I watched a documentary called "Two Headed Cow" that my father taped and brought along on a visit from Detroit. It is about Dexter Romweber of The Flat Duo Jets, a band that I adored for their zeal and "spinning out of control and looking bad-ass while doing it" style. In all honesty, I ran away from home at 16 and moved to Athens, GA thinking maybe we could be best friends. It didn't pan out. When we did meet and I told him this anecdote he told me, "Well girly, sometimes shit don't turn out like you plan." Then he downed his whiskey and got on stage.
Now he is calmed way down and medicated. He is medicated because it hurt to be so loose and open. But gone too is that hot spark that drove the people wild.
It has been asked, "If Van Gogh was medicated, would he have painted Sunflowers?" And of course the answer is, probably not. And he may not have cut off his ear either.
I guess it just brought up a lot of emotion in me, knowing that wave that is incredible and creative and destructive and painful all at once. And you know, what do you do with that? We each choose. And I recognized that I liked him better wild because it saves me the trouble of living it myself. I want to watch and be inspired, but I'm not the one cutting myself open wide on stage. Ya know what I mean?
I love docs, great post (thumbs up).
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Hi Miss Malaina!
ReplyDeleteI love the way you spin your web and really enjoy reading your blog. I am traveling through your garden of documents and cool perspectives picked up as you lead my mind showing me things there that I never would find or be reminded of. In particular the notion of do my medications slow and steal my creativity. I feel ghosts of dead poets breathe through my lungs, and my hands, clubs clobbing the paper I write upon, breaking paintbrush and pencil. I could go really deep in this, to the source, of all my thoughts I am blocking, but being sane, even if it means sacrificing my 'creative' flow, I'll take any day. My medication makes me feel 'super' sane, and opens doors out of the underworld and the orchestra begins again and I see the tail of the squirel, feathers of bird, and I feel so alive. I still am very creative, before it was a tidal flow of uncontrollable chaos, sure I could come up with deep and strange vantage points but who cares when it comes pouring in and the Van Gogh is painting the forest beneath my feet and the ducks are commenting too, and because it is a melody inside the porcelain that I can hear, I am trying to drown myself in a toilet bowl, no I do not need to be so creative that I redefine death, but as I feel your stories, as I work my way through, I know all of my happiness is in this moment and life is the great canvas, everything is art, so please keep me sane so I can love and enjoy it. My muse is awakened. Thanks! -J
"Well girly, shit don't always work out the way you planned". I am going to have that tattooed on my forehead. Backwards so I can read it in the mirror.
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