(Phaysis)

I think the fact that I have so many outlets for my creative commentary is diluting the power of my words down to the consistency of senseless drivel. There are “Really Deep Thoughts”, there is “This Is Ponderous”, there are moments of Snark and Witticism, and then there’s useless, wasted, disposable. The more time I spend dropping wordbombs on Facebook, or playing ping-pong on IM, or building sand castles on my blog, the less time I spend weighing the universe, the less time I consider my place in the world, the less time I have for big ideas.

It’s a shame, a damnable shame.

Even after quitting IRC, most of my computer time is still spent waiting to snap my wit on someone’s leg like a bear trap. What does that get me? Absolutely nothing but a slim notion in some people’s minds that I’m funny. That doesn’t get me far. A man is known by what he does; I don’t want the last fading recollections of my name to be that I was a funny mofo. I’d rather be remembered for making good music, or writing good stories, or crafting good poetry.

There are better uses for my creativity.

If I could have one wish, I’d like to actually be creative. Proactively creative, procreative, instead of being clever in a reactive, reactionary sort of way. The kind of proactivity that sparks the genesis of an idea, pushes it to germinate, punch through the soil, and grow until it has reached fruition and has born seeds to be carried forth and planted elsewhere.

Most of my creativity comes in the form of reacting to statements, comments, words uttered by others and trying to be witty or charming. It’s obvious to me that it’s gotten me nowhere.

What I’d like is to be one of these intensely creative people I see drawing, painting, writing, recording and turning nothing into a powerful something that moves and inspires others. I’m tired of being the passive inspired. Of being the automatic bear trap. Of sitting in wait for the end so I can begin. My life is half over. What have I to show for it?

I’ve been throwing myself into full-on adoration for Karin Dreijer Andersson and any project she’s involved in. She has a vocal, lyrical, and thematic style that drips with creativity and mastery of the art. And then I look at my own projects, and am suddenly jealous of her success. When I pull back to consider all of the other artists she works with, it becomes certainly clear to me that nothing of worth can grow in a vacuum. It takes a village to write a song.

It’s apparent now that I’ve been holing up in my little room, never venturing out to see other artists, never once looking up to find artist collectives and creativity support groups. I’ve been insular and away from it all for years. An island against the scene.

But there is no fire without fuel and air. When you consider the amount of labor involved in the creation of music, only the most gifted among us can operate in solitude and produce brilliance. The rest of us, when we try the same, are only capable of putting out mediocrity. We all need help. We all need the hands of others to help with the heavy lifting. We have to rely on the competencies of those in our tribe to turn a mess of ideas into gold.

I did a little searching tonight. Found a few local blogs that loosely follow the local electronic music scene. I’m also thinking more of looking at flyers and reading the Chronicle for listings of shows that I should probably see. It’s a start, I guess. Certainly more novel than turning on my equipment and doing nothing. If you know of any support group for creatives in Austin, I’d love to know about it. Do you have any advice, any direction, on where to begin in allying with like-minded people in this town of a million people? Give me a hint. Nudge me along.

So I’ve finally started pushing the Record button.

The hardest part of making music is learning your instruments and your tools. After picking up all this equipment, it’s taken me some time to get familiar with the basics of my synth, sampler, sound module, drum machine, and DAW software. Five months ago, when I knew a lot less than I do now, every time I pressed Record on the DAW software, it was screwup after screwup after screwup. Frustration rose and overpowered joy, and so I let the music project lie fallow for months.

Until March, when I got the synth. It became a joy again. I got to peck and poke, pushing parameters around, finding sounds, figuring out what that damn thing can do. It became fun and novel again. I had to know more. So I picked up the manual and read it, and started reading the manuals to the rest of my gear. Now I’m getting familiar with it, and that, my friends, is a good, good thing.

I sat at my workstation last night and hammered out a nasty bassline. I recorded the midi of it, learned how to clean it up, loop it, record an audio loop of it. Laid down a track with a GM patch called “Nylon Guitar” (mildly reminiscent of the real thing). Worked up a drum track. (Yeah, I know…Creativity, WOW!) It’s mostly a throw-away track; the vibe is totally not Glass Door material, but I’ll keep punching at it. Each hour spent with it is a new learning experience.

There’s plenty more work to do.

I’m sitting here at the very tail end of the weekend, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve completely wasted my time. Trying to find the words to say, to put together, to make myself feel like I’ve done something, like I’ve not let 56 hours of my life slip by with nothing to show for it. But it’s hard. There was once a time I could flood the page with meaning and passion. Once, I could fixate on a drawing and produce a thing of beauty. Now, I just want escape. Want to create without having to explain. Want to put out a chunk of creative output without providing a back story. Want to not be distracted. But in my middle age, all I can think of is my job and how, even though it’s great, I just want to turn off and escape it when I’m not at work. And when I’m not at work, I don’t want to work on anything; I just want to wander, to leave, to be unmotivated. And that is the horror of it all. That my motivation has vanished, and that I spent the last 56 hours of my life with nothing to show for it.