The Wandering Host of Heaven

So I am a little irked as I write this post... last night I managed to do something amazing, as is my wont, and quickly realized once again that no one really cares, making it as if I never did anything at all. Now don't get me wrong, I am not one of those people who feels that if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, that it doesn't make a sound. In fact, I do battle with relativists on a pretty regular basis. It's interesting to me that in spite of all my efforts to be confrontational, I am constantly in danger of falling into oblivion. Last night clearly illustrates this point. After work, I had nothing to do, so I dedicated myself to my music (unfortunately some chronically reoccuring injuries have largely kept me from playing guitar, so it was more programming.) I am currently composing an experimental piano album that will largely be instrumental. I started doing it by accident, having been inspired by the work that my brother has done. It is a story album, concerned with the relationship of the moon to the end of the world. Right now, the title that I have come up with is Wrath Enough to Silence the World. To my point, last night I wrote another song for it, which I feel turned out quite well. Almost immediately I wanted to share what I had done with other people so as to see if the song was as good as I thought. I made my roomate listen to it once, which almost seemed like as if he felt it was akin to torture... Then I posted it on my band site on facebook and the various other places where I warehouse my music. The point is this, why is it such an imposition to share music with other people?? I pretty much have to call up all the social capital I can muster just to get those closest to me to listen to what I have done. Which makes me think, is it really that bad? Have I no taste in music? But then, in the same breath I watch people literaly throw themselves at other musicians, if only for the sake of being connected to the music scene. I have been to my share of concerts in this town, and I have not been impressed at all. It reminds me of when I used to play at Jimbo's Bike and Coffee in Colorado... We would play original songs and what not, some were good, some were not... and then some olympic wrestler guy would go up and play lousy jack johnson covers and the girls would go wild. In this world, men are not judged by their works, so much as by their image... And I am getting really sick of it. One of these days I fear that I could find the cure for cancer and no one would bother to look into it because it came from me, and I have nothing to offer.

July the 3rd

I haven't written in a while, but today was a special day. July the 3rd, the day of silence... When I went to work today, it was as if the zombie holocaust had occured... three years ago. There was no one on campus. Just the occasional crying child and his/her BYU alumni parents admiring a statue of fake children... reminiscing (unboutably of that special time when children to them were about as real as the lifeless sculptured depictions that they are now staring at with almost idyllic fondness) Anyways, zombies and children aside, I made it to work and luckily had someone to talk to. On my way home, I made several stops, but thanks to technology, I didn't have to talk to anyone, and thanks to a public holiday, I couldn't pay my rent. The rest of the day was spent in an eerie silence. No one was home in my apartment, or in the complex for that matter. Furthermore, my roomate disabled the sound on the tv somehow, and so there was no hope of any virtual company. Days like this really make you think... about life in a post apocalyptic nightmare world where not even robots will be your friend... though at least they won't try to eat you, which is an unfortunate consequence of socializing with zombies.