Ever since I began comprehending
the world, I’ve felt like an outsider. I’ve always felt different from everyone
I’ve ever been around. Example, just last night, my friends were having
conversations about car stereos. I know nothing about car stereos. Frankly, i
don’t give a shit. These kids talk about JL W6s and all these letters and
numbers and woofers and what have you. Now let me say for the record, I love
music. In fact, there's probably nothing I love more than really good music. But
my stereos are not top of the line. You could probably call them “sucky.”
But I listen to them and appreciate them more than any of my
friends. They have no appreciation of music. They’re too busy listening for
clarity and bass and crispness and whatever the fuck is it they’re listening
for. Meanwhile, art and beauty and things that actually mean something in this
materialistic world are passing them by. I mean, car stereos are just
stuff... material possessions. While I like to have cool stuff too, it’s not my
main topic of conversation 99% of the time. Things that concern me are
existence, spirituality, cannabis culture, the future, the past, the present,
psychology, and of course, music. I like to talk about my health, and how to
improve myself and my state of mind. You can call me a hippie, or a neo-hippie,
or a goddamn beatnik, or whatever the fuck you want, and the beauty is that I
don’t care what you call me or what you think of me because I’m secure with my
individuality. I’m happy being whatever
the hell it is I am at the moment; I don’t need your praise or approval.
I believe that I’m unique, odd,
eccentric, what have you. Maybe it's because everyone around me is different.
I’m sure the tides would turn if I went to Los Angeles or something, but here
in Cleveland, Ohio, I’m a fucking rarity. Maybe it was my isolation in childhood
due to being overweight and wanting to avoid ridicule... maybe it was the lack of
a father. Maybe it was being on welfare, or being tortured in school, or my
loss of faith, or my neurotic mother, or whatever. I could go on and on trying
to find reasons for why I just never quite fit in but the fact is I am this
way and I’m not gonna change and I don’t give a flying kahooty because I’m
fuckin happy. Period.
I don’t know what I want to be when
I grow up. All I know is, I want to communicate my creative self to the
world... I want to let them know how fucked up they are, and how fucked up I am.
The things I’ve learned with drugs, and the things I’ve unlearned. The joy I’ve
found in love, and the despair I’ve felt in betrayal. The realizations I’ve had
about life, and the realizations that I still don’t know a goddamn thing.
So yes, I’ve walked the line
between genius and insanity my whole life, and sometimes I can’t tell which
side I’m on. I guess it’s a matter of perception. Whichever one I am, I have to
go put on the facade of employment right now... until next time.
-b
