man, this song man, this song..." That's all Joey was saying as he sort of hummed to his own words. He wasn't really addressing anyone in particular, just went on and on, looking down at the floor, tapping his foot. As he continued to do so, he took off his hat, and when he looked up, a chill went up my spine. I don't know how I could tell, I just knew, that I was looking at an aged version of myself. It was like looking into a mirror that adds 60 years to your appearance. It was me, with a long receding gray hairline, wrinkles, eyes that look like life and hope had been drained from them, and a crooked mouth that no longer looked like it could smile. I don't know why they called him Joey, but I knew it was me.

I suddenly became filled with anxiety as my body seemed to be completely overtaken with the chills. My eyes started to fill with tears. My lower lip trembled. I wanted to scream out. I jumped up and started to run out the door of the Barber Shop when I started to hear a heavy bass beat, a strong rhythmic pulse that pounded in my ears.

The last thing I remember hearing was the man in the barber's chair saying, "See, I told ya'll..."

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I was slapping my pillow when I woke up. My allergies have been really bothering me and so I could feel a headache coming on from congestion.

I'd like to send a special THANK YOU to Bleah for checking up on me from time to time. I'm pretty sure that without her support, I would have given up on this blogging business a long time ago.