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Tuesday, May 24, 2005
A request.
I was once someone who prayed. Anyone who really heard my albums knows that Willoughby and Magic Beans were imbued with faith and the struggle to sustain and increase it. Uncle alluded to the loss of it after September 11.
I also lost the sobriety that made the first two albums possible. Uncle is steeped in the stench of booze and the tears it only increases.
Throughout this blog, the subject of drink has been a constant theme. Its effect has been a constant factor in the tone and subject of entries. It has been the subtext of much of the diminishing returns so obvious here. I’m an alcoholic. Drinking anything – especially the severe and toxic stuff I’ve preferred – is catastrophic to everything I value.
In the course of the renewal I mentioned last time, it would have been wise to begin with putting the cork in the bottle and proceeding from there, but I held on like a true addict and pretended it was actually helpful to me. It has poisoned all the good in my life. I don’t want to talk about what I mean by this; it is personal and mine to contend with.
I am now using the tools I used the first time I got sober (and stayed that way for 8 years) to begin a genuine pursuit of renewal. Whether I can find the faith – which was vital in that process and all the achievements it permitted – is unclear, so I ask those of you who’ve cared about me and/or my work to remember me and my family in your prayers. I don’t know how any of you pray or to what, but that is unimportant. I desperately need some of that energy to flow this way.
I insist that optimism is wise and valid in spite of every agony and loss perpetrated by us and upon us. All the whining here was a misguided plea for some mystic force to descend and show me the way again. I know that the only way is to fight for faith and optimism, to struggle for mental and physical health and to work for the positive, creative and loving things that sustain us in this very difficult world.
I’ve been drowning. I want to breathe again and renew the determination to bring music, laughter, inspiration and honesty to the people in my life, whether they be family, friends or strangers. I ask no favors or efforts other than your thoughts, or wishes, or prayers if that’s what you call them. The force of love. And I will try to pray for all of us as well, so that the real beauty of life, which shines from all of our unique, combined spirits, isn’t clouded by the spew of one more selfish, dying soul.
Thank you and love to you all.
I was once someone who prayed. Anyone who really heard my albums knows that Willoughby and Magic Beans were imbued with faith and the struggle to sustain and increase it. Uncle alluded to the loss of it after September 11.
I also lost the sobriety that made the first two albums possible. Uncle is steeped in the stench of booze and the tears it only increases.
Throughout this blog, the subject of drink has been a constant theme. Its effect has been a constant factor in the tone and subject of entries. It has been the subtext of much of the diminishing returns so obvious here. I’m an alcoholic. Drinking anything – especially the severe and toxic stuff I’ve preferred – is catastrophic to everything I value.
In the course of the renewal I mentioned last time, it would have been wise to begin with putting the cork in the bottle and proceeding from there, but I held on like a true addict and pretended it was actually helpful to me. It has poisoned all the good in my life. I don’t want to talk about what I mean by this; it is personal and mine to contend with.
I am now using the tools I used the first time I got sober (and stayed that way for 8 years) to begin a genuine pursuit of renewal. Whether I can find the faith – which was vital in that process and all the achievements it permitted – is unclear, so I ask those of you who’ve cared about me and/or my work to remember me and my family in your prayers. I don’t know how any of you pray or to what, but that is unimportant. I desperately need some of that energy to flow this way.
I insist that optimism is wise and valid in spite of every agony and loss perpetrated by us and upon us. All the whining here was a misguided plea for some mystic force to descend and show me the way again. I know that the only way is to fight for faith and optimism, to struggle for mental and physical health and to work for the positive, creative and loving things that sustain us in this very difficult world.
I’ve been drowning. I want to breathe again and renew the determination to bring music, laughter, inspiration and honesty to the people in my life, whether they be family, friends or strangers. I ask no favors or efforts other than your thoughts, or wishes, or prayers if that’s what you call them. The force of love. And I will try to pray for all of us as well, so that the real beauty of life, which shines from all of our unique, combined spirits, isn’t clouded by the spew of one more selfish, dying soul.
Thank you and love to you all.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
For months now, I've been quite ill and getting worse. The primary cause of my illness appears to be sleep apnea, a condition which prevents restful sleep. Apart from grave threats of heart attack and other scary words, one's immune system weakens. Consequently, I've gradually accrued a complex of interwoven ailments... I'm about deaf in one ear (still trying to determine why and what to do about it)... severe allergic reactions and chest congestion, physical aches and pains, bla bla,
The most frustrating effect has been severe fatigue, especially mental. Replying to email, a simple enough act, is nearly impossible; with typos and train-of-thought derailments bedeviling each attempt, I usually decide to "get back to it" and never do. This has probably alienated some people who've assumed I'm ignoring them and it has certainly ensured my isolation. Making any creative work has been out of the question.
The reason this problem has festered is that I never knew it was happening; most of the symptoms are identical to those of the depression and stress I've so tediously detailed here, and lack of sleep is a given when a night-owl is raising twin babies. In the period from January on, particularly, I often thought I was losing my fucking mind. It used to be very helpful to take trips to NYC to socialize and blow off steam, but I had to stop doing this entirely. The few exceptions I made tended to go poorly.
Other issues have made life difficult for us lately... lack of help with the twins, severe financial blows and pressures, family health concerns both typical and extraordinary, the absolute collapse of my ability to sustain even the vesiges of a musical "career" all alone. Hard as all that shit is, it becomes a true hell when mental, physical and emotional resources are eroded by this condition. Life's been a "hold on tight and just get by" proposition.
Been getting tested by doctors, swallowing, snorting and huffing the things they prescribe... kind of. Mostly I try the shit a while and then realize it's no good, like the brain pills that never did seem to help. Toss the shit. Bought a new mattress and began a nutrition/weight-loss program to deal with the apnea and the ennui. Some of the conditions are improving and some are stubborn and a little scary. The effort continues. Obviously, there's a long way to go to get past this and to arrive at a level of health I never really tried to achieve even before all this. But I do feel like progress is being made and I am not pessimistic about it.
Along with all that, it makes sense to let go of some things that have weighed heavily for some time. Rages and resentments. Disappointments and heartbreaks. Out, along with the meds. Flush. There are some plans taking form to do some shows overseas, where a few people like my shit. That and a potential return to making songs (conditional upon my hearing improving) help fill the void left by my brutally unfortunate career in the arts. If it's only an old man's hobby, that's probably a good thing. My little family is the font of love and joy, despite all attendant demands, and that is a nice antidote to the disintegration of the family I grew up with. I add these things to make it clear that I am hopeful, and this whole plaint is only getting posted to explain why I've neither posted nor written anyone in so long. I see no reason why this old guy can't make better work than he did in his youth, or at least have fun doing it, unburdened by expectation of any kind of "success" or acceptance, and I am certain I can rise to the demands of fatherhood and be a fitter, healthier person. Without giving up the absinthe.
I will resume contact, little by little. I thank those friends who've understood, without even an explanation, that I couldn't manage any better, and who've stayed in touch.
All this may seem another case of self-obsessive whining and/or overly intimate revelation. Well, friends (even those who are strangers) will recognize that this is just how I am and that I do it out of care and a desire to truthfully communicate, as well as a kind of talking therapy.
Non-friends (even those I've known for ages) should realize that honesty is not weakness, failure is not defeat, illness means you're not dead yet, and I remain apathetic toward any opinion uninformed by love, so keep reading if you must, but eat shit anyhow.
Onward we go. This should save a lot of explaining when I finally write people back. Just hafta send a link to this entry and that's that.
The blog and its author will now return to active duty.
Shout Hallelujah, c'mon get happy.
The most frustrating effect has been severe fatigue, especially mental. Replying to email, a simple enough act, is nearly impossible; with typos and train-of-thought derailments bedeviling each attempt, I usually decide to "get back to it" and never do. This has probably alienated some people who've assumed I'm ignoring them and it has certainly ensured my isolation. Making any creative work has been out of the question.
The reason this problem has festered is that I never knew it was happening; most of the symptoms are identical to those of the depression and stress I've so tediously detailed here, and lack of sleep is a given when a night-owl is raising twin babies. In the period from January on, particularly, I often thought I was losing my fucking mind. It used to be very helpful to take trips to NYC to socialize and blow off steam, but I had to stop doing this entirely. The few exceptions I made tended to go poorly.
Other issues have made life difficult for us lately... lack of help with the twins, severe financial blows and pressures, family health concerns both typical and extraordinary, the absolute collapse of my ability to sustain even the vesiges of a musical "career" all alone. Hard as all that shit is, it becomes a true hell when mental, physical and emotional resources are eroded by this condition. Life's been a "hold on tight and just get by" proposition.
Been getting tested by doctors, swallowing, snorting and huffing the things they prescribe... kind of. Mostly I try the shit a while and then realize it's no good, like the brain pills that never did seem to help. Toss the shit. Bought a new mattress and began a nutrition/weight-loss program to deal with the apnea and the ennui. Some of the conditions are improving and some are stubborn and a little scary. The effort continues. Obviously, there's a long way to go to get past this and to arrive at a level of health I never really tried to achieve even before all this. But I do feel like progress is being made and I am not pessimistic about it.
Along with all that, it makes sense to let go of some things that have weighed heavily for some time. Rages and resentments. Disappointments and heartbreaks. Out, along with the meds. Flush. There are some plans taking form to do some shows overseas, where a few people like my shit. That and a potential return to making songs (conditional upon my hearing improving) help fill the void left by my brutally unfortunate career in the arts. If it's only an old man's hobby, that's probably a good thing. My little family is the font of love and joy, despite all attendant demands, and that is a nice antidote to the disintegration of the family I grew up with. I add these things to make it clear that I am hopeful, and this whole plaint is only getting posted to explain why I've neither posted nor written anyone in so long. I see no reason why this old guy can't make better work than he did in his youth, or at least have fun doing it, unburdened by expectation of any kind of "success" or acceptance, and I am certain I can rise to the demands of fatherhood and be a fitter, healthier person. Without giving up the absinthe.
I will resume contact, little by little. I thank those friends who've understood, without even an explanation, that I couldn't manage any better, and who've stayed in touch.
All this may seem another case of self-obsessive whining and/or overly intimate revelation. Well, friends (even those who are strangers) will recognize that this is just how I am and that I do it out of care and a desire to truthfully communicate, as well as a kind of talking therapy.
Non-friends (even those I've known for ages) should realize that honesty is not weakness, failure is not defeat, illness means you're not dead yet, and I remain apathetic toward any opinion uninformed by love, so keep reading if you must, but eat shit anyhow.
Onward we go. This should save a lot of explaining when I finally write people back. Just hafta send a link to this entry and that's that.
The blog and its author will now return to active duty.
Shout Hallelujah, c'mon get happy.