| MY PAIN HAS TO DO WITH MY BLOODY VALENTINE AND DRIVING PAST ROLLING HILLS AND MEADOWS THAT YOU KNOW YOU WILL NEVER RUN AROUND IN--EVEN AS A KID YOU KNOW THIS, EVEN THOUGH YOU WANT DESAPARATELY TO DO SO WHEN YOU'RE A KID AND YOU CAN FEEL HIGH GRASS TICKLING YOUR KNEES AND THE WARMTH OF THE HUGE SUN ON YOUR HAIR. AND HOW AS YOU GET OLDER YOU BEGIN TO REALIZE MORE ABOUT HOW THE FACT THAT IT IS IMPROBABLE THAT YOU WILL NEVER GET TO RUN AROUND IN THESE MEADOWS REALLY CAN BE COMFORTABLY REDUCED TO SAYING THAT IT'S IMPOSSIBLE. AND THAT YOU WILL FORGET SLOWLY HOW PALPABLE YOUR LONGING TO RUN AROUND IN THE MEADOW ONCE WAS. AND THAT YOU WILL NEVER GET TO OR HAVE OCCASION TO EXPLAIN TO ANYONE ELSE THE EXTENT TO WHICH YOU PINED THEN AND PINE STILL TO BE RUNNING AROUND IN THAT MESSY LUSH SYLVAN OCEAN OF GRASS. CONSIDER JAMES JOYCE'S PROPOSITION THAT THERE ARE TWO ELEMENTS BEHING GREAT WRITING: INVENTION AND MEMORY. HE CLAIMED THAT INVENTION WAS THE MORE IMPORTANT OF THE TWO. AND HE WAS PROBABLY RIGHT, WHO ARE WE TO QUESTION JAMES JOYCE? BUT THEN, WHAT THAT LITTLE APHORISM DOESN'T ADDRESS IS THE UTTER STULTIFYING PAIN OF NOT BEING ABLE TO REMEMBER--HAVING ALL OF THE INVENTION IN THE WORLD BUT NOT THE MEMORY. AND BEING FACED EVERY DAY WITH FURTHER PROOF THAT YOU LACK THE MEMORY. AND EVERY ENCOUNTER, THE TRUTH OF IT BECOMES MORE AND MORE EMBEDDED IN YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS: YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T REMEMBER BECAUSE YOU CAN'T REMEMBER. AND THIS IS THE ONLY REASON WHY I WOULD SOMETIMES GET PISSED OFF AT MY BROTHER JACK--IT REALLY WASN'T PERSONAL, I LOVE HIM VERY MUCH. IT'S JUST WHEN HE WOULD BE SO GOD DAMNED SMUG ABOUT HIS CAPACITY FOR INVENTION.....AFTER A WHILE IT'S NERVE-WRACKING TO BE FACED WITH SOMEONE (IN THIS CASE: WHO SHARES YOUR GENETIC MATERIAL) WHO FOR WHATEVER REASON LACKS THE MENTAL AND CREATIVE PARALYSIS AND RESULTANT APHASIA OF ONES OWN MNEMONIC LIMITATIONS. AFTER ALL: MEMORY IS REALLY WHAT INTELLIGENCE IS SAID TO BE ABOUT, AND THEREFORE TO THE EXTENT THAT I AM TRYING AT TIMES TO BE AN ARTIST, IT IS TRYING TO BE A DUMB ONE. AND THERE IS ONLY ROOM FOR SO MANY DUMB ARTISTS OUT THERE. THINK ABOUT IT: I EVINCE IT IN THE MERE FACT THAT JOYCE'S TRUISM CAUSES ME SO MUCH BOTHER: I'VE NEVER FUCKING READ ULYSSES. DUMB PEOPLE LIKE ME LIVE OUR LIVES ACCORDING TO APHORISMS AND BLANKET TRUTHS AND WE ARE ONLY SUCCESSFUL IN LIFE TO THE EXTENT THAT WE COVER IT UP. WHY COVER IT UP? BECAUSE WE'RE CURSED WITH SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS, SO MUCH SO THAT EVEN ACTING STUPID COMES ACROSS AS AN AFFECTATION. THINK ABOUT IT: TO MY FATHER, STAYING UP LATE AT NIGHT TO WRITE A RANT ON A WEB SITE IS AN UTTER WASTE OF TIME. HE DOESN'T UNDERSTAND THAT I REALLY AM BASE ENOUGH THAT I NOT ONLY WANT BUT NEED THE RELEASE (NOT GONNA SAY CATHARSIS) THAT IT WILL AFFORD ME, INEXPLICABLY, TO POST THIS, EVEN THOUGH NO ONE WILL READ IT. BUT ACTING SMART WON'T DO EITHER: GET IT? THAT'S THE RUB, EH? OKAY: THE MY BLOODY VALENTINE CONNECTION. MY THEORY IS THAT THEIR MUSIC SIMULTANEOUSLY TAKES IN THE BEAUTY OF THE MEADOW AND THE NOTION OF RUNNING AROUND IN IT AND THE SADNESS OF THE REALIZATION THAT YOU CAN'T AND SIMULTANEOUSLY AND BRUTALLY VIOLENTLY DESTROYS ITS PROBLEMATIC PERMANENCE IN YOUR PSYCHIE. IT WIPES OUT ALL OF THE GUILT, ALL OF THE LINGERING SORROW: IT ERASES THE NEED FOR SOME OF THE SHITTY AND DIFFICULT FEELINGS I HAVE OUTLINED ABOVE. IT IS THE PERFECT MUSIC FOR A PERSON WHOSE MEMORY CANNOT KEEP UP WITH HIS CAPACITY FOR INVENTION. |