Cyclical Creative Theory

I really don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Fueled by day old coffee, an e-mail that contained only one lousy sentence, and the sheer monotony of the hotel night audit, i came up with this. It reminds me of the Far Side cartoon where Einstein discovers that time is actually money. Picture me with a chalkboard and a lab coat.

Life Inspires Art
/ \
Inspiration Gives Art Life - -Art Imitates Life
\ /
Imitation causes Inspiration

I'm also working on one about how indignity leads to nerdiness.
maybe next week.

With Prairie Eyes

I seem to be split in two.

Maybe split isn't the right word. Rather, there seems be a divide in my psyche. After glancing over a brief internet definition of Freud's theory of personality, it seems evident that the "split" is between my Id and my Superego. The id seeks pleasure without thought to what is practical or moral, and the Superego is essentially a moral conscience. Theoretically theses two parts of my psyche should be moderated my my ego. My sense of self. However it appears that my ego has a bias. A bias that seems based on weather or not I have a moustache.

it sounds strange, I know and it's only a theory. However, there is evidence that supports when I port hair on my upper lip, my ego seems to favour the id. In turn, sans moustache it seems to favour the superego.

Another theory suggests he division may be related to time spent in the Yukon Territory, with the id being favoured during time spent there.

In any event, it all comes down two the two extremes. Hedonism versus asceticism. Thats the divide. There's an old saying "all things in moderation, including moderation". seems a very reasonable way to go about things. Whats happening here i can only really put into a simile. It's like getting really drunk, smoking, staying up all night, taking someone home with you, and then waking up going to work, feeling guilty, sad and nauseas and swearing that you'll never do it again. the only thing is that its on a much larger scale.

Spring and Summer, Fall and Winter.

I won't get into my moustached/Yukon escapes of 2009, suffice to say they were pleasurable and viewed without consequence. The last few months however have been a different story. there was no cutting back on the things i loved to do. There was a rejection of them, if only subconsciously. A complete abstinence of worldly pleasures.

Cigarettes. I stopped. I didn't really want to. I love smoking. My body fought the withdrawal hard, but the superego did not let me crave cigarettes. Alcohol. October saw me touch not a drop. Coffee was only an excuse to leave the house. As for sex, well abstinence truly is the driest sex of all. But I digress.

All of this was brought on by a memory. A memory brought on by a video clip of a beautiful woman singing a disdainful song to a "moustache-d man with the prairie eyes". She goes on to rhyme that much to his surprise, she found out what he did last night.

The memory is of that woman, and of me shaving my moustache shortly after the events she sang about took place. I shaved it because to me, it was a symbol of of my lifestyle at the time. A lifestyle that had just hurt someone very close to me. I hoped that she too would see the symbolism in my gesture. I still wonder if she ever did.

Free jazz, from all directions.

-or-

Saxophones? You gotta fucking be kidding me.

There's no reason for this. Elevator jazz from the radio that i am forbidden to touch, and modern lounge jazz coming from the bar that shares my wall. Here i am, another day, hard at work. Here i sit, behind a narrow desk. Here i sit bombarded by jazz scales. my mind starts to soften. i start breathing through my mouth and i fear i may start drooling at any second.

They play this music for cats at the SPCA. Cats in tiny cages. it makes the cats feel like their not in a cage. puts them in a limbo between conscious and unconscious. it makes the cages and the boredom less cruel. or such is my understanding of it. i don't think that's the idea behind my jazz overdose.

My heard hurts and i feel like i could doze off at any second. i try to drink coffee but it just makes me more and more aware of the jazz. "is that a muzak version of fire and rain?" i'll think to myself, "or is is wild wild west?".

No, no!

I'll lay low and just take it. i'll make my move when the time is right.....


.....The new shift has arrived! Time to make a break for it.

Just in the nick of time too. i think the band next door has just broken into a bebop version of Black Magic Woman.

Ebb and Flow

Its getting harder to look inwards. movies have been telling me for years that people don't change. what they forgot to tell me, and you for that matter, is that we grow up and evolve and leave things behind. sometimes even passion can get left behind. every passion is different. each one requires a different method to rekindle. what that means is that if you've lost 3 or 4 old passions, you have your work cut out for you. you can run yourself ragged trying to be what it is you thought you used to be, which really is never as good as you are now anyway.
i love to write. sometimes i forget how much i love to write. sometimes i just lose motivation to do so. getting that motivation back can be tricky, especially when you're not sure why you did it in the first place. is easy to be cynical at times such as those. say i'm just trying to form an image for myself. its all for vanity or some other superficial cause. and maybe it is. but not %100.
so what is it then?
i suppose its a conversation with myself.
getting to know myself a little better out loud.
and putting it out there just in case anyone is intersted.

unsupervised

finally being paid for my free time.
sweep, tidy, mop, dispose of the trash fold a bit of laundry.
the next 7 hours are mine.
watch episodes of extras or the odd film.
drink a bit of of tea with honey.
write one lyrical poem every night.
finally getting things done.
how long can i keep this up?

Where the Wild Things Were

So the storm rolls in through my room, and suddenly i'm pacing a grove in the floor trying to bring to life a shiny new pseudonym. just a new idea. something to keep it interesting for me.
the hours spent here are no waste. im getting things done. reading books of poetry and challenging myself to put music behind them, researching raccoon behaviors, and overcoming writing habits and hang-ups.
the night job keeps me busy. free time is seemingly endless, and exhaustion keeps it interesting.
the moonlight stays bright over the ocean, and lights a perfect field of vision across the water if you time it right.
all in all, adapting to a new kind of boredom can be made easy enough with the right intent.
eventually i imagine i'll even stop with this douche bag style of writing i tend to blog with.
until then......

-Jon Hardly

Zen and Quantum Theory

This comes from the soggy depths of a vast pacific rain forest. Temperate rain forest. On my own.
all i have now is time to kill, and a desire to build a solid routine focusing on exercising my creative endevours around the schedule of a do-nothing job.
It's been a rough go, trying to build routine. its what i really want. a comfortable grind until the north starts to thaw. all this bouncing off the walls of one town to the walls of another has left me ragged an tired, but most of all submissive.
still....
there's something about being in transit. the feeling of anticipation and anxiousness is unmatched. that and the strange adoration for everything you see on your journey. like Townes Van Zandt said "there's no prettier sight than looking back on a town you left behind".
And its not a random hard to find feeling such as how you may feel being newly in love. it's similar, but its something you can do for yourself. something that is always in front of you and can be achieved at anytime. as masturbation is to the physical acts of love, vagabondage is to the emotional.