Done To A Turn

My dad took the time to teach me everything he knew about the drums.
In truth, looking back on it, after a lifetime of smackin’ ‘em like I meant it -and gettin’ away with it- receiving kudos for it, knowing it, livin’ it... he didn’t know shit, as in he didn’t know jack. Flams? Buddy Rich? Parade rolls? Parade rest? Oom pah pah? Oom pah pah? Rumpadiddle rumpadiddle? Fucking diddly in the big scheme... but that tall man gave me what he had, even when I questioned.
“Buddy Rich didn’t set up like that!” he said when walking down the hall, spying me strokin' 'em like a Monkee, Mickey Dolenz.
“But three years and sinkin' into it?!" saith I? I shrunk as he was a monument and I but a piss stain.
Save for anything his incalculating prod proved to be meat pie. His message carried the gift in which it was intended.
What else can you ask, might I?
What little he gave, tall man gave big. I took it, I swallowed it, I shit it, I walked it, and then I done talked it, and I ain’t about near ‘nuff done. Fuck no!
Watch it, pilgrims.
Tall man spake. Speak it nevermore. Listen then.

Some Kind of Monster - A Letter to a Friend

R9,
I cannot get this film out of my mind. There have been specific works or acts that I've been privy to witness and absorb in my life, that for whatever reason, tended to light a most holy fire under my ass and gave me inspiration that I didn't expect. I must say that the Metallica movie I saw last night, 'Some Kind Of Monster", is beginning to shape up as one of those once in a lifetime divine inspirations. That film, at its core, is intended to reach many people who will understand the purpose, but that isn't what the filmmakers nor the band set out to do. Something pure and special eventually was imparted, in a most unusual wrapping. So to even pursue this adventure a most different cut of cloth is required to recognize the lessons contained therein.
There is much of the dynamic between two characters in this movie that you and I are sharing in our everyday. I saw two adults deal with some really heavy issues between them, and with some very challenging creative responsibilities (to whom? themselves...) and they managed and came out of it on the other side to only embrace something bigger than themselves or what they've created. Divine.
I can only say that I consider this movie absolutely a must see for you. I almost want to say that I demand you see it, but I won't. I think in your heart of hearts you want to see it, and you're really not sure why, but trust me, that purpose will unveil itself and you, like I, will find this film very remarkable for what it gives you, and us in particular, given what we are undertaking.
Please go see it, and sit back, and wait.... the answers will make themselves apparent, and you will leave the theater a different person than when you entered. This movie is that important. To all? Hardly... But to us, invaluable.
-wdw2

Life, where once there was none

Walking through a field, I looked down at that spread of yellow faces who looked up at me in abject terror, silently pleading with me to not step on them, possibly rending them broken and dying with one step, their beauty and vitality crushed forever by one errant step.
Most folks wouldn’t even have looked and ground the yellow faces into the black mud, their lives tromped to nothing. But something sweet is growing in me, making me appreciate more and more the precious life that thrives and teems all around us, life that most of us ignore, or take for granted. Who am I? Who are we? Put it into perspective.
As a good citizen of planet earth I cannot take even the most innocent and innocuous of life for granted anymore. No matter how slight.
I carefully stepped through the flowers, leaving them be, if only to live for a week or so, but a week or so where their fragile lives will make all the difference, the earth a much more beautiful place.
And it was.
Yellow faces cheered my decision. I threw the tennis ball and my dog took off running. My nuts hung low.

Underdog

My ass is taking a beating. I’ve taken uppercuts all weekend. Overhand rights. Haymakers. Jabs. Combinations. Body shots. Kidney punches. Heartstoppers. My eyes are raw liver. My smile in a thousand pieces, my teeth rolling across the carpet like a roll of the dice. My nose a flattened, bloody snot rag. My jaw hangs sickeningly across my neck. My ribs are purple and blue. My heart hurts. I can barely stand. My knees are weak. My brain spins. And the shots continue at a furious pace.
The flesh rips and hangs from the bone. I pry the bones from the meat, trying to keep all in place, and sinew tears and cartilage snaps and I’m dripping skin, gushing black blood.
I’m a mess.
I want to retire, retreat, disappear. I want to be left alone. I am sick and fucking tired of people in general. The whole fucking lot of ‘em. I require nothing but space, peace, solitude, understanding and a modicum of intelligence if I chance upon another member of humanus walkus erectus, but I’m having trouble finding any of the above, anything remotely resembling those requirements despite herculean efforts to the contrary.
I give. And I give. And I’ll keep on giving. I need love. All I want is love. Gimme gimme some lovin’... Patience is dwindling cause the hits they just keep on a-comin’. When am I gonna come out growling? Or better yet, when will I rise above this misguided reproach, this insipid negligence, these scurrilous attacks, and leave them behind like yesterday’s aberrant thoughts?
Workin’ on it.
More fight resides in this boy. This match is far from over. And I’m gettin’ mightily pissed. I’ll get a second wind. You’ll see it in my eyes. You’ll smell it on my breath. You’ll hear me comin’, a freight train raging out of control. You’ll feel it when I connect. I’m gonna kick the fucking door down and stomp on the terror. Stomp on it til it acknowledges me.
Beware the fury of the patient man.

Smoke and Mirrors

We have a commander-in-chief who is campaigning for re-election. Lately he appears to be selling himself based upon his ability to take charge, make a decision, and stick by that decision with unwavering conviction. He says he walks it like he talks it, and indeed he does.
With conviction, our president is responsible for taking a surplus left by the previous administration and ballooned the national debt to a figure that’s never been seen before in our nation’s history. And he’s far from done.
With conviction, our president has repeatedly lied to us and led us into a war that we never should’ve entered into, and the death toll continues to rise and the resistance to our efforts gains strength by the day.
With conviction, our president says we are attacking evil at its core, yet I notice attrocities that are off the scale in Chechneya, the Sudan, Iran, and North Korea, yet we don't lift a finger to intervene there.
With conviction, our president has taken away many of our liberties and freedoms, all under the guise and the lie of protecting us.
With conviction, our president lied to us and told us the economy was on the rebound. I hardly call staggering debt, spiraling gasoline prices, and unemployment that’s off the radar progress.
With conviction, our president lorded over a tax cut that only truly benefited the rich.
With conviction, our president hasn’t lifted a finger to remedy our health care problem, pandering to the drug companies and insurance companies at the common man’s expense, giving us political lip service instead.
With conviction, our president has willfully raped a score of ecological preservations all in the name of shameless corporate greed.
With conviction, our president has singlehandedly pissed off the entire world at large. We’ve lost any respect we’ve gained over the years and if anything we are feared; schoolyard bullies by any other name.
With conviction, our president has cranked up national fear and divisiveness to be able to hoodwink a hypnotized, scatterbrained public and put us at odds with our fellow man, all for his own gain.
So yeah, I believe him when he says he is a man with conviction. But the man stands on a stack of lies. And no, our country isn’t better off than it was. He inherited a country that was on a reasonable path, and since has obliterated any gains and peace we savored as a nation. Even after 911, our leader had a chance to do the right things, but he hasn’t, only servicing the well heeled chums who stand to gain from his miscalculated misadventures. In case you haven’t noticed, our country is ripped apart and idiots abound who believe this charlatan and what he stands for. I’ve never seen a more divided country, and he continues to brainwash us with how wonderful things are in Amerika under his so called “leadership”. A misnomer at best.
The man is a liar, plain and simple. Not to mention he is out and out stupid. He is also vengeful and duplicitous. And he uses religion as his bait, even though his actions represent a heathen in Christian clothes; the worst kind of person imaginable.
Dig beneath the surface folks. A vote for this man is a vote for all that is unconscionable and wrong with mankind. And if you believe this liar and the shoddy house of cards he’s built, you’ll get what you deserve.
Convict that.

It’s On

The pursuit of excellence in any given field is a highly overrated journey, especially when viewed from the safety of afar. I can utter this with the utmost of authority having pushed myself to the edge in several creative adventures during the course of my lifetime, achieving a modicum of success in most, but not quite reaching the level of freedom I desire ...just yet. Toiling in obscurity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, romantic notions an intermittent caress. The icy grip of being alone, barren of the visceral support you can taste and smell exacts its toll as the closing credits roll by. A weariness without succor suffocates you.
When frustration became unbearable it didn’t matter how loud I gnashed my teeth and wailed to the heavens as no one would hear of my anguish, nor did anyone care, for all I could tell. Striving to find this voice I’d yet to understand -but one I knew intimately- came with a price tag most dear. And despite evidence to the contrary there isn’t a damn thing noble about poverty and its brother companion, starvation. Over the years, my resolve stretched to its limits, contorted and strafed under a crushing pressure, one thing remained consistent -and I’m unable to explain why. The idea of turning back forever eluded my thoughts and while I grappled with a legion of unseen forces who sought to divert due course, my scars only deepened and multiplied; and yet here I am still, the myriad of scars badges of honor, badges that carry dignity and reverence.
When I reach the next pinnacle I will be a man barely recognizable. Ultimately, whom will I have served? It isn’t fanfare or accolades I seek. No, I’m going clear, greeting satisfaction, extracting purpose. But mine is not the victory to savor. I’m giving it all away so others may see and fly; filtering, releasing that which wasn’t mine in its genesis. I gaze upon the heaving, pendulous sea of mediocrity and conformity and my bones grow rictus, my heart singing the body electric. Expectation soars, never once acknowledging doubt nor fear. The challenge I’ve accepted a mortal wound.
When fortune smiles upon me -and it will- these dog days of struggle will take on new meaning, the gift of distance and eroding time. I’m tortured and invisible while the world celebrates in a sea of confetti rage, bathing in champagne’s bubbles and reeking of exotic oils and citrus fragrances, oblivious to the very air I breathe.
I’m finally getting somewhere. I can feel it. And no one knows, and no one cares... just yet.
I’m goin’ down swingin’.

In My Eyes

As a young tyke I took field trips with my school class where we were required to bring a brown bag lunch from home. Midway through the day, having explored a fire station, or a bakery, or a potato chip factory, and having eaten the lunch that was packed with loving care by my mother, I couldn’t find it within myself to throw the bag away, not wanting it to be lost so far away from home, knowing it would be happy and safe and secure and infinitely more loved with me.
I still feel that way. That much has not changed, nor will it.

My Haiku

Sing along with me, “I want an Oriental girlfriend, I want an Oriental girlfriend, I want an Oriental girlfriend, yes-I- do.”
I’ve always been attracted to Oriental women. So mysterious. So warm and inviting. So cerebral. So earthy. Something in them strokes my medulla oblongata ever so gently.
I went to see a Japanese horror flick today, “Ju-On: The Grudge”. Very psychological. Very sonic. Very recommended. So, as a by-product of viewing this piece of Asian celluloid I got to gander some very sensuous Oriental women who attended the afternoon matinee along with me. And I craved. I simply craved one of their heads full of straight black hair to adorn my shoulder, their graceful hands in mine.
Patience is damned infernal. But entirely necessary. I will not hurry the process, nor will I be inattentive. I want an Oriental girlfriend.
I pour myself into each and every day. By night’s end, I’m an empty vessel. I’m open. I’m ready.
When I least expect it she will whisper in my ear and I will listen.
Speak to me.

Dirty Rotten Lying Sons A Bitches

Courtesy of the current presidential race, one fact has risen from the depths to make itself apparent one more time, as if we needed to be clubbed over the head to wake from our slumber. The fact is, tell a lie enough times, over and over and over and over again, and soon enough it becomes truth. The spin predominates in this day and age; truth a vanishing ideal.
It’s hard for me to believe or withstand the barrage of lies that flies from the Republican camp these days. And to my utter horror and astonishment, I watch as all these glassy eyed followers eat this shit up as if it was filet mignon. Almost every fact and victory they champion is hollow and misleading, but they continue to spoon feed the gullible public how great things are... and soon enough the idiots that constitute Amerika actually believe what they’re being told.
Not exactly new news. I mean, look how long the Catholic Church and their pervasive lies held water.
I’m incredulous and shivering. All I believe in is suddenly called into question, and right here in my own backyard! My liberty, my freedom is at stake and I’m fighting a tidal wave of skullduggery and dumbass by evil cocksuckers who will stop at nothing to keep everyone under their omnipresent thumb, sucking us dry and leaving us to fend for ourselves while their party rages on.
The truth... a shrinking commodity.
Where does that leave us? Hell on earth.
Oh woe is me... oh woe is us.

Dr. Sardonicus on the Fucking Loose

I’m not one to get into political discussions, as my views embrace a little bit from all of it; well rounded, well intentioned living, for one and for all, live and let live, one could say. The whole idea of parties and partisan anything is about as blind and ignorant as can believed, but then, we are talking about humanus walkus erectus, the most stupifying and flabbergasting species afoot. So, more times than not, when a conversation steers into the political domain I will wander off in search of a beautiful flower to look at, anything but the close-minded fraternal claptrap which I know will follow.
But something came out in the news yesterday that I just can’t let pass without comment. The statement was uttered by a man who I think is truly the most seriously dangerous man in power today... and no, it ain’t the Prez. Bush is just a fucking puppet in this deal. No, I’m talking about his Vice-Prez, “The Dick” Cheney.
“The Dick” is evil incarnate, leading this president and more importantly, our country to the edge of ruin, while he sardonically grins and seems to hate most everyone, lining his pockets from our blood and hysteria as fast as he can. Is it any wonder the guy has had multiple heart surgeries? In my mind, it’s a wonder he still has one.
“The Dick” is the man responsible for the war in Iraq, belonging to a not so secret severely right wing fraternal order (whose other members include Donald Rumsfeld, Larry Wolfowitz, and others in Bush’s cabinet) whose number one item on its world domination agenda is/was to get Saddham Hussein out of power. And why? To control the Middle East, and more importantly, the oil there. Mission accomplished.
“The Dick” is also behind the mammoth conglomerate, Haliburton, and their corporate abuses are legendary and we only know a fraction of the whole story there. Courtesy of this war in Iraq, they were the only company allowed to bid (odd that, eh?) and have made billions over the course of the conflict, and only now, are they being called onto the carpet for very questionable practices. Still, the large money is socked away, mission accomplished.
“The Dick’s” thinly veiled contempt for everyone and everything who stands in his path is also the stuff of legend, getting into a shouting match with a veteran senator who’d opposed him on various issues on the house floor, telling him in so many words, “to fuck himself”. Nice guy. Finally got to know what he really thought without the carefully crafted speech chockablock with partisan lies. He’s ramrodded over everyone underneath his aegis, and he obviously doesn’t give a good rat fuck who he mows under, he just smiles and watches his bank account grow, flexing his power and muscle for all it’s worth. Yet another mission accomplished.
“The Dick” has the balls to call his opponents liars, questioning their service to their country. This a man who sought and achieved five different deferments from having to serve our country in an honorable fashion. And the Republican followers eat the very shit the man spews forth. Gladly even. Mission accomplished.
And now this terror issue. Something we will have to live with the rest of our lives, only made worse by this administration's attack on a country, but more specifically, a religion, whose lunatic fringe will not stop until they taste American blood now and forever more. The dog backed into the corner finally came out growling, and I can’t say that I blame them.
And how do these jackals, our administration, keep the American public hoodwinked? Fear. How best to keep the public in line? Lie to them. Keep them embroiled in fear, and I must say, this administration is using the “fear” tactic moreso than anything I’ve witnessed in my lifetime. And by the reactions of our public, mission accomplished.
But it gets worse. To ratchet up the fear to a most unbelievable degree with a scandalous blatant lie, Cheney goes into a more murky and feeble place, telling the American public that a vote for Kerry will surely bring about another terrorist attack!!!! Fuck me... and to think, there are imbeciles out there who will believe this malarkey from this evil fuck. I GUARANTEE another terrorist attack if the present administration is re-elected! But to inject such a fear based edict onto the already “frightened beyond their wits” American public is more than I can take.
“The Dick” actually said it. And the American public wails and moans, awash in acid based fear because that evil fuck isn’t through raping the people and the world just yet. He actually has more left on his frightful agenda. And he doesn't care how much innocent blood is spilled, or how many poor people grow more destitute. He is above such notions.
“The Dick” doesn’t care about anything, except his pocketbook.
“The Dick” doesn’t like you or your family.
“The Dick” wants your vote, your support, while he lies and kills and rapes and robs the world blind.
“ The Dick” is a fucking menace.
Are we this stupid? I shudder to think.
Thailand or Australia is looking better and better everyday. especially if evil fuck white men continue to run the show here. History proves that these reckless assholes won’t stop til they fuck the whole shebang up. They’ve already done a helluva job of it, just ask the Native Americans. A vote for Bush/Cheney, is a vote to go back to the Medieval Inquisition. We’re almost there.
This shit ain’t funny, folks.
See this hogwash for what it is, and realize who's caused it. Take your head out of the sand, or your ass, and “see” the situation for what it really is, and you, too, will discover the right wing demagoguery is based upon lie after lie after lie after lie.
If not, bend over and don’t use lubrication. The fucking you’ll get won’t be pleasurable. They’ll get off, you won’t, and they won’t kiss you good-bye either.

Suck My Kiss

My dreams in the music business have, for the most part, been entirely fulfilled. But in this new day and age the ability to make music on the level I require has become more and more difficult, needing as I do to stay way out in the fringe, dangling off the edge, as it were.
Music boils in my blood and I haven’t any choice in the matter, even trying on several occasions to leave it behind with little or no success. But those musical dreams of my youth haven’t been dashed in the slightest. Hardly. And on occasion I’m reminded of what it felt like in those halcyon days of discovery and wonder.
The other day, while taking a break from mixing a record I’d produced, I’d retired to the restroom to take care of some personal business. While taking my leave I noticed several boxfuls of ancient LP’s sitting in front of the toilet which brought back a host of memories. I thumbed through the stacks and each record had a specific memory attached to it, a bit like traveling through history. There was the Weather Report album, “Heavy Weather”, whose fusion of jazz and world music had opened my horizons, challenging me to a large degree. There was a New York Dolls record which had really raised the bar on raw garage band rock from the bowels of NYC, David Johansen and crew all "dolled up” which pretty much shocked the shit out of the entire world at that time. And then I ran across an album cover that brought back one of my most vivid memories of rock and roll at its grungiest. The cover pictured some guys looking like low-rent mercenaries standing alongside a tank with a naked woman in the middle, two strips of black gaffer tape covering her nipples sporting a monster mohawk which was a foot long and standing proud; The Plasmatics, an underground bowery punk band fronted by Wendy O. Williams; she a rather charismatic, unhinged, ex carny barker/porn star whose elliptical orbit intersected mine one night in Hollywood at the Whiskey A Go-Go and I was forever stained by the event.
I’d seen The Plasmatics in action on my very first trip to NYC, the rube that I was, as even then I was seeking out the unusual, the different, and when I spied the ad for their appearance at CBGB’s in The Village Voice I knew I had to be present and accounted for. The show fare you well blew my mind and I will never forget the tall, gangly guitarist who was deathly pale and sporting a baby blue mohawk, wearing a nurses outfit, playing a Flying V, bashing his head against his amp until it bled. Alleyway rock and roll seeped into my veins that night and poisoned me for life.
Living in Los Angeles a few years later, I was more than pleased to read in the Calendar section of the L.A. Times that The Plasmatics were appearing at The Whiskey A Go-Go. No brainer this, and for once in my life I showed up early to make sure I wouldn’t miss the spectacle to follow.
The sound was gorgeously unbearable and I was in a full on sweat by the time they’d finished the first song. Chaos reigned. I was alive. The joint was heavin’.
Midway through the show, I’d managed to clamber right up to the front of the stage. Wendy -damn near naked- held me spellbound with her sexual ferocity. During one song, while the guitarist was taking a solo, she reached behind his amp and picked up a double barreled shotgun and proceeded to blast these large flower pots filled with daisies that were perched uncomfortably on the tops of their mountain of amps. As she continued to blow the pots to smithereens, a piece of one terra cotta pot which suffered from Wendy O's wrath flew right at me and before I could duck it smacked me in my forehead and I went down for the count.
I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke my face was covered in blood and I managed to stand up, doing my best to get my wits about me. I held onto the monitor in front of Wendy trying to maintain my balance. Wendy was in the zone, shouting a hoarse lyric, when she looked down on me and pounced, grabbing my arm, yanking me to within inches of her face, and with a professional’s technique thrust several fingers of mine into her mouth and began to fiercely suck them in imitation of a rather fantastic blow-job. Then, when she was sated, she threw my hand aside and spit globs all over the punters surrounding me. The bloodthirsty mob went ballistic... and I was forever changed... seriously affected.
I stroked the album cover, the memory washing over me, reminding me of the thrill of live music, the power of music, the power of sex, the danger and chaos which moved me, that made me explore music much further than I’d ever intended. And I was thankful.
I left the restroom and re-entered the control room invigorated.
Wendy O. Williams died several years ago, her voice quieted.
I’m far from done. And with a tip of my hat to the musical oddballs and freaks and loonies like her and others, I will continue to search for that elusive lost chord.
I will not be denied.

In Through the Out Door

A few days ago every second of my every day required the utmost of my attention. My decision making process was in full tilt, and I was fully immersed in the music. Every fiber, every synapse, every cell and hair follicle, every emotion and feeling was screaming at full pitch. I was in motion. I was vibrating. I was vital.
Yesterday, the work completed, I became meaningless. I was without purpose. It was all I could do to makes sense of just what I would do next. Eat? Breathe? Read? Write? Shit? Eat again? I wandered. I searched. I felt so small. A microcosm in a heaving world of lunacy. I was lost and felt that life and my portion in it was so infinitely futile.
I woke this morning determined to enjoy the peace, the tranquility, for as long as it lasts, as this inertia soon, too, will pass.
Decompression is a bitch.
There will be a day when I will be called upon to truly live it. And I must say, I am ready.

Cheers

I’ve been drunk before. More than once. Really drunk. Moreso than most. For years I made a habit of drinking. For the most part, I had a damn good time at it. But as much as I drank and caroused I never ever ever drank myself to a point to where there was violence or mischief that caused any harm to anyone anytime. Not once! So it is hard for me to believe or accept what happened in our great land yesterday.
In Georgia, two men were heading home after a night of recreational imbibing. The driver, John Hutcherson, made it. The passenger, Frankie Grohm, didn’t quite make it ...at least alive.
On the way home, Frankie was hanging outside the passenger side window, raising a little hell, feeling his oats, when John decided to veer unexpectedly off the road.
John made it home, got out of the car, walked in the house, into his bedroom, and promptly passed out.
Next morning it became obvious that his friend, Frankie, had not made it home ...at least alive.
Apparently when John swerved off the road he hit a telephone pole and clipped the guide wire which at the same time decapitated his passenger and friend.
Now get this... John drives home, his passenger still in the passenger seat, very much dead, very much without a head, and JOHN DOESN’T KNOW IT!
How drunk is that?! Humanity at its finest!
And then there’s the story of Katrina Ferguson, a young woman from Beamont, Texas. Apparently Katrina, very much pregnant, got shitfaced at a party at a friend’s house and went to the bathroom feeling mother nature's call, inadvertently giving birth to the child. Katrina, obviously in need of another drink, left the child in toilet, flushed the toilet, and went back to the party as if nothing had happened. "Let's party!!"
How drunk?! HOW DRUNK?!
In the meantime alcohol is legal. Pot isn’t.
Go figure.
Thornton Wilder said it best when he uttered these words, "Ninety-nine percent of the world is made up of fools and the rest of us are in danger of contagion."
Here here.

Homogenize the Vibe

I am blessed.
I am cursed.
As of today, I am a sandbag with a tear in it and my sand is fast departing.
There is a young lady whom I was put in touch with to help her with her attempts at recording music. She’d made several stabs at the process with some folks who just didn’t get the plot, and through a very talented friend of mine was put in touch with me so that I might shed a light. Glad to do so, as even though music has been a cruel mistress at times, I’ve managed to make a very good living at it over the course of some thirty odd years and consider myself to be rather proficient at any number of musical tasks, not the least of which is helping someone to realize their potential by virtue of my capabilities as a producer, arranger, and mixer.
After many discussions with the young lady and her mother, too, I presented a modest budget and a time frame for two songs which was unilaterally accepted. The budget was minuscule. We were only looking to get two to be gentle on their pocketbook and their psyche given they’d already spent a lump sum of money and several months of time with others only to end up with kaka. By tackling only two, the bleeding would be held to a minimal if they weren’t happy with the results, but if they liked what they heard, then we could proceed and build from what we’d already started. A simple plan. A good plan.
After consideration on their part, the green light was illuminated and I proceeded to dive in, head, hands, and feet. Happily. Eagerly. A child in the throes of discovery.
I enjoyed the process. Immensely. Met some new folk. Was introduced to new recording methods. Had some giggles. The sounds that poured forth moved me to my core and made life worth living. I put on the dog. She was giddy. I danced with the stars and the moon.
Mixing was arduous. Pop songs are highly complex animals, even though they don’t sound so. Teeth grinding angst set in, knowing we were on a rigid time frame, leaping off the cliff as I was, and fear and doom tried to get the better of me from time to time but one thing I am is confident. We persevered, and even though a twenty hour day on the last day of mixing, we got ‘er done.
Happy. Tired.
Two days later, when I was to begin the next assignment, I had her drop into the studio to hear the mixes as she’d been unable to be there during the work due to starting college.
The stage was set.
I knew we were in trouble when she turned the sound down in the beginning of the first mix. Not completely, but enough to let you know that was the first objection in a list to come. My teeth turned to tin and my temples throbbed.
When the strains from the last mix dissipated into nothing, there were a few nervous titters from her, then she dove in... about what she didn’t like, never saying she liked any of it. The list wasn’t long... at all... but not one word was uttered to liking any of it. Any of it.
After the time and energy and expertise I put in this wasn’t exactly the response I wanted to hear. I didn’t need her to drop to her knees and demand to suck my dick... no... but some kudos where deserved woulda been okay. And there were plenty.
The sand is almost gone.
Knocked to my knees by an unknowing white girl.
I will continue, repacking my bag with new sand, more fortified than before, and one day the young white woman might get it, but it matters not as my time on that project is done and I leave it behind, unable nor wanting to change a thing. It is what it is. I am what I am. And today is a day for new things.