In between this, and my music career as a first priority, which.. for now will remain private (just keep your fingers crossed for me) I will be actively celebrating Inktober this year
..sometimes on napkins during lunch.
This is going to be a mouthful.
After months of nuclear threat looming over us like clockwork, the earthquakes, hurricanes, massive killing spurts all over the world, and now this: a mass shooting spree at a music festival in Los Vegas. Over 500 people were wounded, left scattered about in dismay. At least fifty eight lives extinguished, no less an examle or terrorism. My friend’s mate watched a woman’s head get shot off directly next to him, an explosion. Horrifically, it would seem that concert/festival killings are becoming a more regular occurrence.
I find music to be one of the most profound bonding experiences of human interactions, in fact it has been by far the most in my life. Concerts harbour a safe haven. At a spectacular show the other night, the xx, who I deeply respect and admire said it right. That a concert is a time to leave your burdens, your agonies, your woes, great pain and battles that we all struggle with behind, let everything go, and just, be together, be in each other’s presence, to belong in the company kept, to love. A celebration unbridled. To feel that sense of wholeness so easily lost in the isolation of the outside world, where emotions are to be left at the door, complications, death. At that celebration in Las Vegas, where people gathered together to share their love of music, to share in that peaceful mutual security, instead they were ambushed, their lives taken without reason. You can blame these mentally fucked killers until the proverbial cows come home, persecute them, keep beating them until they do it again, until the next emotionally starved come along, but I’d argue that this is what toxic masculinity does to people. That term probably sounds overplayed, an eye-roller, but frankly I believe it’s an accurate description. Just had a great discussion about this with my dear friend, Dev Nitins. The stereotype that men cannot share their emotions, express sensitivity, no, it’s not just men, but the majority tends to lean heavily towards that demographic. They aren’t taught how to handle their feelings, but to simply not have them, because that’s how men are expected to behave.
How the fuck does this make any sense at all?
My heart goes out to you now, all of you, to everyone who suffers around the world, the countless deaths, some behind doors, some behind our doors. Ones that don’t get mentioned, not even brought up, not televised, not advertised. It’s happening all the time, and I don’t mean to ramble on about what’s already been said over and over, acknowledged for a time, then quietly forgotten until the next travesty hits social media, but for whatever it’s worth, and I don’t know what help it will do, but I believe putting energy out towards something does make a physical difference. So, for Inktober Day Dos, I’m sending you all this.
This is Haley Yarmark, I used to call her, ‘Hailey’. She was and still is one of my closest friends, and a sister to me. She’s one of the most pure, honest, strong, talented, literally the most enlightened person at the age of 16 I’ve ever known. We were going to start a band together, but that didn’t happen. She was hit by a car while walking home from high school. We thought she’d outlive us all, but she didn’t. The man driving was intoxicated. He drove right into her, and that’s how she died. Post childhood, I’ve always been a rational man, skeptic, optimistic realist at best, and maybe it’s silly, naïve for me to think this, but I do believe in angels, or something of the like, that in some way those who have passed, which we love and loved us in return stay; they watch over us. So I send her to you now, in a world where faith is deemed the mindset of the delusionally insane.
Either way, hope it helps.
Thank you for lookin’. Really, means mountains.