The wake

Last night, one of my children was put to death. It was an ugly, unwanted child, and few will mourn its loss. To be honest, we didn't really get to know that ugly boy, he was rather asocial and disgruntled, and given the chance, would have probably murdered us all in our sleep. So it was a mercy killing really.

But seriously, that band project didn't even get off the ground. Wayward Son was more of a means to an end, a way for me to reclaim my capacity to do music, and it worked. Thanks to that, I got Chapelle Nitrique off the ground. What made me realize that is was stillborn was the trip down the memory lane that was the archive tapes. Some stuff was sublime, and generally, it was what I was mostly responsible for; lots of it was awful, and that was generally a group creation. As it turns out, I realized that my mistake all along was that I wanted to be recognized, but not really take responsibility for it. I wanted the glory, but not the burden of leadership. There are musical partnerships that work, where all the members are working towards the group's success. In my case, I just cant work that way. If I want to get where I want to go, I'll just have to take charge, to take complete responsibility for what's going to be created. And that will mean stepping on some people's toes.

I realized a lot of things in a very short period of time; I realized that no one is going to knock on my door, proclaiming me a genius and carry me away to the wonderful land of success. I realized that to get to where I want to go, that sacrifices will have to be made, that I'll have to stick my neck out and take a few hits. That to be able to get my name on the map (so to speak) I'll have to swallow a bit of my pride and give up some of the ownership. Not all... but as every pusher knows, the first hit is always free...

One of the things that got to me is one of Kate's blogs (on MySpace) where she reads her horoscope and it tells her to take a loss to make a gain. Its the little things that get you from behind. I've been taking a financial hit for the last few months, I've been unable to blow money like I used to, to substitute creation with consumption. I went from being a consumer to being a creator again. And in a way, Wayward Son had become a burden, an unwanted child, ball and chain I was dragging around, on the hope that I could get a handle on things. But I didn't. There was no handle to get. Its purpose was to show others what I had done BEFORE... but it was not always a proud thing, it was awkward, full or elbows and ill-fitting sneakers and ungrateful to boot. I didn't love Wayward Son, it was just a repository for bad memories. I had to cut the cord, before the rest got infected.

I had barely pulled the plug on it that creativity was pushing me in the ass, telling "write, you son of a bitch and don't you dare stop till drop". And that push had a name... its weird how some things are put aside because some people don't like it, because they don't get it, because it doesn't make them happy. And sometimes its a good thing; but often, its just yet another excuse to forget yourself, to sublimate the creative impulse because it makes someone else uncomfortable, because even misanthropist weirdos want to fit in and have some friends and keep them happy. Sometime, the idea just ain't good enough. But the Creative Push, that had just resurfaced after lurking around like some primitive beast in a peat bog, it was a good idea. I knew it then as I know it now. It carries meaning and emotion and unease as a flag. It has direction, it has purpose, it's got a plan, even if that plan will not make people happy. actually, there's nothing happy about it at all. But that's fine: I've never been one to write "happy". I don't get "happy". I don't get this oppressive need for "happy" things.

Damn, its given me an idea. Yet another. It'll make people uncomfortable as all hell. I don't care. I don't want them to like it. I'm not doing it for them, I'm doing it for me. I'm fairly certain it'll entertain a few people out there, I'm not the only social misfit who gets a kick out of their own misery. I realize now that to create, I need my emotions. It means that sometimes, I'll be an ass to people I love. I'm sorry guys, its nothing personal. Well, that's not true; it is something VERY personal, but its not about YOU. Its all about me. I'll just try to keep the Prima Donna hissy fits to a minimum.

That being said, besides the forgotten child (whose names I love and will not reveal until its well and damn ready), I've been writing, and writing some more. I must say that I've slacked off a bit in the last few days, but I promise myself that it wont last. In a way, its as if I'm still shy about it, a wee bit still uncomfortable about putting my mental ruminations down on a page. It wont last long.

A few months of rest and analysis, a beginning of a social life (some of it in the real, some in the virtual) and off I go again. I'll be returning to work, to the job I don't like, hell that I've never liked. Except that this time, I'm doing it on my terms. Its my decision to go back and its only for a short time. Once we're financially back on our feet, I'm outta there. What I'll do instead, I don't know. But that's something I can now live with.

Sometimes, to win something valuable, you just have to lose.