Ahoy

I'm in all the right places, yet somehow lost in life.

I've had a perpetual sense of impending doom, lately. Something just feels slightly off. I've come to a point where the criticality of the questions I face increases exponentially by the day, but I'm hardly better prepared to answer them than I was before.

If anything, the choices now are harder than they used to be—there are more options, and more considerations. Practically all my life I've been dutifully navigating the course charted by others, and though the waters were rough at times, I always knew where I was headed.

But the map ends here. I need to make my own way.

Here I am, sailing blindly into the night, hoping that when the sun rises I'll find myself in a world where I belong.

JAM

I dropped my guitar yesterday.

Basically, it went something like this: I walked into the room holding the guitar and patch cable, and the strap (from my old guitar) slipped off the tail and it smacked the ground pretty hard. The three people in the room (including me) yelled for a moment before going on with the

It all started when I was late for a huge stadium gig 5 miles away. The problem was, the streets were empty and public transit was shut down because everyone was already at the gig. So I ran there, carrying the guitar on my back. When I finally stepped on stage (15 minutes later) the stadium exploded into applause.

Suddenly ninjas dropped from the sky, emerged from the crowd and circled me like a swarm of rats, brandishing swords and nunchaku and pointy stars and handguns and other menacing weapons. Everyone gasped. Somebody fainted. I saw murder in their eyes; I had no choice but to wield the guitar like the axe it was.

As they rushed me, I swung the guitar wildly, snapping bones, splitting skulls, lunging and dodging and spinning in a frenzied cacophony of musical justice. One by one they fell—until the last ninja, in a burst of rage, launched into the air, sword held high, and swung it down in a desperate arc—with all my might I hurled my guitar at the sword, and as steel met wood, the axe hit a single thunderous power chord, so righteous that his sword shattered into a million pieces and he instantly died.

Everyone started to cheer, but then the guitar crashed to the floor, exploded, burst into flames with a roaring fireball reminiscent of the sun, and everyone screamed.

~ ~ ~

In other news, does anyone have wood sealer/superglue/clear nail polish I could use to cover up theoretical exposed wood on a theoretical chipped guitar?

Stream of Consciousness, I swear

So I haven't posted in my blog in quite a while; over at my tumblr blog (tumblog), I blamed this on a lack of time. However, reputable sources have since irrefutably demonstrated to me that

99% of time [sic], when people say that they don't have time to do something: what they really mean is that they're unwilling to reallocate their youtube/tv/sleeping/drugs/gorging/shopping/digg/video games time towards doing something.

As such, I have decided to reallocate some of my gorging and drugs time to write this post. The type of posting that I'd referenced initially in that tumblr comment was true, structured, long-form writing, written slowly with at least a modicum of care. What I'm doing here, which may in fact be ultimately more rewarding, is writing more or less just what comes to my mind as I type. Quantity over quality! [Edit: Perhaps (hopefully) more accurately, quantity before quality.]

Let this be the dawning of a new golden age of me blogging. While we have witnessed many false starts in the past two years, this one is TOTALLY FOR REAL.

Seriously.