A year ago was the release show for Holden Pan’s Break the Ice.
The other night was a strange one. I was asked numerous Holden Pan/As A Gift-related questions and received texts about said topics. It was annoying and frustrating, but from that annoyance and frustration came reflection.
As redundant as it is to say, so much has changed from a year ago. And for the most part, things are worse for the wear.
For the most part, I think I have fallen out of touch with many of the people and things that were important to me last year.
I don’t have a band. While there were a lot of problems within HP that would’ve inevitably lead to a break up, I miss feeling like I was a part of something. Now I just feel apart from everything and everyone. There is a sense of distance between me and everyone from that band and it sucks that from 2 years of my life theres very little to show.
I used to believe in fixing or changing the scene. I barely believe in anything anymore.
I was never a great singer, but all those songs really did mean a lot to me, and I tried to show that every set. And I think I tried too hard; my throat was strained, the strains were felt during As A Gift, and then confirmed by the polyp/nodule found earlier this year. I thought I could just do things my way, go all on emotion, and win. Always tried to buck tradition, and all it has done is left me alienated and deflated.
If my throat doesn’t get better, I genuinely don’t know what I’m gonna do. Playing shows, mic in hand, is the only time I have ever felt like I belonged where I was and was doing what I was supposed to.
One of the more obvious things was that I didn’t drink last year, and now its something that helps me get to sleep. Its also awful for my throat. I feel very trapped. The drinking hurts my throat, but the world/life is something that I have difficulty not dissecting and tearing apart when I’m sober.
I also find it hard to really believe in love or anything similar to it. Thanks to Jac Vanek bracelets, things like love, faith, and fate are no longer beautiful abstracts and points of consideration, but rather accessories and badges and props that form the impressionism of humanity for this generation. In reality, everyone quits when the going gets tough and relies on the mutual enabling of their friendships to stay afloat. And then they’re back to living on some shitty overused quote or cliche.
And friendships, holy shit, friendships are beyond fucked. I feel like I’ve brought plenty more people into my life in the past year. But I feel like I can’t stay in any one place or group for too long without getting some sense of uncomfortability. Probably because I can’t shut off the analysis of everyone or everything sober. My professor and I were discussing Thoreau, who I’ve completely become obsessed with after reading Walden, and she said that his social life was made very difficult due to his dedication to always being a “Truth-teller” and never really letting things slide. It made it very difficult for him to keep friends because he couldn’t make the normal social concessions that people make. Emerson, one of his “friends”, at his funeral pretty much said he wasted his life and talent.
I’ve always been the friend that everyone went to for advice, and part of me has always enjoyed feeling a sense of respect from that. But lately, I’m just agitated that it feels like it has never been a 2-way street in that department and that I’ve rarely been helped with alot of shit. And also, hearing everyone’s shit has just made me even more depressed, both about the content and the context to my life. That, if it weren’t for that, would anyone even talk to me?
Bukowski is another literary talent that I’ve become quite fond of. And its probably not good for me. I find myself laughing at (with?) a lot of his dark musings.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. I feel like a zero amongst O’s in that I fit in everywhere but know that I don’t belong. But I don’t know if there is a place that I belong. I don’t like assimilation.
I really need my throat to get better. Without it, the misery that laces all of the shit I just spewed will be the norm. To me it’s equivalent to impotency. Without my voice I feel so useless. Like a bird without it’s wings.
I feel like if my throat doesn’t get better, it will be to me as House’s leg is to him.