Or maybe the world is getting too young. As I approach middle-age, I see the dream of finally having a million dollar idea or even a couple thousand dollar idea fading. I read about company acquisitions and people making billions off ideas I think are terrible but the rest of the populace is on board for. I try to establish some kind of artistic relevancy, but I never had any and it seems unlikely I’ll get any now. This very blog now feels like a fucking anchor… tying me up, in the depths, rusting, and completely unnoticed by human kind.
I’m having a pretty outrageous crisis right now. I try to keep a straight face as I go to my shit job to press a button to print posters for designers of whom the majority I wouldn’t give a squat of shit for their work. But they’re highly paid, and I keep a low paid job because all my actual artistic or designer jobs flew the coop long ago. I guess I need something flexible so I can go on tour and play shitty bass in shitty clubs for even shittier pay. You know what’s flexible? Me, with professional skills doing the majority of design and artwork for all the bands I’ve been in for free with no kind of recognition that I can spin into something even satisfying, let alone, paying.
Am I complaining too much? Likely. I’ve been holding a lot in, because shit needs to get done, son. The world doesn’t stop spinning for my problems. Sure, I’ve basically lost one nest egg as I catch up in back taxes from losing steady work, I’ve lost the other nest egg in the form of a house from a gigantic explosion with a racist roommate and family members who had to be pragmatic against my emotions, I’m squeezing my life down to nothing to fit into my wife’s previous one-bedroom apartment already filled with her stuff, I’m driving a car I don’t own because mine blew up, all my belongings are in a 5×8′ trailer I need to sell to pay more taxes so I can’t even attempt to sell any art or belongings, I can no longer save money by not having health care (like I did for seven years), I got debts from trying to stay afloat as my dream job went up in smoke during the recession, and I got this dumb fucking website that only gets traffic to a single post about a modifying a single pedal. It was meant to push my art. Ah well.
Oh, and my computer died. Days before I’d thought, hey, I really need to back up that drive with the new one I got a couple months ago. Nope. I left for tour, a great tour. Not all things are bad. I was looking forward to a good and heartfelt tour blog, until poof! No more computer. No more hard drive. When was my last real back up? 2008. Six years of shit gone. Well, not all… I managed to squirrel files away here and there, managed to get a free new-old laptop from a generous friend, but dammit…
And this is the worst part. It’s all on me. All of it. I could’ve made different choices. I could’ve stayed with responsible jobs instead of reaching for dream ones. I could’ve been in less bands, or not played music at all. I could’ve not burned bridges with heaps of pride. I could’ve made better investment decisions. I could’ve done lots of things different. And fuck what they say, I do have regrets… at least about some of it.
Who the fuck is Ross Sewage? And who gives a fucking good god damn? Put a bag on your head and play a character, boy, because that’s the only thing people even give a tiny smidge about you, anyway. Stupid, dumb no talent with a made up name. Fuggit.
God damn it, being poor just fucking blows.