get smoked
i must’ve seen harry potter and the half blood prince four or five times in our hotel in italy. i don’t know why, but between the world cup and harry potter there was just nothing on tv. each time it was on i managed to catch the scene where dumbledore has to drink the Unhappiness Water in order to obtain the Magical Hidden Prize. dumbledore breaks down, and harry has to force it down his throat, with dumbledore crying and begging for it to end.
in all my fuckedupitude, making music has become this agonizing process of existentialism and self-doubt. it always ends the same. i know that no song, no piece of art, nothing ever created in the world ever – nobody ever gets it right, right away. it’s only once i’ve spent hours banging my head against the wall that i’m able to force myself, kicking and screaming, to just write it, just write the damn thing, write anything. and the floodgates open. and i look at the finished product and i wonder about that crazy person from the week before. who let him into my office?
i’ve been given a prescription for a medication whose possible side effects include anxiety, depression, and feelings of worthlessness. well, how much worse could it get, really?
Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
Leave a Reply