Tag: vegan

what you are

I’ve regurgitated this piece of philosophical knowledge so much at this point that I don’t really know where I heard it anymore. However; I’m not so sure I’ve written about it here despite how frequently it comes up in conversation… so I feel compelled to share it with you now.

You don’t get what you want in this life.
You get what you are.

If that doesn’t immediately make sense to you, I assure you it will, and I hope you hang onto it the way I have.

I spent a good number of years longing for things like… artistic encouragement, and opportunity… things like respect and appreciation… to be surrounded by people who understand me and work as hard on their art as I do… people who are even keeled and professional.

A bunch of years ago, I said fuck it, and went for it – I played with the best players I could find, I played with prolific songwriters and I recorded in pro-level studios… it got better and better. Eventually I decided to stop playing with everyone (as hard as that was) and put all my eggs in one basket – The Confusionaires basket. Since then, things have been going progressively better. The Confusionaires are equally yoked. Jayson & Adam work just as hard at their craft and the extra stuff they bring with them into this band as I do, and the hard work has shown over the course of 3 full length albums, 3 EPs, and the recording we’ve started to do that will come out next year.

We work with an incredible mixing engineer.
We work with an incredible booking agent.

Similarly in my non-musical life, as I delve more into philosophy and fitness I find myself aligning more with well-read, healthy individuals. They find me and I find them… some of them are old friends, and some of them are newer folks who’ve come out of the woodwork. Some are family who have always been there, but we’ve grown closer.

The other side of this coin is that people who are not good for me and my psyche, people who are not good for my art-life, people who are volatile or unsafe… they’ve stopped running with me and are standing in the dust, making their way to the sidelines.

In the end, we find our people.
It takes time… like sedimentary rock makes layers over thousands of years.
Musicians find musicians.
Artists find artists.
Vegans find vegans.
Athletes find athletes.
… and… drunks find drunks.
Abusers find abusers.
I believe this is the natural order of things but it gets so much more granular then that.
People who are moving the culture forward find each other, too.
And the naysayers… get left behind.

Similarly, and possibly even by default… the lowlifes and negative forces find each other too, likely as the positive people in their lives move on ahead.

So it’s good to look in the mirror every so often and take inventory of who you are and where you are. If you don’t like where you’re at, then it’s time to move… because; again…

You don’t get what you want.
You get what you are.

whiskey ballad

I’m back on this trip I started a few weeks back.

In this installment of ‘this is a song i wrote’ I discuss the origins of ‘Whiskey Ballad‘ from The Confusionaires 3rd album ‘Westernization‘

It deals with the personification of my brain, my heart, and my belly and their internal argument in regards to my use of alcohol as a coping mechanism.

In the end, the body parts resolve to not put themselves in this position ever again, and take care of the body better… which; since this song is entirely self referential, includes a meditation practice, veganism, and a better relationship with the environment.

I maintain that the worst thing the human race ever did to itself was to view itself separate from nature. Maybe one day I’ll pick that notion apart, but to sum it up, if we lived in service of the planet and it’s inhabitants (which includes us) then the Earth would return the favor.

Anyway… I’m still working on getting better at this video thing.
Stay with me here, people.

Much love.

attentive

In my artistic life – not that I segregate my life, but certain things require a singular focus and art is one of those things – my band and I are embarking on another recording project.

To date, we’ve released 3 full length albums and essentially 3 EPs, and I’ve essentially lost count of the ‘sessions’ we’ve done because (a) there’s been a lot of them, and (b) my memory is not great most of the time and these things tend to run together, especially when it’s been the same 3 guys, and pretty much historically has happened in the same studio. We’ve also done a bonkers amount of rehearsal recordings.

Sometime next year, we’ll take our artistry and duplicate it a whole bunch of times and turn it into a product to be bought & sold. It’ll become a commodity that people can have an opinion on, and they’ll determine if it holds up to our other albums, and at some point someone will say they liked our “old stuff” better, which will add a linear element to all of this, thereby making us feel old or something.

But for now, we make art. We set up microphones and baffles and headphone mixes and we flush out chord progressions and ramblings and churn them into songs. There will be pounding drums and loud guitar amplifiers and we’ll allow our imaginations to take us into strange places. We’ll weave together poetry and bent strings and interesting rhythms and low frequencies and our dreams will stretch our further than our shadows.

Working a job in between recording sessions is brutal, but we’ll do it because it’s the part of the process we can’t do without just yet. The transition from the top of our creative mindframe to the of an exhausted and underslept worker and back again is so painfully humbling, yet necessary.

Months later, a critic will refer to our efforts as “fairly country” or “chaotic” and if we’re lucky, both of those terms in the same sentence – but that’s in the future, and we don’t live in the future, we live in the now, and now is the time for art. Now is the time when we redefine and reframe the way we’re perceived by the world, designing a work that will give us another shot at notoriety. We fully believe it will propel us further, but how much further is not yet determined.

I have to focus on the art right now, though imagining a future in which this artist work already exists is such a beautiful distraction.
Now is the time for focus.
Now is the time to be attentive.
Now is the time for art – while completely disregarding the future possibilities.

We can’t create art for the future, this is a snapshot of the present.

The future will take care of itself.

The future happens anyway.

redemption

I think one of the most dangerous things you can be right now is a lonely GenX’er. Over the past few years, sprinkled evenly between the apocalyptic number of boomer-aged celebrity deaths has been an even match of 40 & 50 something’s taking their own lives. It happens so often that nobody asks how anyone dies anymore, we all just assume that another casualty of depression, anxiety, and loneliness sat in our midst without our knowledge.

I can’t speak to the state of mind of someone toeing up to the ledge at any age, because I know what dark thoughts are and I know that they’re not all the same. What I can speak to, is that doling out guilt by way of telling everyone to ‘check in on your friends‘ can’t possibly work – this coming from someone who has always answered every question about my own well-being the exact same way: I’m fine – and when I do so, it’s either because I actually am fine, or I don’t want to get into what is not fine.

I’ve taken to planting seeds. Or trying to, anyway.

I try to speak openly about attainable notions in mixed company. I’ll often be caught dropping lines like “everyone is doing their best” because I truly believe they are. I’m always down for both light and heavy conversations about things like self-improvement, goals, and likely what is most important – redemption.

Redemption. The notion that it is entirely possible that I am not the same dipshit I was when I was 22 years old. The very idea of human advancement and growth is predicated on the idea that we can not only do better, but that we can absolve ourselves of our wrongdoings.

I won’t pretend that the vultures don’t gather, rubbing their talons together at the prospect of squeezing money from every searcher among us, because that’s a real thing and a real concern.

However, the notion of meeting someone on a spiritual level and being of service – just humans being human to each other – can turn things for anyone. No church or holy book required, and not just checking in on people, but actually seeing them – looking them in the eye – and relating to them on a spiritual level that goes beyond stylistic choices, upbringing, body fat percentage, musical taste, or any other judgement that can be passed.

I used to think and say “everyone’s just waiting for their turn to talk” but the truth is that they’re waiting to be heard, and seen, and respected – which, if we’re being honest, respect is a suitable substitute for love, and love is what we really need.

All this from a borderline-reclusive introvert.
I know, I know… but there’s redemption for me, too.

For what it’s worth, I’m not posting this in an emotional response to the Christmas season, or New Years, or any of that, so I hope this isn’t lost in the holiday well-wishing shuffle. I actually wrote this at the beginning of November.

Much love.

the price of admission

“The first step; a frequently cited trope, is admitting you have a problem…”

On September 9th, 2023, I accomplished a personal first. I attended a gathering of people who I am simultaneously happy to see, and wish I didn’t have to see; however, we’re united by a common struggle.

The first step; a frequently cited trope, is admitting you have a problem, and although walking through the door of my first 12-Step meeting is an experience that echoes off the walls of my subconscious like some clanging gong – abrupt, and disarming, I have to say that the impetus for actually going has been a slow-moving yet still unstoppable growth, like mound of shit built by lazy insects. In essence, It’s taken a long time to get here, but I’ve known I would eventually arrive for some time now.

Yes, I admit I have a problem…

It’s probably the far reaching arm of my ego preventing me from actually putting a name to this problem – I thought I checked my ego at the door, but it still seems to be peering in at me – it’s hard to articulate your propensity for shoveling cookie dough into your mouth with a spoon, or your insatiable love of pop-tarts while attempting to put words together that don’t make you appear completely foolish.

I’m a poetic and a romantic – why can’t I come up with a better word for this problem? Ohhhh… right – it’s because it’s actually not fucking cool… and in this room you’re not fucking cool… and in the presence of these people – these honest and vulnerable and hopeful people, your “out there in the world” coolness factor means precisely nothing. In this room, you are the complete and total embodiment of embarrassment and humility, and you are sitting in a circle with other people who are the same… so no, there’s no fun word for this, so the narrative goes as follows:

Member of the groups: “My name is ___ and I am a(n) ___.”
The rest of the group: “Welcome.”

The “Mad Lib” answer-key version of this is: “Dave” and “I don’t really know, but I know I have a fucked up relationship with food, and I use it to cope with my problems” before I give a coles notes sample of how I inadvertently caused myself an extra 20 minutes of work while doing a home-renovation project and rather than doing the 20 minutes of work, I consumed a couple thousand calories while trapped in some strange, feckless trance – likely for longer than the aforementioned 20 minutes, but in the end I still had to do the extra work I caused myself, so it was a fruitless endeavor.

I’ve transferred my compulsion numerous times in my 41 years of walking around on this planet… but my first fascination was with food, and after I systematically pushed all the bad habits out of my life, I was left with my first love – and the only one I couldn’t truly abstain from: Food. I have other distractions… fitness, my car, music… and they do help me cope with life, but they’re not unmanageable compulsions that have driven me to negotiate terms with a higher power.

I tell my story with a hint of mist in my eyes because I don’t even like remembering it. I’d love to forget it and fill it’s place with music, or art, or some brilliant reflection of what life is supposed to be but instead I have this story – an insignificant blip, and a weak example of why I am really here, but these are strangers and I’m not ready to let them in yet… and when I’m done speaking, I look up from spot on the floor I was staring at – just beyond my left shoe as it cradles my right shoe on the end of my outstretched legs – and rather than seeing judging, laughing faces, I am met with nodding heads and appreciative smiles.

My story ends; as I tell it, in a rather strange place where any other group of people would keep waiting for the resolve, or some calamitous punchline, is instantly relatable in this room. I don’t just feel seen, I feel understood.

As an aside, Today marks 1 calendar year since my last alcoholic drink. I can’t say I was ever counting the days, but I will say this: You can do whatever you want to do, and if it helps you to align yourself with your purpose then you should probably start now if you haven’t already.

Much love.

primitive machines

I’ve mentioned my car in previous posts – sometimes passively and sometimes not, but I’ve got a 1962 Ford Fairlane 500 2-door sedan that I have had for 13 years, and I’ve been making up for lost time with it as of late. There’s a high probability that I’m the only vegan, environmentalist, rockabilly-playing old car enthusiast you follow.

It’s been road-worthy for almost the whole time I’ve had it but there have been a few things it’s desperately needed over the years that are finally getting done. I feel like this car teaches me something every time I crawl under it. It’s a series of interconnected, simple machines that need maintenance and rebuilding from time to time and I’m blessed with the opportunity to look after this piece of gas-guzzling history. In truth, it gets better fuel mileage than my modern truck.

I’m not sure if I gained patience over the years, or if I’ve become more patient with this car, or both – but I’ve reignited a kinship with this automobile, where I take care of what it needs and it takes care of what I need. The series of little wins that come with things as small as oil-changes or putting new pads on the pedals, and as big as rewiring the whole car, or custom building the exhaust system, have done wonders for my mental health and have helped me to navigate around my brain and my ego in a way I’d never anticipated I’d ever be able to… or ever thought I’d have to.

As we round out the month of July, I can pretty much count the number of weekends of summer tinkering and enjoyment I have left before I ‘shift gears’ and take on some manner of winter project. I’m anticipating a fruitful winter of productive work on the interior of the car assuming we don’t dig in before then (and I say we because I’ve had the luxury of sharing this part of this project with my girlfriend).

The journey of self-discovery through vehicle maintenance has been wild and I’m fortunate to have such a presence in my life at this stage of the game.