Who Are You, Mike Farmer?

I threw my rock in the water and it skipped until it sank. The rock made tiny ripples before it was swallowed by the water. When it sank, it was over and done with. Time to get another rock.

That’s a clumsy analogy. My music isn’t some rock. It’s one of a kind. It can’t be just picked up out of pile anywhere. But I feel like whenever I release my music into the world, I’m throwing it into the great big cavernous world like it’s a rock into the ocean. It won’t displace anything or make any impact. In a way, that’s even worse than being hated. Would you rather be hated or ignored?

Five years ago, I recorded a set of songs in a Greenville, Ky. church. This was the beginning of where my musical direction would go from thereon out. I finally “released” it on Bandcamp today. Whether I had tried to promote it for weeks and weeks or just dropped it last second (which is what I did), the impact would have been the same.

I do not have the quiet confidence that my music will find the right ears. I have to hope it finds any set of ears.

My fears are counterproductive. They lead to me shelving this music for years and years. Hiding away like a wound. I’m too protective to have a career.

Kill Me

I usually don’t writing anything here unless I’m driven near crazy. So here I am, writing publicly. A post that will be read by dozens, perhaps. Great. I’m throwing my piss into the great ocean of content.

Don’t you hate it when your therapist gives you an assignment for the next session?

I just caught myself saying “kill me” like it was a reflexive thing. I sat still for a moment, not writing, just sitting and waiting and not doing anything and “kill me” just came out of my mouth. How often does that happen and I don’t notice it? Do I walk around saying “kill me” and people see it? Can people hear me saying “kill me”? I’m not just thinking it? I’m mouthing it. I’m turning it into words that can be heard by human ears.

Every time I go to my psychiatrist, he asks me if I have suicidal thoughts and I tell him I don’t. Because I never think it’s time to go or let’s do it. I think about dying in a gruesome, violent way. Death is a thing I secretly hope for yet fear and dread at the same time. And I feel like I’m not alone. I feel like there’s a lot of people who aren’t going to commit suicide but are ready to get the hell off this rock. So if global warming or nuclear war wipe us off the map, so be it as long as the problem is taken out of our hands.

The doctor asks me if I think about self-harm. I don’t know, doc. Do thoughts about dismembering yourself with a chainsaw count? If so, then yeah I guess I have been thinking about self-harm. But a chainsaw is just too unwieldy for the task. You’d have to go legs first and then go for an arm but let’s say you do that and then you lose control of the chainsaw. Then what? That’s only a partial dismemberment! And what if you bleed out your leg stumps before then? What a failure! You need a friend to help you out, or an enemy. Somebody who cares enough to do it.

That’s a lot to drop on anybody, let alone a professional.

Maybe I oughta be locked up for my own good. Or restricted chainsaw access.


Punchdrunk On Politics

I should have thrown in the towel weeks ago but I thought I was a fighter. I thought I could crap lighting and eat thunder. But I ate shit and puked up the hubris of a million political ads. I felt tired and worn down this morning and politics is what did it to me.

It feels as if election season began immediately the day that orange-fuzz-covered turd of a human being swore an oath he didn’t understand on a Bible that should have burned him when he touched it way back in January 2017. The midterm elections began that day and they never stopped until Tuesday night. Months and months of ads upon ads and eventually everything began to blur together until my brain felt concussed.

Steve Kornacki of MSNBC is the lead election stat geek on cable news TV and he works all year for Election Day, with his rolled-up sleeves and his boyish pair of glasses. One can easily imagine him being younger than his 39 years. One can also imagine the amount of fan-fiction that has been written about this earnest, Jimmy Olsen-esque energy-ball/vote wonk. Imagine the Steve Kornacki Rule 34 drawings, all manga’d out like a Japanese comix hero/erotica star with his pet squid/electricity-shooting peep.

Don’t laugh. Somewhere on election night there was somebody touching themselves watching MSNBC waiting for Kornacki to return with vote tally updates, muttering and cursing whenever Brian Williams, Chris Matthews or god forbid Rachel Maddow was on the screen instead. Shut up you goons! Let Li’l Stevie tell us how the Senate races are going county-by-county. How many more ballots are coming in from how many more precincts, Mr. Pornacki?

Ari Melber? Get this man and his shoehorned hip-hop lyric references off the screen, they call out in despair. Rank your favorite Steve/Stevie’s, they type on Twitter. Here’s mine: Kornacki, Wonder, Nicks, Ray Vaughan, Sax, Perry, Martin, in that order. It’s never enough, never enough.

Kornacki is not the kind of person who gets punchdrunk on election night. He has taken body blows in preparation for this. He has crunched and stared at more numbers than most non-mathematicians. Election night is his night. He does not get lost in a daze unlike most laymen. Try doing that job sober.

Is Steve Kornacki an Adderall fiend? How else do you explain his monomaniacal focus on that night of all nights? It’s nothing to show up for a segment and go over poll numbers in the weeks ahead of the election but a whole night where you have to be Johnny-on-the-spot? Does his Adderall usage become more pronounced as he approaches November year after year? Does he require detox immediately after Election day? Is that how he does it?  It must be difficult doing your job knowing that people you will never meet are frothing over you and drawing strange but sexy illustrations of you and posting them on DeviantArt.

Fame is difficult to cope with. Thankfully you’ll never have to deal with it.

Some More “Bohemian Rhapsody” Errors

This weekend I went to see the Freddie Mercury biopic “Bohemian Rhapsody”. I enjoyed it immensely and even teared up during a few moments. However, the movie tries to condense fifteen years worth of events into a two-hour-plus movie and because of that the timeline gets mangled. I’ll give you some examples.

  • Freddie Mercury was diagnosed with the HIV virus in 1987. He took a standard blood test. He did not use an app on his iPhone.
  • Freddie also did not contract the HIV virus from playing Pokemon Go.
  • Some people know about the confrontation between Freddie and Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols but fewer people know about the knife between bassist John Deacon and Vanilla Ice.
  • Guitarist Brian May was an astronomer, not an astrologist. This wipes out the entire ‘Brian May Psychic & Lottery Number Hotline’ subplot.
  • Drummer Roger Taylor did have a psychic hotline, but it was for a brief time and came years after Mercury’s death.
  • Contrary to the film, Queen did not lose rights to the words “mama mia” in a 1976 arm-wrestling match between Roger Taylor and Bjorn Ulvaeus of ABBA.
  • Freddie’s mustache was grown not in a government laboratory, but on his own upper lip.
  • The following lyrics were not used in the band’s 1982 hit “Body Language”: “You make me think of lighting in skies”, “Your offbeat dance makes me fantasize” and “Your ass is a spaceship I want to ride”.
  • Contrary to the film, when the band walks off stage after their famous Live Aid performance, Lady Gaga does not come up to them and say “You just gave me a great idea.”
  • In real life, Freddie’s corpse was cremated. In the movie, his living body is frozen in carbonite by Vanilla Ice.