Why Can't I Speak?

I'm so blooming scared to speak my mind I never realized it so much before. I do fine when I'm talking with people in the context of something else - work or meditation school not a problem. But to talk to people freestyle - I'm fooked and why is that?

People like to tell stories about their lives and for some reason much of the time with most people I don't feel inclined to do so. Part of me says, 'hurr-fuckin'-ah! I'm livin' in the now why blather on about some shit that went down last week let alone 3 years ago that was another lifetime, right?". "Yeah, right on sister, power to the now.", I say to myself.

But there's something I noticed recently while listening to someone spin yarn after yarn: in order to tell the tale you gotta *believe* there's something of interest in whatchoo gotta say *or* you've got an ego the size of Texas and a free pass to speak until everyone else's ears bleed.

Do I believe my life is interesting? Yeah, I must on some level I write this damn blog trying to tie together threads and trains of thought that span a decade and a half of my life as a musician, thinker, meditator, etc., etc. And to me that tying together is *important*. Perhaps it's that the things in my life that I believe in don't make for easy cocktail conversation? Or maybe I'm too hung up on making sure people understand what I have to say? I've been accused in the past of taking myself too seriously .... maybe I've hit the other end of the spectrum?

So what am I doing these days: learning how to make beats and samples using Reason and Recycle and hoping to start sampling some old 4 track recordings I made between '94-'98. I'm thrilled with the following prospects : a) making dance music b) making laptop based music that I can perform with in a live context c) rediscovering the joy of learning how to make music d) lightening the fuck up musically - no more dark shit.

Mad As Hell + Fear Like You Wouldn't Believe = A Cycle Of Dysfunction

I'm a byproduct of a dysfunctional family and at the age of 32 have spent my fair share of time working through "my issues". Without giving the laundry list of self healing and actualization study and work let us just say that I've got hard won skills and methods for coping and working through my shit.

Last week I got into a fight with someone who I am still in the process of getting to know. The details of the incident are not important. What was interesting was what got stirred up in my space. I'd not felt anger from my childhood in ages and last week I met up with it again. Oppression is a dangerous thing and I would have to say that I was the victim of oppression vis a via shitty behavior and fear in my parents. My opinions, ideas and thoughts when verbalized created all kinds of disruption particularly between me and my father who took them as a threat to his own thoughts, ideas and opinions. Apparently, at the time, two opinions in the room was one too many. He and I would battle and I wasn't willing to throw in the towel easily - I knew better - and I wanted him to understand what I knew. This didn't fly well with him in fact it probably exacerbated the situation. Beyond wanting him to know what I knew, I needed to know that it was okay for me to *be* and the message that I got as a result of these conflicts was that it wasn't okay for me to *be*.

What developed as a result of getting the message from my parent that it wasn't okay for me to be was a deep seated sense of fear that at different points in my life had the power to level buildings. I imagine that this is where the urge to destroy comes from. My desire was to create the darkest, angriest, in your face music I could possibly imagine. I wanted to extract all of those emotions from within myself and create something outside myself that people would be forced to deal with thinking that somehow if someone (specifically my father in the end just about everyone) could experience my emotions they would most certainly change their ways. I, wanted to make my emotional truth, the truth of others just the way my father wanted me to accept his opinion and the truth.

I made angry music for a time, I found a inspiration in the works of Diamanda Galas and under a bizarre set of circumstances met and befriended her. I taught myself how to ululate and incorporating the screams of a banshee into my vocal performances. People loved to hear me scream, that is except for the one person that I wanted love from the most ironically enough. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew there was something not quite right about what I was doing. Being angry and scared all of the time takes its toll. What I really craved underneath the emotional mess was to be functional, happy and loved.

Artistically I'd inadvertently trapped myself as it seemed that I couldn't write anything that wasn't dark, sad, painful or angry and as I evolved emotionally the inclination to write dwindled and the frustration of my seeming limitations depressed me. For a time I accepted the idea that I may never write or play music again. It was a strange concept to embrace but the relief of being disentangled from all that negative energy was worth the price of oddity.

Slowly I started to create again working mindfully building new habits to supplant the pitfalls of old techniques and impulses. It's been a long haul often seemingly without any specific destination save the joy of experiencing myself in a new way. I'm nowhere near being through with this process but I feel like I'm well on my way to being in a place where I can *choose* the emotions I use to create with and depict musically.

Over time I forgot all the crazy shit that went down in my family and how it impacted my decisions as a young adult trying to work as an artist. Looking back upon all of it now I wonder and hope that I may have actually broken the cycle of dysfunction.