locked until 08.15.04 - YouTube link added 02.09.09
8:08 PM, Tuesday August 3rd, 2004:
Not really sure how to put my finger on it, but there's something wildly strange about building your own bachelor pad...especially when you're not incredibly thrilled about the prospect. You're filled with all these emotions and stresses, yet you just keep nailing. I think this must've been what Blood Sweat & Tears went through thus inspiring their namesake. Yeah, I'm sure of it. They were building the subflooring to the room that would signify their divorce. They smacked their finger a few times, and got all the bodily fluids in on the action.
You think about it with every hammer of a nail and every cut of wood. That and I'm trying to save money by not buying a circular saw...and my dull hand saw is barely making it through. I don't know how I did it yesterday boy. I was crying for a different reason as I was trying to finish up the notches to raise the floor. I'd say it has something to do with me approaching 30, but it doesn't. It has something to do with me not working out. 20 cuts through a 2 x 4 with what amounts to a kitchen knife will kick your butt pretty good.
Oh and when did 2 x 4's stop being 2 inches by 4 inches? Did they just steadily rip people off over time and no one noticed? It's 1 1/2 by 3 1/2 inches. Weak. An 8 foot 2 x 4 is $3.21 if you were wondering. I thought that was a pretty decent price. What the fuck am I typing this for?
So back to how weird this is. I sit there with the pups in this lonely old garage and I'm...transforming it. It's the construction equivalent of keeping a stiff upper-lip. And that's what we all do really. In any divorce you have to just "get it done"...but usually that means just moving out. There's something, and again I just can't put my finger on it, that is just deep about actually constructing your new home. You know? Like if this was 2000 years ago and you split up...you'd most likely have to BUILD your next pad. Speaking of which...tangent again:
What the FUCK did Jesus use for tools? I mean seriously. He was a carpenter...with what? A rock and a tree? Did they have nails then? I guess that was after the iron age so yeah... I mean, big-ass rocks and some sort of cement-like mixture was pretty much all that was around...so was that carpentry? Maybe just making a table or some shit. And where's that movie? I want to see that part of his life, screw the miracles. I want to see Jesus with a hard-hat whistlin' at the ladies. There seriously needs to be a modern day "story-of-Jesus" movie shot with him as a construction worker. That would rule.
Heh, so yeah - building this room is kind of the strangest thing I've ever felt. I have to mention Shizzle in all this though. That dog is attached to me at the hip more than any animal I've ever had. I can be hammering a piece of wood 2 feet from his head and that's fine by him. In the garage of all places where it physically hurts your ears because the reverberation is so loud. If I go to the shed to get a tool...he'll follow me, then follow me back to the garage while I pound away. He's just completely at peace as long as he's hanging out with me.
Roxy on the other hand is a girl. Pounding noise? "I'll be sleeping in the cool kitchen thank you very much". If anything is even remotely uncomfortable to her dainty physique it ain't happenin'. I must say the attachment to these animals is creepin' up into J-Dog territory, and I have a feeling that in the next couple of months, they will mean the world to me. I hate to allow myself to get that attached because the pain of losing J-Dog is still with me. And whereas he was an independent journeyman that I still believe in my heart is out there catching mice, and charming food and shelter from ladies in the neighborhood, these dogs depend on me and Jess with every fiber of their being. I feel a responsibility to them that is parental in every sense but biological. So it adds even more to the construction of this room that by its existence...I am afforded the luxury of keeping these dogs. Selling the house and getting an apartment would mean giving them up. Keeping the actual investment of the house is the #1 reason for all this, but not losing them ranks pretty high on that scale as well.
So on Thursday I'll be putting in the wall, the plywood and patching up the drywall and moving a few steps closer to my independent life. It is a process that splits my heart in two with each step. And I think that's what I'm trying to put my finger on. I'm torn up inside. It's the story of my life really. Creating through the pain. It's symbolic of why I'm willing to sarifice every known comfort just to continue this Journey. I'll hammer those nails well past the blisters and bruised fingers (I swear I've hit the knuckles on my left index finger twice per 2x4) because it's part of the process. This may not be a song, a video, or a show...but when I've completed this I'll actually live inside my creation. It just feels intensely deep and meaningful to me. I am an artist. I have been my whole life, and I'm actually embracing that now. I'm realizing that there truly is no other choice.
It's just so rare to have to come face to face with this. How often are we made to define ourselves in an instant? I mentioned that in the song last entry. "You usually don't have to prove your art..." What I meant was just that: When are you ever forced so clearly to make that choice? Not only giving up a career and coming out to LA., but to actually sacrifice a pretty goddamn happy marriage to further it - and not for a successful career mind you! Simply to say: "I am an artist, and following this is what I do". Fuckin' shit that is heavy. There's no turnin' back there. I instantly become a "lifer" at that moment. It impacts me forever.