As of Yesterday...

Wrote this yesterday but didn't get a chance to post it till now:


As of this moment, I am 26 years, 3 hours and 13 minutes old. I'm writing this at home, in bed, in the hopes of posting it later today when I'm on-line. My fingers, palms and arms ache, all simultaneously, from practising too much on my guitar which you can blame on the current playlist in my car which includes, amongst other things, 'Master of Puppets' by Metallica, Satriani's 'Satch Boogie', Stevie Ray Vaughan's 'Texas Flood' and other guitarists that I could never possibly dream of playing at the same speed with the same tone and same amount of soul.

You see, I've been listening to these carpal tunnel syndrome inducing bands for the past few weeks which has made me put the metronome on my computer at 160-180 BPM's in a vain attempt to play all my exercises and scales at this speed which hasn't helped matters much. I've also been practising the solo for AC/DC's 'Shook Me All Night Long' like a dog so that we could play it last weekend at the French Fest thing. Two days before the gig all the bends in the solo ripped the usual hardened skin on the tips of my fingers right off (most guitarists' finger tips are devoid of sensation after a couple years), leaving me with fresh, virginal skin which is NOT the best thing to have when you play guitar.

Needless to say, any 'rock' faces I may have pulled during the solo was not me trying to look cool (and it's very doubtful that pulling near-orgasmic faces whilst playing guitar could ever be construed as truly cool) but a visual representation of the absolute agony I was enduring trying to bend those fucking strings. And I still fucked it up.

But enough about the guitar (it hurts my fingers just to fuckin' type, godammit!) and back to the whole '26' thing. Yes. It's my birthday. I'm 26 years old. What does that mean? It means I've passed the halfway line. I'm no longer in the 18-25 demographic where maturity is optional. I'm no longer an almost-adult by any scale of measurement.

Do I feel more like an adult? Hard to say. I'm sat in boxer shorts and an old Beastie Boys t-shirt from the 'In The Round' tour and I don't own a pair of 'sensible' trousers that fit. The fact that my waistline is constantly growing is a sure sign of adulthood (my mother always used to say that after 21 you no longer grow vertically but horizontally) but I do not have sensible hair, my jeans sag and I won't be caught dead with my shirt tucked in.

I run my own business now, true, but it's a business of music and movies. Some people worry a lot about age. I don't think I do. I become more experienced over time, true, but I remember when I was a kid and making a vow not to forget what fun it is thinking and acting like a child, and I'd like to think I'm still a jackass. Albeit a more responsible one. I don't know. All I do know is I'm busy. Busy as a bee. Bee-like. Working with no pay (yet) which has it's own rewards but enough pains to sometimes make you forget what the rewards actually are.

Sometimes I miss the clockwork timing of the monthly pay cheque and the free time on the internet I used to have back in my old job. Remember how I used to blog a whole lot more back then? Now I hardly ever have time to check my e-mail, and instead of my usual rants and random links to disturbing ferret-love any of you readers who still log in are instead treated to pictures (you know what they say - 'a picture speaks a thousand words' - so technically I've given you fuckers a novel). Then I remember all the other crap that goes with the regular job and thank God I've got enough support to keep me going through these rough start-up months. It's tiring, true, it's working me to the bone, but there's a light at the end of the tunnel.

(Either that or evil pilot fish are playing tricks with me.)

(...what are pilot fish doing in the tunnel?)

(How the fuck should I know? Can we get out of these goddamn brackets and get back to the plot?)

(What plot?)

(Fuck off! I'm writing!)

(Ooohh... sorry, Mr. Grisham...)

(Fucking Gemini split personality...)

What was the reason for all this? This rambling and writing of random thoughts? Just to ramble I guess. It's been so long since I wrote a paragraph on this blog and I miss it.

(You miss typing your mental vomit so that random perverts searching for 'Japanese Love Monkeys' and accidentally stumble upon your blog can spend five minutes reading it and wondering how lonely you must be deep inside?)

(Fuck off, bitch-dick!)

(...)

(...what the FUCK is a bitch-dick?)