I just don’t want to be here anymore. How many times and for how many years have I been saying that? I just don’t want to be here anymore. My physical existence is flesh and blood. I sat in a movie theater yesterday and I felt myself breathe, my muscles, my lungs, what do they do? They give me oxygen, who the hell cares? What the fuck ever. I can’t be doing this.
The frustrations are huge and they grow and grow. Doing something that I don’t know why I’m doing it. To make money? Not knowing who I am or where I came from or what I’m about? To have this past but not being able to make sense of it or to have any concrete meaning attached to it? How many times and for how many more years do I have to ask what is the point?
I rearranged my drums again. I think I really like it this time. It sounds really good. Non-drummers don’t know that the arrangement of drums affect how they resonate and how they sound. I’ve never been happy with the sound of the 12" tom as it was set up as rack tom. Positioned as a floor tom, not interacting with the bass drum, has changed the way it resonates.
How’s that for fodder for some psychiatrist? Write about how my existence is unbearable and then go right into something as mundane as the arrangement of my drums.
