Your way isn't the only way.

I can't sleep. There're a million things going on in my head. My usual dosage of slumber-inducing music hasn't been working the way it usually does.

I'm resigned to listening to my own songs. That usually isn't a good sign.

All the doubts, fears and thinly-veiled hopes that I've had these last few weeks have sprung up simultaneously.

I don't believe that anyone can be truly happy for too long without realizing what they've given up on. You can never totally letting go without paying some kind of price for it.

I believe that I'm doing the right thing; and that this is what I want to do. I can't be proven wrong, but I can't prove that I'm right, either.

Whatever happens will happen. That's undeniable.

But for the first time, I want to fight for something badly enough that it actually makes me get off my fat arse and do it.

I'm not ready to move on without a fight. I don't care if I'm going down either with a bang or a whimper. I'm not going to take this sitting down; I'm going to bring the mountain to you.

You know that this was going to happen.

There's not much of a point in turning back now.

The right time is always now.

I don't think I'm as obsessed with success as I should be. Most people around me are driven to succeed; it might be some desire to gain a remote semblance of 'stability'. It also might be because it's regarded as the right thing to do --- after all, there's nothing better than making something out of yourself.

I've never felt the urgency to go places. I've been perfectly content being aimlessly aimless, and I've been happy with how things have been. I'm not saying that I want to stay showered in static all my life --- it's just that I crave and hate anonymity all at once.

Have you ever felt lost about who you are and what makes you tick? A while back (but not too long ago), I always walked around with this inclination that I was set for bigger things. I don’t really know what I think these days.

I'm not sure if I've built a cage around myself and whether or not I'm just a jaded little jigga who can't figure heads or tails between what he wants and what he really wants.

Nobody knows where they're going; I'm just not really sure I can be bothered to get directions anymore.

Fix it.

Having a game plan terrifies me, most probably because of the effort required to draw one up. I'd sooner just throw something into the wind, wing it from there, and see where it takes me. I suppose it's this particular approach to things that've gotten me into this hole in the first place.

To be fair, it's not really a 'hole' as much as it is a giant Sasquatch footprint; something that doesn't really exist, yet you can't totally disprove. I do have a problem; I can easily choose to happily ignore it, but there's the risk of it always being there.

But, as usual, I digress.

I've drawn up a strange schematic that might actually resemble a game plan, and it terrifies me. Being called into action is one thing; after all, you can't run away from conscription (unless you exile yourself to Canada). But willingly submitting to something as proper as a plan only makes things harder for you --- you do so many things with the risk of them not being appreciated.

But apart from being a morose motherfucker, I also pride myself on being incredibly stubborn once I set my mind to something. I can only call it a quality I possess that makes me all the more redeeming.

Of course, whereas some people might consider not taking any advice to be a sign of a higher degree of self-value than anything else, I consider not taking any advice to be a sign that you can stay straight and true to whatever silly objective you had in the first place.

After all, we won't always get what our hearts desire. But we can surely, surely fucking try.

With that said, I'm about to embark on a relatively strange and alien trip to the center of my head. And I hope that this incredibly cliched passage of self-discovery ends with me being a happier person.

I'm just like Jerry; I know what completes me.

The path to getting it is the bitch.

Bridesmaids, not brides.

People around me are dropping like swatted flies and getting hitched. It's making me uncomfortable, to a degree.

I have an unfounded fear that I'll be a living, breathing male version of Cathy by the time I'm 37.

The idealist in me would probably want to settle down and rock that domestic vibe, but at the same time, if marriage is one long, never-ending perpetual date, why don't we all just have one long, never-ending perpetual date?

Times have changed enough that the concept of a marriage is now more of a symbol than anything else; an excuse to throw one large, lavish Chinky dinner party full of 8 course meals, cover bands and cliched PowerPoint slides.

(Something that even I'll fall prey to, eventually.)

There's no doubt that I might be ruffling a few feathers here (and getting fewer invitations in the years ahead). And I really am happy for those who've taken/are taking/are going to take the proverbial plunge.

Maybe I'm just bitter that everyone around me seems to be moving on and making headway into their lives, while all I want to do is get stoked about clearing GTA IV at 100%.

Maybe I've lost sight about the point of it all.

Maybe it's because I've possibly permanently lost my own shot at some kind of happiness.

Maybe it's all of the above and more.

It's times like these that make me wish that I have a time travelling machine that runs on kerosene.

I'd use it, and save myself from myself.

CandyGirl@Cloth and Clef.

Everything went wrong until 3:08.

Untitled@Cloth and Clef.

If you weren't there that night, you wouldn't have felt as bad about the polar bears as I did. Ignore my rambling; it's the only safety mechanism I have against nerves.

Egads.

Nicotine dominoes.

Oh, what a night.

Evolution's in the bag.

Everyone has to move on sometimes.

I'm getting ready to retire an old friend.


And I'm ready to unleash a new one out upon the world.




If only some things were this easy.

Stranger than, but never less.

This is life.

Life imitates art.

Or, at least, I'm hoping that it does.

There's a scene that keeps repeating itself in my head.

Looking at it now, the closer I get to it, the less likely it'll occur.

But I've still got to do it. It's taking a leap of faith.

A massive leap; not as much faith.

Don't worry...it's no cause for concern on your part.

What I'm doing should only be saved for the schmaltziest of storylines.

Then again, this is life.

And life imitates art.

Impulse shopping!

I've been searching for a toy piano these last few weeks. Since my music is rubbish enough as it is, the sounds of chiming and tinkling can only add to its...eclecticity.

To be honest with you, I've spent money on a cheap-o electronic keyboard set that's not even in tune.One bit of madness is the little girl on the box. Buying the thing and then carrying it in such a way that nobody noticed her was a challenge.

Another purchase I made in my quest for all things trebleish and chimy was a baby xylophone set from Toys 'r Us.

It works wonders. And it's quite addictive.

So yes. Let the hammer fall. My next batch of songs should be fun.

Just to let the general populace of the Internet know, I might be performing at Cloth and Clef on the 13th September, as well as at The Podium on the 20th September. Details will follow.

It's been almost a year since I last performed (and overstayed my welcome onstage), so let's hope that a year's worth of meandering has made me all that little bit more prepared.



Salut.

Oh, Pig.

There's no real surefire remedy for the blues.

So why feel better?

Should we let time run its race and take its course?

Nay.

Wallowing is good. Wallowing and being proactive is so much better. Wallowing and being proactive and getting the job done is a triple expresso.

Hang, on, Pigita, I'm coming for you.



Salut.