Even though I've been posting here for months, I'm writing this introduction for writer's workshop, because we're starting a new assignment. The theme is for everyone to choose, in his or her blog. It must combine my love of two things (writing, and one other thing). And the theme must be constant throughout.
Similar to what I have been doing, answering questions (each post beginning with "Why" or "Where" or "How"), I've decided to post songs that can be linked to personal memories. There are certain songs, albums, and artists that when listened to, tend to bridge mental gaps for certain people. Lyrics aren't often meant to be literal or technical; if written honestly, they are to be healing agents, made custom for the listener based on his or her experience with the music. If a song brings with it a memory or the thought of a person, then the lyrics should appear to mean something similar, whether they're meant to be interpreted that way. Genuine lyrics don't "cover all the bases" or "appeal to a specific audience." They read one way to the writer, and another way to the listener. People write lyrics for the answers they can't find in other people's songs. For most of my good memories, there are songs that take me to them. Music is, in a way, like time travel. It can confuse us as easily as it can clarify the past. Some songs pop up when remembering a single moment, while others take us back through entire phases of our lives.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Why He's Gone.
A few nights ago, Friday, a classmate of mine, Tom, hung himself. Today is Monday. And the entire senior class has been mourning his passing. I barely knew him, but we've had classes before in the past. Last year, he and I made an egg carrier in physics. It was supposed to keep the egg from shattering when we dropped it on the floor.
I remember that Tom was always quiet. He spoke up whenever it was absolutely necessary, but stayed quiet whenever it wasn't. He didn't talk to hear his own voice, like most people. For that I admired him. He seemed content. He seemed okay. "Seemed" is a stupid word.
I haven't been able to think about anything else all day. What could have been. Like I said, I barely knew him, but I knew who he was. I saw him in classes we had together, and we were friends on Facebook. He was my age, and his name was Tom. I wish I knew what happened.
You never know what people have brewing under the surface. Tom, for all intents and purposes, was an average high school kid, with problems and traits like us all. But something in him led him to believe he had run out of options. No one here knows how to feel about it, especially not me, besides sad.
No one goes without being missed. No one commits suicide without hurting someone. The thoughts that lead people to think suicidal things are lies, because anyone who ever reached out for help was faced with the choice of taking it or leaving it. Tom not only left his help behind; he left a school, a family, friends, and a future behind. He walked out on his own life, because something in him lied to him and said it wasn't worth trying.
I don't know much about the situation, but I know that Tom deserved better. No one gets to tell him that now. It's too late. That's why he's gone. Tom either didn't know the truth, that is he was completely worthy of the life he had ahead of him, or he chose to ignore it.
Suicide hurts. Lies hurt. Truth heals.
I remember that Tom was always quiet. He spoke up whenever it was absolutely necessary, but stayed quiet whenever it wasn't. He didn't talk to hear his own voice, like most people. For that I admired him. He seemed content. He seemed okay. "Seemed" is a stupid word.
I haven't been able to think about anything else all day. What could have been. Like I said, I barely knew him, but I knew who he was. I saw him in classes we had together, and we were friends on Facebook. He was my age, and his name was Tom. I wish I knew what happened.
You never know what people have brewing under the surface. Tom, for all intents and purposes, was an average high school kid, with problems and traits like us all. But something in him led him to believe he had run out of options. No one here knows how to feel about it, especially not me, besides sad.
No one goes without being missed. No one commits suicide without hurting someone. The thoughts that lead people to think suicidal things are lies, because anyone who ever reached out for help was faced with the choice of taking it or leaving it. Tom not only left his help behind; he left a school, a family, friends, and a future behind. He walked out on his own life, because something in him lied to him and said it wasn't worth trying.
I don't know much about the situation, but I know that Tom deserved better. No one gets to tell him that now. It's too late. That's why he's gone. Tom either didn't know the truth, that is he was completely worthy of the life he had ahead of him, or he chose to ignore it.
Suicide hurts. Lies hurt. Truth heals.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Why I'm Not Too Smart
Today was a late start (School starts at 9:40 instead of 7:40). I woke up at 6, slide my "alarm bar" on my phone to the Dismiss option, and went back sleeping. I didn't even think of hitting snooze for some reason. I woke up later around 8:30, not knowing what day of the week it was or what time it was or anything of that nature. The sun was shining in my clean room. (That's right, you heard me...CLEAN.) I gave thanks, because I could tell it would be a beautiful day. And above all else..it was Thursday. The best day of school every week. (Thursdays are even days, so I have NO hard classes. Maybe we've been through this? Eh, whatever.)
I'm in 6th block right now, typing away. I'm starting to sound like your average "Look at me, I can write and be descriptive and smart" student, so I'll stop with the details and just explain the title: "Why I'm Not Too Smart."
I feel as if liberals (left-wing, democrat, what have you) are very smart. They are all intellectually sound and confident in their, well, smartness. But I've come to find that most of them stand for the things I despise...abortion, gay rights (as if they're not already in their rights), etc. (By the way, I reserve the right to express my views in this blog, with no intention of offending anyone. I just want to be honest.)
Maybe God made us this way. When we get too smart, we start believing our own ideas, like evolution, for example. Discovering things and analyzing them, giving lofty speeches, these are the ways in which we empower ourselves mentally. After being full of "the smart," we come up with ways to be number 1, so that no one stands beyond us or above us. Truth is, someone does stand above us, and He's the only reason we're allowed to think the way we do, even breathe.
I'm sure God appreciates intellectuals, always thinking, using their God-gifted brains. But no one is smarter than God. And by trying to convince ourselves that He's not there, or not relevant, or maybe just not listening, we're dumbing ourselves down big time. Most scientists will tell you the earth is millions of years old and that we are the product of plants and animals growing and changing overtime. And WE believe them, because they're just oh so smart. But if a two-year-old tried to explain the theory of evolution, it would probably sound something like this:
"There once was nothing. Just a big NOTHING. Then NOTHING exploded into SOMETHING and made THE WORLD. Then animals happened, and then there were PEOPLE. And that's what happened."
Does it really make any fucking sense? People take things that don't go together at all, and make them belief systems. The same goes for food, music, everything. Most of it was weird in the beginning, but then smart people started endorsing it, and it became completely normal. Fact. Is it weird that America was founded by Christians? Yep. Is God an interesting and weird mythological CONCEPT? Apparently.
Now picture this, coming from the mouth of a two-year-old:
"There once was nothing. Just GOD. Then GOD made THE WORLD. Then GOD made animals and then PEOPLE. And that's what happened."
It doesn't take a lifetime of research and "smartness" to say something that actually makes sense. The great truth, is that there are many children in the world who know more about life than the most acclaimed scientists in the world. And sadly, I don't see a trend starting.
God, this world is all yours. Help the few of us who are listening to change it.
I'm in 6th block right now, typing away. I'm starting to sound like your average "Look at me, I can write and be descriptive and smart" student, so I'll stop with the details and just explain the title: "Why I'm Not Too Smart."
I feel as if liberals (left-wing, democrat, what have you) are very smart. They are all intellectually sound and confident in their, well, smartness. But I've come to find that most of them stand for the things I despise...abortion, gay rights (as if they're not already in their rights), etc. (By the way, I reserve the right to express my views in this blog, with no intention of offending anyone. I just want to be honest.)
Maybe God made us this way. When we get too smart, we start believing our own ideas, like evolution, for example. Discovering things and analyzing them, giving lofty speeches, these are the ways in which we empower ourselves mentally. After being full of "the smart," we come up with ways to be number 1, so that no one stands beyond us or above us. Truth is, someone does stand above us, and He's the only reason we're allowed to think the way we do, even breathe.
I'm sure God appreciates intellectuals, always thinking, using their God-gifted brains. But no one is smarter than God. And by trying to convince ourselves that He's not there, or not relevant, or maybe just not listening, we're dumbing ourselves down big time. Most scientists will tell you the earth is millions of years old and that we are the product of plants and animals growing and changing overtime. And WE believe them, because they're just oh so smart. But if a two-year-old tried to explain the theory of evolution, it would probably sound something like this:
"There once was nothing. Just a big NOTHING. Then NOTHING exploded into SOMETHING and made THE WORLD. Then animals happened, and then there were PEOPLE. And that's what happened."
Does it really make any fucking sense? People take things that don't go together at all, and make them belief systems. The same goes for food, music, everything. Most of it was weird in the beginning, but then smart people started endorsing it, and it became completely normal. Fact. Is it weird that America was founded by Christians? Yep. Is God an interesting and weird mythological CONCEPT? Apparently.
Now picture this, coming from the mouth of a two-year-old:
"There once was nothing. Just GOD. Then GOD made THE WORLD. Then GOD made animals and then PEOPLE. And that's what happened."
It doesn't take a lifetime of research and "smartness" to say something that actually makes sense. The great truth, is that there are many children in the world who know more about life than the most acclaimed scientists in the world. And sadly, I don't see a trend starting.
God, this world is all yours. Help the few of us who are listening to change it.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Vacancy.com Scholarship Essay: "Where to Hide"
This is my entry for the essay contest via Vacancy.com. Please enjoy!
"Where to Hide" - Brandon Upson - 1 November 2011
"Where to Hide" - Brandon Upson - 1 November 2011
Growing up in Olathe gave me my love of wide, open spaces. A six-year-old gets his jollies from running through a field of green or chasing the big brother around an empty office. We all know that everything seems gigantic when you are naïve and small in size. Prior to growing up, the world opened up several hiding places for me. I could find my little getaway, my escape, just about anywhere. We lose this advantage the moment we grow up, and out. We take up more space, and therefore, the spaces get smaller, even disappear.
As an adult, it becomes something of an ordeal to find comfy, cozy places to settle. We are generally uncomfortable with ourselves, whereas children go about their daily lives unaware of any such discomfort. This is because the world is bigger, less suffocating. Personal space, for once, is not an issue worth considering.
I will be on my own in maybe a year, maybe sooner. It is safe to say that I have found a place with little to no suffocation, a place to hide. The apartment for me is in Indian Meadows, in Olathe, the city where I grew up, where I first discovered my childhood love of hiding.
Although these apartments are not in the middle of nowhere, they are spacious, secluded, and me. I can envision my life there as a student in college, because Indian Meadows suits my needs, let alone my dreams; atmosphere is an important aspect of my work performance as well as my overall comfort. A major setback for me, currently, is my lack of comfort at home, which leads me to procrastinate.
In short, Indian Meadows would make my studies more studious, my comfort more comfortable, my hideout more hidden. Moreover, I would be returning to where I was raised, and it is still only a few minutes away from the family home.
As far as physical features of the apartments go, the fitness center will be nice. Furthermore, the living space is the right size – not too large, not too suffocating. My dream apartment is not gigantic; I do not want to get lost, because there is a significant difference between lost and hidden.
The colors appear warm and welcoming, not washed up or glamorous. I prefer a place that is humble yet presentable. Indian Meadows seems to be a place easily kept clean and easily inhabited. I have been told that a home is the resting place for a heart. I would love to rest my head on a pillow in an apartment that welcomes me the way a home should. Indian Meadows could be home. From all that I have seen and read, my ideal home, as a student in college, lies therein.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Observance/Reflection: Halloween
Halloween Halloween this is Halloween.
Yep! Today's the day. Not a huge deal, but it's fun. It'd be more fun if I weren't in school right now, but hey, it's not really a "holi-day," ya know. School views halloween like Columbus Day (another day we ought to have off school). Like it's just an excuse to celebrate candy and to escape through costume. Hey, what else is it really? That's basically it. Just a good ol' American party.
Hey, what are all holidays honestly? Excuses to celebrate, they give us something to look forward to throughout the seasons. People forget about every day in between Thanksgiving and Christmas, because they're just full of anticipation. It's as if all our potential as people comes out a thousandfold on one particular day. We're appreciated to the max on our birthdays. We love God more on Christmas and Easter. We can't wait till autumn each year because "HALLOWEEN IS COMING UP!" No one ever says anything like, "Hey...Sunday, October 30th!! So stoked!"
Holidays make all other days of the year seem pointless. For this reason, most days are unremarkable. Today is Monday. Tomorrow will be Tuesday. The day after that will be Wednesday. Then comes Thursday. Finally it's Friday, but it's one of many. It'll pass. A few days later it'll be Monday again. And the cycle repeats. Holidays are a break from the cycle.
Okay, this is what I'd like to change. How about we make every day remarkable? why not celebrate the things we love every day? Why not live day to day with something to get excited about? We pour our hearts and souls into single days of the year more than others because we have high hopes for happiness. Is it wrong to be happy a week before Christmas but do nothing on December 25th? Most days are numbers, but give them names, and they become events. Everyone freaks out about January 1st because it's not Sunday, it's New Year's Day. Sunday means nothing. St. Patricks Day, Valentines Day, Presidents Day...March 17, February 14, February 20. Those days mean something. No one gives a shit about March 16, February 13, or February 19. (Disregarding birthdays, anniversaries, etc.)
Every day is a gift, not just the "special" days. We have something to look forward to each day...LIVING. Breathing, seeing the people we love, and if not seeing them, thinking of them. We get the honor of waking up each day and walking, talking to one another, or simply hearing the voices of others. These are privileges, given to us by a God that celebrates our lives every day, by listening to all our prayers, complaints, and taunts. We deserve nothing more, yet we deserve to soak up the days for all they have to offer, all of them.
Today is Monday, October 31, 2011, and it's going to be a great day. Thanks for everything, God.
Observance.
Yep! Today's the day. Not a huge deal, but it's fun. It'd be more fun if I weren't in school right now, but hey, it's not really a "holi-day," ya know. School views halloween like Columbus Day (another day we ought to have off school). Like it's just an excuse to celebrate candy and to escape through costume. Hey, what else is it really? That's basically it. Just a good ol' American party.
Hey, what are all holidays honestly? Excuses to celebrate, they give us something to look forward to throughout the seasons. People forget about every day in between Thanksgiving and Christmas, because they're just full of anticipation. It's as if all our potential as people comes out a thousandfold on one particular day. We're appreciated to the max on our birthdays. We love God more on Christmas and Easter. We can't wait till autumn each year because "HALLOWEEN IS COMING UP!" No one ever says anything like, "Hey...Sunday, October 30th!! So stoked!"
Holidays make all other days of the year seem pointless. For this reason, most days are unremarkable. Today is Monday. Tomorrow will be Tuesday. The day after that will be Wednesday. Then comes Thursday. Finally it's Friday, but it's one of many. It'll pass. A few days later it'll be Monday again. And the cycle repeats. Holidays are a break from the cycle.
Okay, this is what I'd like to change. How about we make every day remarkable? why not celebrate the things we love every day? Why not live day to day with something to get excited about? We pour our hearts and souls into single days of the year more than others because we have high hopes for happiness. Is it wrong to be happy a week before Christmas but do nothing on December 25th? Most days are numbers, but give them names, and they become events. Everyone freaks out about January 1st because it's not Sunday, it's New Year's Day. Sunday means nothing. St. Patricks Day, Valentines Day, Presidents Day...March 17, February 14, February 20. Those days mean something. No one gives a shit about March 16, February 13, or February 19. (Disregarding birthdays, anniversaries, etc.)
Every day is a gift, not just the "special" days. We have something to look forward to each day...LIVING. Breathing, seeing the people we love, and if not seeing them, thinking of them. We get the honor of waking up each day and walking, talking to one another, or simply hearing the voices of others. These are privileges, given to us by a God that celebrates our lives every day, by listening to all our prayers, complaints, and taunts. We deserve nothing more, yet we deserve to soak up the days for all they have to offer, all of them.
Today is Monday, October 31, 2011, and it's going to be a great day. Thanks for everything, God.
Observance.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Why I'm Not a Reader (not what you think)
Even days are seriously the best. For one day in each week, I get a break from constant SPANISHMATHSCIENCEBLAHHH.......it's nice.
I'm in 6th block, by the "cell." Feeling great. Last night at work I started thinking about the dream again. The dream to compose a score by next year. In all honesty, I'm pretty far from that coming true, but I at least know it's achievable. I've been planning small things...Start by paying off my late fees at the library. check out books on basic music theory. Do some digging around online, figure out what pieces I would need and how to write for each piece. Maybe I should talk to some people who have orchestral experience. Something in me is afraid of even trying, because I know this won't be easy. But in the end, all I want to do is write music! Being able to hear something in my head and then transfer it to real life, what a dream. Not something small, not local metal bands or random shit in my basement. I want to actually breathe music to life, music that people haven't heard before. I want to trigger the teary-eyed scene in the climax of your favorite movie. I want to write the sounds you hear when Leonardo DiCaprio jumps those rooftops, chasing after the antagonist, spitting epic one-liners. The music makes those moments real.
Last block in writer's workshop, we finished watching Finding Forester. If you've seen this movie before, you can understand that I'm pumped on everything right now. I feel smart and ambitious. (Granted, I am still just a bored senior in high school typing away during class.) Regardless I've been wondering where to go, since the fork in the road is quickly approaching. I could invest in a new band, do the whole "band" thing again, be with my friends, live the moments that I call "dreams," or I could move on, and elope with this new dream of mine, and do what I was born to do...write music. I want to learn theory and everything because even if I didn't learn now, I would undoubtedly learn eventually, considering my career, no matter what it is, will revolve around music.
The time to truly believe in someone is when everyone else thinks they're crazy. What about me? I think I'm crazy. Should I believe in myself? Or am I really just crazy? It's ridiculously hard to tell sometimes.
There are so many things I could be doing to help this journey kick itself off, but I'm afraid of failing. It's easier to admit that in writing than it is in speaking. I am afraid. I really am. I don't know what will actually happen, because my expectations seem too good. So I freak out, thinking that none of this could ever possibly happen, and that I'll end up 50, shopping at the same old grocery store, telling my kids "high school is the best time of your life," whereas right now, it obviously isn't. Where does that transformation begin? Where in life will I be content with falling short of ALL my dreams? It can't happen. I don't think I would ever allow it.
And THAT'S what keeps these dreams alive. Dormant as they may be, they're breathing. And the big one, it's breathing heavier and louder than it has before. It's almost speaking to me. My hope is that it will learn to yell, even scream at me, until I feed it. People don't give up on their dreams. Dreams give up on people, because it's the people that fail their dreams. I have a responsibility, a gift, and if I don't nurture it, I'm just an old man in young shoes, waiting to catch up, waiting to fail, and waiting to be totally fine with it. God don't let this body pass through without letting my soul shine through. Let me change something in the world while I'm still stuck in this skin. Let the music be my face for you. Lead me to the dream. Don't let me walk past it, because it will always be there, even if it gives up on me.
Big dreams. Music dreams. My dreams.
I'm in 6th block, by the "cell." Feeling great. Last night at work I started thinking about the dream again. The dream to compose a score by next year. In all honesty, I'm pretty far from that coming true, but I at least know it's achievable. I've been planning small things...Start by paying off my late fees at the library. check out books on basic music theory. Do some digging around online, figure out what pieces I would need and how to write for each piece. Maybe I should talk to some people who have orchestral experience. Something in me is afraid of even trying, because I know this won't be easy. But in the end, all I want to do is write music! Being able to hear something in my head and then transfer it to real life, what a dream. Not something small, not local metal bands or random shit in my basement. I want to actually breathe music to life, music that people haven't heard before. I want to trigger the teary-eyed scene in the climax of your favorite movie. I want to write the sounds you hear when Leonardo DiCaprio jumps those rooftops, chasing after the antagonist, spitting epic one-liners. The music makes those moments real.
Last block in writer's workshop, we finished watching Finding Forester. If you've seen this movie before, you can understand that I'm pumped on everything right now. I feel smart and ambitious. (Granted, I am still just a bored senior in high school typing away during class.) Regardless I've been wondering where to go, since the fork in the road is quickly approaching. I could invest in a new band, do the whole "band" thing again, be with my friends, live the moments that I call "dreams," or I could move on, and elope with this new dream of mine, and do what I was born to do...write music. I want to learn theory and everything because even if I didn't learn now, I would undoubtedly learn eventually, considering my career, no matter what it is, will revolve around music.
The time to truly believe in someone is when everyone else thinks they're crazy. What about me? I think I'm crazy. Should I believe in myself? Or am I really just crazy? It's ridiculously hard to tell sometimes.
There are so many things I could be doing to help this journey kick itself off, but I'm afraid of failing. It's easier to admit that in writing than it is in speaking. I am afraid. I really am. I don't know what will actually happen, because my expectations seem too good. So I freak out, thinking that none of this could ever possibly happen, and that I'll end up 50, shopping at the same old grocery store, telling my kids "high school is the best time of your life," whereas right now, it obviously isn't. Where does that transformation begin? Where in life will I be content with falling short of ALL my dreams? It can't happen. I don't think I would ever allow it.
And THAT'S what keeps these dreams alive. Dormant as they may be, they're breathing. And the big one, it's breathing heavier and louder than it has before. It's almost speaking to me. My hope is that it will learn to yell, even scream at me, until I feed it. People don't give up on their dreams. Dreams give up on people, because it's the people that fail their dreams. I have a responsibility, a gift, and if I don't nurture it, I'm just an old man in young shoes, waiting to catch up, waiting to fail, and waiting to be totally fine with it. God don't let this body pass through without letting my soul shine through. Let me change something in the world while I'm still stuck in this skin. Let the music be my face for you. Lead me to the dream. Don't let me walk past it, because it will always be there, even if it gives up on me.
Big dreams. Music dreams. My dreams.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Why I Could Do This With My Eyes Closed
I was walking up the stairs. Oh, those stairs, where you're shoulder to shoulder with people whose names and faces mean nothing to you. (I can be a bit of a misanthrope, sometimes.) I had headphones in. It's hard to be "attached" to something when it's always abandoning you. I have had three different iPods. First one, broke. Second, stolen in physics class last year. Third, vanished at a friend's house. (Not stolen, vanished. I swear.) So it's pretty easy for me to give up on my musical connections when I am barely "connected." But I have my phone. It holds a small amount of music, but it's something until I get a new iPod (and the cycle repeats). But popping in headphones for a whole class (like I used to) made me see things brighter. I was disconnected, back in the arms of Music. It felt good. My brain cells weren't bouncing off my cerebral walls. It was like having the first cigarette months after quitting. (Can't really know what that's like, but hey, good comparison.)
"Quitting" tastes horrible in my mouth. That word burns my music-filled lungs. I hate the idea that, for some time now, I haven't been connected to music. I've gotten the feeling that it doesn't matter, because music comes out of me as well as it goes in, maybe more so. But having music IN me again changed my thinking. Suddenly I had my focus back. I could pinpoint the tasks at hand and execute them. I even felt like making conversation with people (haha, first time for everything). Whatever the case, I had some odd strength about me. It was addicting.
Hearing music is different than having it at the forefront of your ears, where no one else can cut through. Music gets a VIP seat to the show that is me. And once it's there, everything else makes sense. Even math. (Math making sense. Imagine that!)
Writing with music is something to behold. Right now I've got Alesana's new album spinning in my ears. For that I will remember this experience in the midst of a week that will ask a lot of me. I'm working tonight till 10, tomorrow till 10, and the day after till 10. Friday, I turn 18. (Whoa....WHAT?!) Going to Blake's house for a movie night instead of having a big party. Bringing Bridget with me. It'll be the first time for her meeting some of my friends. A few of them she's met before. Regardless, I'm excited. Then Saturday I'm going to Worlds of Fun with my family and my best friend, Paul. Eighteen will be a great year.
If I had to choose between ears and eyes, I would without a doubt choose ears. Having that always agreeable voice in my ears, backing everything I do, helping me make decisions, giving me the light my eyes simply cannot...I can't live without it. I'm back to headphones for good. My "internal" iPod, as much as I love it, cannot suffice for all the times I'm feeling lost. I'm finally realizing that I cannot write every song I've ever heard in a single thought. (Since this is writing, not talking, I take this time to reveal some information about me that I'm uncomfortable speaking of.) I have perfect pitch. I can hear notes, tell you the letter (A, B, C, D, E, F, G), sharp or flat. Doesn't matter, I've had this ability all my life. I can memorize songs, pitches, just by listening to them once. I can learn songs on guitar by listening to them a few times. When people ask me, "What songs can you play?" I have no idea how the hell to answer them. I don't keep track. Most of the popular songs I can play, I learn by accident while screwing around or jamming.
I hate telling people all of this, because it makes me feel like I don't deserve any of the music I've written. I feel so unworthy of music as a whole, and that's why I continually run to it, whether mentally, or audibly. Lately I've been running to it mentally more than audibly, but I know now that both are important. You can't write a great book without reading a good one first. Music listening strengthens the voice of your music. It's like adding influences to your collection of experience. It's something that will change you, in some way, big or small. I am currently being changed in a big way, by the sweet sounds of Alesana's new album. (This is the part where I try not to sound stereotypical or cliche.) You need to experience this for yourself. don't let me tell you it's important, or it's life-changing. Listen to music, but do it to see with your ears what your eyes could never show you. Get the whole picture, because the one in your mind is still in progress, and it will remain that way till the day we die. Keep taking in, so that you can keep putting out. There is never a point where influence from others won't help you. Not just in music, in all forms of art and in life in general.
Take what is given, listen to it, and love it because someone else imagined it for you. Because as long as it's original, it's something you never would have thought. Everyone has something else to bring to the table. Again, big or small, doens't matter. Some people completely change the world of music you think you know. Artists have done it multiple times throughout history. It takes one mind to influence many. I can't stay in the bubble of my mind's own symphony. I have to let other artists in and let them mold me, while I'm still in control, because I can never stop appreciating their creations. I'm done being selfish.
Life. I could do it with my eyes closed. As long as I have a good set of ears. But I can't rely of any part of me to account for the rest. Open eyes. Open ears. Music heals.
"Quitting" tastes horrible in my mouth. That word burns my music-filled lungs. I hate the idea that, for some time now, I haven't been connected to music. I've gotten the feeling that it doesn't matter, because music comes out of me as well as it goes in, maybe more so. But having music IN me again changed my thinking. Suddenly I had my focus back. I could pinpoint the tasks at hand and execute them. I even felt like making conversation with people (haha, first time for everything). Whatever the case, I had some odd strength about me. It was addicting.
Hearing music is different than having it at the forefront of your ears, where no one else can cut through. Music gets a VIP seat to the show that is me. And once it's there, everything else makes sense. Even math. (Math making sense. Imagine that!)
Writing with music is something to behold. Right now I've got Alesana's new album spinning in my ears. For that I will remember this experience in the midst of a week that will ask a lot of me. I'm working tonight till 10, tomorrow till 10, and the day after till 10. Friday, I turn 18. (Whoa....WHAT?!) Going to Blake's house for a movie night instead of having a big party. Bringing Bridget with me. It'll be the first time for her meeting some of my friends. A few of them she's met before. Regardless, I'm excited. Then Saturday I'm going to Worlds of Fun with my family and my best friend, Paul. Eighteen will be a great year.
If I had to choose between ears and eyes, I would without a doubt choose ears. Having that always agreeable voice in my ears, backing everything I do, helping me make decisions, giving me the light my eyes simply cannot...I can't live without it. I'm back to headphones for good. My "internal" iPod, as much as I love it, cannot suffice for all the times I'm feeling lost. I'm finally realizing that I cannot write every song I've ever heard in a single thought. (Since this is writing, not talking, I take this time to reveal some information about me that I'm uncomfortable speaking of.) I have perfect pitch. I can hear notes, tell you the letter (A, B, C, D, E, F, G), sharp or flat. Doesn't matter, I've had this ability all my life. I can memorize songs, pitches, just by listening to them once. I can learn songs on guitar by listening to them a few times. When people ask me, "What songs can you play?" I have no idea how the hell to answer them. I don't keep track. Most of the popular songs I can play, I learn by accident while screwing around or jamming.
I hate telling people all of this, because it makes me feel like I don't deserve any of the music I've written. I feel so unworthy of music as a whole, and that's why I continually run to it, whether mentally, or audibly. Lately I've been running to it mentally more than audibly, but I know now that both are important. You can't write a great book without reading a good one first. Music listening strengthens the voice of your music. It's like adding influences to your collection of experience. It's something that will change you, in some way, big or small. I am currently being changed in a big way, by the sweet sounds of Alesana's new album. (This is the part where I try not to sound stereotypical or cliche.) You need to experience this for yourself. don't let me tell you it's important, or it's life-changing. Listen to music, but do it to see with your ears what your eyes could never show you. Get the whole picture, because the one in your mind is still in progress, and it will remain that way till the day we die. Keep taking in, so that you can keep putting out. There is never a point where influence from others won't help you. Not just in music, in all forms of art and in life in general.
Take what is given, listen to it, and love it because someone else imagined it for you. Because as long as it's original, it's something you never would have thought. Everyone has something else to bring to the table. Again, big or small, doens't matter. Some people completely change the world of music you think you know. Artists have done it multiple times throughout history. It takes one mind to influence many. I can't stay in the bubble of my mind's own symphony. I have to let other artists in and let them mold me, while I'm still in control, because I can never stop appreciating their creations. I'm done being selfish.
Life. I could do it with my eyes closed. As long as I have a good set of ears. But I can't rely of any part of me to account for the rest. Open eyes. Open ears. Music heals.
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