I just wrote a huge rant then lost it. Here's one about the one I lost.
Basically it boiled down to a whole thing about me expressing my enormous insecurity by launching into a marijuana-fueled, self-debasing bout of sardonic honesty regarding my status as a musician and alcoholic with glasses. It then discussed my love of broadly categorizing music based on my status as the resident authority on what is currently considered okay to like in the dorky-and-bitter-in-a-cute way intellectual art-rock cool/anti cool alcoholic with-a-folk-band community. Which apparently is a community people really want to get involved in though I'm not really sure why because I've been beaten up more times than I can count and though I can't make a for-sure judgement call that whole bit might have something to do with it.
And then I talked about something about categorizing music based on political slant or lack thereof, mostly as a shot at muscly, handsome cock-rock guys from Alberta, Canada or Hearland America God Bless You Lady Liberty, USA, who are physically intimidating whereas I am very much not. And also they must belong to a "trend" with its roots in the indie community. Nothing Gen X and no gravel-throated sons of truck drivers growling in a very manly and heterosexual and not at all faggot like way about issues like "ANGER" and "BREAKIN DOWN". Because those bands play louder than mine and piss me off and I don't like them and frankly no one does, but luckily they mostly get put together out of Boy Band 2005 We Put Guitars In Their Hands Because People Were Too Cool To Buy N'SYNC Albums But Not This Shit Even Though It's Pretty Much The Same But For the "Angsty" Kids kits so when do you even ever see them playing venues of less than 2000?
What I didn't mention was my small penis and let there be no doubt, it really is small. This isn't part of some pseudo-intellectual posturing where I adjust my glasses and talk about Sigur Ros and how I only respect them more because Jonsi is probably gay to prove how open minded I am and therefore my penis is actually bigger because I am not insecure even though I am, just not about gayness or my penis size. It really is small and if anyone wanted into my pants on the basis of the whole angry white liberal charisma, give up, I have a small penis and I'm bad in bed because I'm awkward and can't concentrate. Plus when you're in bed you can't really make sarcastic comments which is what I usually do when I'm nervous which is always.
Actually the other thing I do when I'm nervous is drink. Drinking is a social lubricant and if it wasn't for that I wouldn't exist and you probably wouldn't either. See alcohol makes people forget the things about themselves they want to pretend don't exist even though they do. It makes you think you're worth spending the time of day on, which you may or may not be, for all I know you are 2,000,000 monkeys on 2,000,000 typewriters banging out the meaning of existence onto blunt raps because after burning through 2,000,000,000 sheets of paper writing out the Entire Collected Works of William Shakespeare you really had none left.
Thanks. To my mom and Jesus for getting me through the struggle but not other people since I am on this podium and you are not therefore god likes me more. And that's all you've really got in a world of random chances even though nothing really is random and that a-zillion-worlds-made-by-choices-like-in-Planet-Of-The-Apes shit is bullshit, I mean think about it it's all math people, little atoms bouncing around and making shapes and colors that walk and talk and fuck and make stock markets and cheat on the stock sales.
The luck thing I mean. You either got it or you don't. There are only two kinds of people in this world, successes and failures. The first can't understand how anyone could fail and the second don't see how anyone could succeed. But the failures are mostly content in their failures, and the successes get the joy of being better than others. Because that's what they get off on, a cosmic game of circle-jerking and furious and inappropriate ego-masturbation run by a criterion that applies only to them. It's like polo or something. A game for rich people. Polo or cocaine. Or going to white collar prison, I hear that's good times too.
Maybe you think failures could stick it out and become successes, just like Michael Jordan because after all he didn't make his high school basketball team, just like I learned on the commercial for french fries that will make you fat and how will you play basketball when you're fat, fatty? But you're wrong. The only thing accomplished by a failure sticking it out is prolonged and more catastrophic failure. It's like trying to make a fight against an entire professional baseball team, hopped up on steroids and amphetamines and cocaine and trips to jail, go better by sticking in it. You just get your ass kicked more. Or if it wasn't a professional baseball team, a cock rock group from Alberta with muscles who play louder than my shitty band and then I drink myself to sleep and dream of falling.
Oh god my head.
Someone get Kevorkian, I'm ready for my interview with Isaac Newton at the end of the great blue tunnel of light.
That's from Vonnegut.
Basically it boiled down to a whole thing about me expressing my enormous insecurity by launching into a marijuana-fueled, self-debasing bout of sardonic honesty regarding my status as a musician and alcoholic with glasses. It then discussed my love of broadly categorizing music based on my status as the resident authority on what is currently considered okay to like in the dorky-and-bitter-in-a-cute way intellectual art-rock cool/anti cool alcoholic with-a-folk-band community. Which apparently is a community people really want to get involved in though I'm not really sure why because I've been beaten up more times than I can count and though I can't make a for-sure judgement call that whole bit might have something to do with it.
And then I talked about something about categorizing music based on political slant or lack thereof, mostly as a shot at muscly, handsome cock-rock guys from Alberta, Canada or Hearland America God Bless You Lady Liberty, USA, who are physically intimidating whereas I am very much not. And also they must belong to a "trend" with its roots in the indie community. Nothing Gen X and no gravel-throated sons of truck drivers growling in a very manly and heterosexual and not at all faggot like way about issues like "ANGER" and "BREAKIN DOWN". Because those bands play louder than mine and piss me off and I don't like them and frankly no one does, but luckily they mostly get put together out of Boy Band 2005 We Put Guitars In Their Hands Because People Were Too Cool To Buy N'SYNC Albums But Not This Shit Even Though It's Pretty Much The Same But For the "Angsty" Kids kits so when do you even ever see them playing venues of less than 2000?
What I didn't mention was my small penis and let there be no doubt, it really is small. This isn't part of some pseudo-intellectual posturing where I adjust my glasses and talk about Sigur Ros and how I only respect them more because Jonsi is probably gay to prove how open minded I am and therefore my penis is actually bigger because I am not insecure even though I am, just not about gayness or my penis size. It really is small and if anyone wanted into my pants on the basis of the whole angry white liberal charisma, give up, I have a small penis and I'm bad in bed because I'm awkward and can't concentrate. Plus when you're in bed you can't really make sarcastic comments which is what I usually do when I'm nervous which is always.
Actually the other thing I do when I'm nervous is drink. Drinking is a social lubricant and if it wasn't for that I wouldn't exist and you probably wouldn't either. See alcohol makes people forget the things about themselves they want to pretend don't exist even though they do. It makes you think you're worth spending the time of day on, which you may or may not be, for all I know you are 2,000,000 monkeys on 2,000,000 typewriters banging out the meaning of existence onto blunt raps because after burning through 2,000,000,000 sheets of paper writing out the Entire Collected Works of William Shakespeare you really had none left.
Thanks. To my mom and Jesus for getting me through the struggle but not other people since I am on this podium and you are not therefore god likes me more. And that's all you've really got in a world of random chances even though nothing really is random and that a-zillion-worlds-made-by-choices-like-in-Planet-Of-The-Apes shit is bullshit, I mean think about it it's all math people, little atoms bouncing around and making shapes and colors that walk and talk and fuck and make stock markets and cheat on the stock sales.
The luck thing I mean. You either got it or you don't. There are only two kinds of people in this world, successes and failures. The first can't understand how anyone could fail and the second don't see how anyone could succeed. But the failures are mostly content in their failures, and the successes get the joy of being better than others. Because that's what they get off on, a cosmic game of circle-jerking and furious and inappropriate ego-masturbation run by a criterion that applies only to them. It's like polo or something. A game for rich people. Polo or cocaine. Or going to white collar prison, I hear that's good times too.
Maybe you think failures could stick it out and become successes, just like Michael Jordan because after all he didn't make his high school basketball team, just like I learned on the commercial for french fries that will make you fat and how will you play basketball when you're fat, fatty? But you're wrong. The only thing accomplished by a failure sticking it out is prolonged and more catastrophic failure. It's like trying to make a fight against an entire professional baseball team, hopped up on steroids and amphetamines and cocaine and trips to jail, go better by sticking in it. You just get your ass kicked more. Or if it wasn't a professional baseball team, a cock rock group from Alberta with muscles who play louder than my shitty band and then I drink myself to sleep and dream of falling.
Oh god my head.
Someone get Kevorkian, I'm ready for my interview with Isaac Newton at the end of the great blue tunnel of light.
That's from Vonnegut.
