Like the moment when the brakes lock
And you swerve towards a big truck
You spend the frozen moments with your fears...-Roger Waters
"Two Suns In The Sunset"
The Final Cut
Tomorrow is the anniversary of my birthing.
It's been a very tough year for me since my last birthday, but it's not like I couldn't be doing a whole hell of a lot worse. From all sides of me, things have been a mixture of frustrating to annoying to downright depressing.
I'm staring down the barrel of another year and I am left to wonder why I feel this way. There's been tons of talk these past five years of making changes, but realistically, there's been little progress.
There's no need to wonder who's fault this is, almost like I have a psychological desire to thrive in the throes of depression. The hard part I find is in breaking this cycle. To find the things that make me happiest in life and to set my course for those things straight and true until I reach said Promised Land.
A good friend and colleague of mine stated to me the other day that he was growing concerned over my state of mind. I asked him if he thought that I was sliding into dementia, slowly going mad due to the large sized rut that I find myself in.
He replied that he noticed that I've been rather on a gradual slide over the past eighteen months and he really hoped that I could find that *one thing* that will pull me out of my funk. If not, I'd either keep going insane and withdrawn and become a mad genius Syd Barrett style, or I would end up a complete burnout.
He does raise a valid point.
Each of us needs something in life to keep the juice flowing. Whether it be something artistically, creating a family, success in career or financial and cultural standing, travel, conquest, achieving a stronger relationship with the religion of our choice, helping our fellow humans or, for some, criminal success.
It's as basic to us as having food, shelter, water and clothing. We seek validation in our own way to justify our basic existence on this planet, whether we admit it to ourselves or not.
After pondering this last night over a few beers, I am still as ever, over all, committed to the belief that my justification for existence in life lies within the confines of creativity. Perhaps this is why I feel so frustrated.
Perhaps this is still why I write lengthy missives about this. I'm not depressed about being loved, I'm not even depressed about being broke. I'm depressed because I can't put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, film to camera.
I lack inspiration. I lack drive and discipline. I lack a muse. I lack a direction.
I ask the thin air for guidance. Give me the power to create new worlds again, just like the old days. Let me be quick witted and cunning. Let me not dread coming home to the same goddamned routine of eating, watching TV, screwing around on the computer and going to sleep.
Give me something...
Labels: Complaint Department, Rise of the Phoenix
