Goin' On A Holiday

As a grotesquely cynical person, by definition, I abhor all things cliche. Thus its difficult for me to depart any situation with a reasonable goodbye. So of course here I am at the end of my attempt at the west coast life with very little to say. I have a lot to think about while I recover in my less clostrophobic home. I've accomplished a lot, life experience wise I suppose. Worked for a large dot-com corporation, saw a few nice shows, wrote a few songs, witnessed the seedy underbelly of a city along with living above an east Indian video store across the hall from a crack dealer. Adventure? Excitement?A Jedi craves not these things.

Of course the one thing I'm left wondering, is why nothing at all went to plan. Why this winter away from snow and colder was so much more difficult on me than those -40 winters? Why I forced myself to tough it out, and why I came in the first place. I constantly feel short of breath here. As if I'm completely exausted but can find not contentment or even rest.

To be honest, living here has been lonelier than I've ever felt in my entire life. I live among 2 million other human beings and every time I leave my apartment I'm in a some kind of crowd. This place has a way of isolating you. I felt less alone living in a northern cabin by myself for 3 months. The weather and scenery may be gorgeous, but the people are colder than any winter Saskatchewan could ever offer.

So now we come to the end. Back to a smaller city where I can breathe again. Back where there are no stupid mountains to block my view. Just a whole lot of sky, and possibly a decent back into alcoholism. She is a sweet mistress.

The Constant Variable

Van Gogh saw himself as a failure. Now he's a historical icon in the way of art. He's that ear guy right?....nevermind.
Of course the above statement isn't meant to be put forth in a way to make one think "gee, I think I'm a failure, so maybe I could..." Yeah. That's not the point of it at all. Its not meant to be motivational, or even optimistic. Its there, because to have that knowledge is to see something more of the man in his own paintings. To understand that upon painting starry night, dear Vincent was not satisfied. I put an image in my head of the man looking upon his finished , now masterpiece, and saying something along the lines of "rubbish."
it seems far fetched to counter the very culture you create. To never be able to appreciate that which so many others can. Unfortunately, this sad truth is apparent in all things beautiful.
everything else is either distraction or delusion.