I’m going to out myself. I’m going to admit that despite all the stuff it looks like I’m up to all the time, the reality is that I am a hopelessly and shamelessly, lazy fuck. I suppose the irony to that fact is… that because I am never satisfied with anything, I am constantly and perpetually compelled to improve the shit I do and in order to maintain a truly blissful lazy existence, one would have to feel complacent with that shit not getting done, let alone getting done right.
I really dig sleeping. I miss it. But that little luxury boat left the harbor 2 & a half years ago when my daughter Bluesy LaRue was born. The irony to THAT fact being– she’s the only thing I’ve ever really done that was unequivocally right. With more plentiful, albeit resented waking hours, it’s still a tight fist that holds the reigns to any carriage I believe only “I” can drive. I expect this to make sense only to those like me, who are tormented by the possibility of “perfection” yet continually punched in the face by mediocrity’s jolly fist.
Ambition is the devil. Ask too much of him, he’ll only slow you down. Ask too little, he’ll pull out your eyes and point them back at you. Ignore him and he’ll laugh in your face like a 300 pound concupiscent cellmate until you cower onto your belly and receive him. So, in the interest of avoiding the devil’s front-tail, I am doing what keeps him at bey and giving the appearance that I’m once again, steadfastly pursuing my ambitions. Please be advised, this confession should not be misconstrued in ANY way. My inherent need to pour my stupid guts into each and every venture I set forth upon will always win the battle against my lackadaisical nature. Really, this preface is only a long winded, flowery way of saying that although it’s been a long stretch since my last post (coming up on a year), there will always be a daisy up my sleeve and a litter of rabbits waiting to be yanked out of my dusty, wilting hat.
My family and I spent only a few months out of 2010 at home. Mostly, we resided away on film locations in “other one homes”– a term Bluesy coined. Like her dad, I think she actually embraces and perhaps prefers living on the road (but I’m probably just projecting my own childhood fantasies onto my only offspring). Looking back on the year we stole together, I’m reminded that all meaningful experiences begin with a question mark and results can only be regarded as fleeting. The ride is the trip, kids. Knowing we survived it without dissolving into a cliché reaffirms my belief that anything is possible when “quit” is not an option. So now, with all production of the “mustache movies” neatly tucked behind us, the pages of an unknown chapter lay in wait. Some reading this may be asking “what’s next?”. The most truthful response I could give would be, “I feel secure with nothing. Ever. However, I feel pretty safe in saying that I have NO fucking idea what’s next for me”.
At heart, I am a troubadour, but real troubadours have no ties and no borders. By definition this label leaves my outlook in an ongoing scourge between who I’ve become… and what I believe myself to be. The genuine answer to “what’s next?” lies in the illusive conviction I must find. I’d love to put together a little tour, you know — to sing my songs, find my instinct and fulfill at least an appetizer portion of the initial dream. But the hungry machine I’ve inadvertently created in the accidental interim has to feed somehow, lest it devour itself or starve from disinterest.
And so, as I draw the curtain on these late but brief, narcissistic musings from a warm-winded Caribbean balcony overlooking the Yucatan coast (the ONLY vacation we’ve taken since getting married and having Bluesy), I’m reminded that those who once inhabited this heavenly region had a calendar that abruptly just STOPS on a date in the not so distant future. Let’s imagine for a moment that these kooky Mayans end up being right. The end? Or perhaps just a new beginning? Either way, it would mean that we’ve all got about a year and a half to squeeze some significance out of our collective existences and guide our energies in a new direction. What I’d like to do is wrap up this post with an unoriginal question of existential unimportance…
If this IS all there IS, and the END was indeed predictable and just ahead…
What would you give? What would you take? Where would you go? Where would you stay?Who would you kiss? Who would you punch in the face? What laws would you make (more importantly which ones would you get rid of)? Who’s mind would you steal? What music would be the soundtrack to your departure/arrival? C’mon, If you could start from scratch, knowing what you know… how would it be different? What’s “next” for YOU?
I wanna know. Hit me back.
As always, Much Love -bb