galaxies galore

11:19 am

what a morning, a tremendous morning, a tremendous tremendous morning

I don't want to explain it all at all, I don't want to jinx it. But of course there is no jinxing, just like there is no spoon harhar. Having to come into Work is kind of jinxy but not really the key is to stay grounded and realize that everything is indeed arranged just so and you just go with that

But remember you're just writing this in Word it's not like it absolutely must go up on the fucking blog, so write whatever, and that of course is another key. The other key is

(I have it all mapped out in my mind)

You know, in the last analysis you end up defining for yourself what it will be to "make it" and for me all it's going to involve at this point is my little analog tape recorder from Radio Shack, the old fashioned kind, notebooks and pens, my beat up old laptop used exclusively for Word, my Yamaha 12-string and my good old grey '87 Strat.

The thing about Strats is they get better with age, they really do, they really really do.

(Guitar. What a word. My favorite word. Aw yeah, babe.)

If I can write 'em all as fast as I wrote the one I wrote this morning they are going to pile up fast buddy and the riff for this one is really something that just came from a chord progression I was playing purely to practice switching clean and crisp from barre chords to open chords letting every note ring pure how lame is that but there it was. Then I came up with a line that the cyborg would speak and took it from there. Aw yeah babe.

Not going to divulge lyrics here. That was the great mistake of Maught Braughmby, in a certain sense. Wasting those kinda bullets in blogland is a big no-no. Blogs are for stupid self-referential bullshit. Never forget that.

So, roughed out probably around 15 verses. And just go from there. It's the Beizart thing but I'm a re-tool it all as I go. Making it up as I go. If I think too much about this I'll begin to have a(nother) nervous fucking breakdown. So: a little each day.

(Yeah, buddy. These are the Lessons. Put one foot in front of the other. And soon you'll be walkin' out the door. Aw yeah babe)

So anyway I came up with the riff and recorded it and then sang it, and I can't lie, it is pretty good.

Actually, it is the fucking Deal, baby.

But. The key being, you gotta keep going. Like the man said, way back in the day at some student art exhibition, The real shame of it is that he didn't make 50 more of 'em, just like this.

**

But golly, I could get a lot more done if I didn't drink at night while doing it. Stick to beer and sip slow, I guess. I start drinking that fucking Pinot and next thing I know I've just drunk a whole big bottle. Except: I won't lie, last night I really meant to, I really just felt like getting fucking ripped.

Great, great.

And so on another note: I finally figured out that memorizing the lyrics to the ole cover songs while driving in the truck is the way to take it. Because not knowing the words is a Major Problem. Because the other thing is, you really do, you really really do at some level have to be The Human Jukebox. As long, of course, that you're playing songs that you like. Because otherwise, as the sage must know, it aint really workin'.

And there are a veritable houseload of good cheesy songs out there for to play in bars and such, a veritable houseload. Because, at long last, playing out as much as much as is possible (an admitted known unknown) for $ is the next step, purely because I would like to be makin' more money for to buy more instruments, a good digital recorder, a killer amp, etc. See, and talking like this is what makes me nervous; it veers toward the territory of Wanting The Wrong Things. The key of course being to do what you can do, to do it Now, and to eschew trying to rig your shit up with preconceptions, preconceived notions: a strange turn of phrase, that, but there it is.

And I think you know what I mean.

But, nonetheless, I'll be damned if I don't do this thing. One or two fucking gigs is all I'm talking about. I've got a few local places in mind. Have to hit their open mikes first, and will have to, you know, kill. Which is not necessarily easier said than done; thing is, you can't be terminally under-rehearsed, as I often was, back when I was Being Stupid. As I may have mentioned.

 Anyway, I aint gonna lie and say I'm not kinda skeered and uncertain as to how exactly it's all going to go. This shit sure aint getting done all by itself is all I know. 'Cause you know, you've first got to apprehend the songs and acquire a certain foundation of technique, and rightexactlynow I haven't quite done either, and I can't quite say how long it's going take before I'm really truly ready. After all, I've only been back in zee black for about a month here, got to remember that, got to keep remembering that. I'm still way deep in the Woodshed here, but it's getting more interesting by the day. A lot more interesting. As the strengths build and the skills coalesce, it gets more interesting. By exercising it every day you exude your own metaphysical paraffin, sweating it out like lamp oil, which you then burn; endeavor to coruscate, in some small measure, and then you go back and fucking burn it some more until it won't stop glowing

Aw yeah babe. That is exactly what you do

**

Er, yeah.

**

Got to get back on task here but at least I got this mental and emotional party train back rolling and, like the ballplayers say, untracked, now

**

Also this morning, after roughing out the cyborg's (first) song, I realized that the problem with one of the other ones (Stump Sprouts, if you must know) was that I've been playing it way way way too slow. Crash along with it fast and with a muted sense of smoldering mingled with the regret and voila there it is. Or at least, there the shape of it is.

The neighbors must think I'm a fuckin' flake, and good God, what if I am. A man lives in a house for nearly 5 years and then one day Boom all he's ever doing is playing acoustic and electric guitars, playing harmonica, singing. Carrying on like a fuckin' Teen Ager. But you see, that's the key: to attack it every day like you did when you was aged, say, thirteen fourteen fifteen and sixteen, except, and here's the catch: Knowing What You Know Now.

(And there you have it, friends and neighbors, The Secret To Being A Real Artist. Tell 'em you heard it here over it File 313; but then, if you're one of the three out there who might be reading this, you prob'ly don't need me to tell you. Bat, for sure, I know you don't.

And so much for all that; that's the gyp and the paradox and the irony of it all…why, it's a gyparadoxirony…harhar, I got a million of em folks a million of 'em I tell ya a million)

Whatever, at least I'm singing kinda low, not caterwauling like some emotional wreck like back in the old days, oh no.

(Also not screaming and howling no more at walls and worse in a rage of brutal self-abnegation and lost lonesome despair. Which I have done my fair share of over the past, oh, 5 – 6 years, because I'd Quit Playing, all because I'd been Wanting The Wrong Things. And Hadn't Figured That Out. But then we've already covered that particular angle. No sense going backward too too much here. Oh no no no)

(Yet, my only hope for any of these boring ridiculouso rants is that they're somehow therapeutic in a way that's Necessary For Me…good grief…)

Or maybe the neighbors can't really hear and don't care. I will and do shut the windows when I think it's getting too ridiculous.

But hear this: a man should sing low and cool; that's just the way it has to be; the faster you learn that, the faster you'll obtain, sonnyboy, the faster you'll obtain, the faster you'll obtain.

 

**

Er, yeaaaaaaaaah. Say, it's feelin kinda jinxy in here, Maughx; you're really giving all all all away here, aintchee, a bit too much in the telling. But then, fuck it, you know I don't stop, I don't want to stop, I just wanna keep on going

And you are not helping the cause nor the plan one bit by going on and on and on here while other more mundane yet nevertheless vital and workmanlike tasks awaitchee.

Do your chores first, then you can play.

It is ever the story.

**

3:34 pm

Woah I really hesitate to post all this crap because I feel it is LAME at a very fundamental level. But will post in the interest of moving right along and why the F not. It's blogland, baby, so show the folks yer ass with aplomb; it'll all be gone by Sunday anyway.

Let it be a lesson to me not to be such a tool.

**

I know some people like to disparage that myspace music but I think at a certain level it's pretty decent as a way at least to hear what everyone doing. Big news flash, I know.

It's been opening up my horizons at least.

Galaxies and galaxies, baby, galaxies and galaxies and galaxies galore.