Oh, man.

Tonight, I was sitting with some of the guys I would say are part of my core social group. Without fail, they are able to have a good time. Tonight was another one of those times. However, the topic of their conversation really bothered me. At one point in time these were the men saying they wanted to be different than the stereotype out there of the men of our generation. Tonight, they fit it to a tee. Tonight, they became the stereotype. What the hell happened? The most defeating part of this is that I remained silent. In the midst of mediocrity, I refused to do anything. Tonight, there was a downfall among my friends, and refusing to be a true friend, I did nothing.

The Pain of Music

Most people wouldn't consider music painful. Maybe a song or two. Sometimes I think it is. I'm not talking about music like whatever you might have on your iPod or listen to from someone's iTunes or your satellite radio. I mean music- like when it is just me and my guitar. Somehow it is painful. But, I think it is a good sort of pain. Sometimes I can want so desperately to say something, and have no reasonable means of doing so. The music says everything. I wanted to say it, and I tried. I just couldn't. The music did. And that is the pain. It steals the expression of my inmost thoughts before I have the chance to formulate something adequate. I wanted to say it. It was mine and it was stolen from me. If there is such thing as a good pain, this might qualify. There is still a certain relief which comes from this musical theivery. I just wanted to say it myself.