th High-Strung & Knife-Happy Hillbilly Blues Revue

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Jan 6
This needs to be here.  I’ll argue with you later and tell you I don’t need it, deserve better…whatever…I got it…I got the deep full on honest-to-God depression.  For the first time in six or seven years I got suicidal ideation…I’m having a hard fucking time…
It’s a hard fucking time…
I need to do something different…getting off the computer forever might be the right fucking thing.  Read books, motherfucker.  Drive places.  Do things.  Clean your house.  Work.  In the real world you go to work and give your job everything and hope for the best.  Lives of quiet desperation gilt with health insurance premiums and car payments…I’ve only ever had day jobs…second hand cars, free clinics…
I’m a musician and a painter and a song-writer…nobody pays for that until they pay out the nose…and then they resent you for it…and it don’t happen often enough for me…not playing in front of Derek Trucks or Buddy Guy or Bobby Bland…
I win an award every once in a while and I make more money playing music than working my day-job which makes me a musician on my 1040…
Furry Lewis used to pawn his guitar between gigs so he’d hafta get paid…”get my guitar out of pawn and I can play your gig…”
It’s weird in life when you’re trying to be Furry Lewis instead of Eric Clapton…
Clapton’s got the money and the prestige and whatever and let’s face it…I wouldn’t pee in his ear if his brain was on fire….you can have money and prestige and the adulation of them that don’t know better…who don’t recognize a Freddy King lick or an Albert King song or the fact that Clapton is fine as a Rock and Roll guy but derivative and embarrassing as a blues guy - or you can have gravitas and respect and play something that’s yours and still came out of a living tradition and ne’er the twain shall meet…
Listen to Classic Rock radio…ever hear J.J. Cale sing Cocaine or After Midnight?  He wrote both of them…I’d rather listen to him play them than Clapton…
I drink occasionally with the number two guy at Clear Channel here on the east coast and I hang him up about this all the time…such that he resents me and wishes I would leave him the fuck alone…but…seriously…come on you Classic Rock motherfucker…
I’ve been broke up with again…apparently I’m wonderful…a great guy…someone everyone should want to know and be around…
But she bumped into a married co-worker she has a crush on and remembered what that spark is supposed to feel like…
…and she doesn’t feel it with me…
…and…well…honestly…at least in this case it’s all right with me…I wasn’t feeling it so much either…but still…
It’s the fourth time in six months I’ve been cut loose by text. 
Fuck you.
Buy me sushi or a steak if you’re going to cut me loose…
Treat me better than this.
Dating is hard enough.  I’ve been dating for the last seven months.  I’m happy to pay for everything.  But I’ve dated more women in the last seven months than I’ve gone out with in the whole rest of my life…it ain’t cheap…not with the money and not with my creepy dirty feelings…
My creepy dirty feelings cost me something emotionally…you know…to invest in you…and then find out how awesome I am…but apparently not awesome enough…
Tomorrow I’ll be right…tonight…I ain’t right…

This needs to be here.  I’ll argue with you later and tell you I don’t need it, deserve better…whatever…I got it…I got the deep full on honest-to-God depression.  For the first time in six or seven years I got suicidal ideation…I’m having a hard fucking time…

It’s a hard fucking time…

I need to do something different…getting off the computer forever might be the right fucking thing.  Read books, motherfucker.  Drive places.  Do things.  Clean your house.  Work.  In the real world you go to work and give your job everything and hope for the best.  Lives of quiet desperation gilt with health insurance premiums and car payments…I’ve only ever had day jobs…second hand cars, free clinics…

I’m a musician and a painter and a song-writer…nobody pays for that until they pay out the nose…and then they resent you for it…and it don’t happen often enough for me…not playing in front of Derek Trucks or Buddy Guy or Bobby Bland…

I win an award every once in a while and I make more money playing music than working my day-job which makes me a musician on my 1040…

Furry Lewis used to pawn his guitar between gigs so he’d hafta get paid…”get my guitar out of pawn and I can play your gig…”

It’s weird in life when you’re trying to be Furry Lewis instead of Eric Clapton…

Clapton’s got the money and the prestige and whatever and let’s face it…I wouldn’t pee in his ear if his brain was on fire….you can have money and prestige and the adulation of them that don’t know better…who don’t recognize a Freddy King lick or an Albert King song or the fact that Clapton is fine as a Rock and Roll guy but derivative and embarrassing as a blues guy - or you can have gravitas and respect and play something that’s yours and still came out of a living tradition and ne’er the twain shall meet…

Listen to Classic Rock radio…ever hear J.J. Cale sing Cocaine or After Midnight?  He wrote both of them…I’d rather listen to him play them than Clapton…

I drink occasionally with the number two guy at Clear Channel here on the east coast and I hang him up about this all the time…such that he resents me and wishes I would leave him the fuck alone…but…seriously…come on you Classic Rock motherfucker…

I’ve been broke up with again…apparently I’m wonderful…a great guy…someone everyone should want to know and be around…

But she bumped into a married co-worker she has a crush on and remembered what that spark is supposed to feel like…

…and she doesn’t feel it with me…

…and…well…honestly…at least in this case it’s all right with me…I wasn’t feeling it so much either…but still…

It’s the fourth time in six months I’ve been cut loose by text. 

Fuck you.

Buy me sushi or a steak if you’re going to cut me loose…

Treat me better than this.

Dating is hard enough.  I’ve been dating for the last seven months.  I’m happy to pay for everything.  But I’ve dated more women in the last seven months than I’ve gone out with in the whole rest of my life…it ain’t cheap…not with the money and not with my creepy dirty feelings…

My creepy dirty feelings cost me something emotionally…you know…to invest in you…and then find out how awesome I am…but apparently not awesome enough…

Tomorrow I’ll be right…tonight…I ain’t right…