It would be so easy
I could find a sample, chop it, warp it, process the hell out of it, slap a bass line and a beat on it, and call it “instrumental hip-hop”. But I get bored, displeased with the simplicity and repetition. I add to it and try to make it more complex.
And then, it falls apart, barely salvageable from how badly I’ve fucked with my original idea.
It’s hopeless.
The ladies, they love me
The only problem is, I can never have it easy. I can never just get the “I like you a lot, let’s hang out”.
It’s “I like you a lot, let’s hang out on occasion, but not too often, or for too long, because things are complicated because of my on-again-off-again boyfriend. In the meantime, here’s a sexy picture.”
And then shit happens and we don’t talk for like 3 weeks. Then rinse and repeat.
So, the bitch is finally going through with her plans to move to the Rocky Mountains
Maybe it’s time I finally reapply at the Apple Store.
I have a dream sometimes
It’s not a bad one, per se, it just makes me nostalgic for the past.
I’m sitting on my old, strange, Jetsons-styled couch with my ex, talking about our lives, past and present, strange, introspective things, different every time. Sometimes these things are so vague and metaphorical, they sound like nonsense. At a lull in the conversation, she suddenly gets up and leaves the room.
After a moment, she returns, all dolled up; her red hair (my favorite of the many colors she dyed it) perfectly done, her lips a bright cherry red, her eyes framed by a faint, but bright, shade of blue. She’s always wearing a certain outfit, a sheer, patterned, off-white long sleeve shirt, and tight black shorts. Basically, it’s how she looked whenever she wanted to…get my attention.
She stands there for a moment in her getup, and neither of us say anything. She breaks the silence after a moment, and simply says “It’s okay.” I ask if this is really it, and she calmly nods and smiles before walking out of the room again. Usually when I stand up to follow her, I wake up.
I don’t wake up to a feeling of hurt or longing, more a reassurance of the finality of the direction my life has pointed itself in. I spent the better part of two years preparing myself for the prospect of a marriage and a life with one person, only to have the rug pulled out from under me and that person suddenly turn into a ghost in the context of our lives together. I was thrust into a new life I wasn’t entirely prepared for, one that I’ve admittedly done a pretty damn good job of adjusting to. It’s been a long, painful road, but I finally have some idea where it’s going.
I’m no longer sore, but I still catch myself glancing behind me from time to time, if only for a second.
SUMMARY OF MY NIGHT
-Buy bass guitar
-Go home
-Plug it in
-Strum around like a retard
-Attempt to find songs to practice
-Strum around like a retard some more
-Smoke a cigarette
-More retard strumming
-Attempt the most complex song I can find
-Crash and burn miserably
-Start a beer
-Find a less complex song
-Attempt practicing
-Achieve moderate success
-Finish a beer
-Smoke a cigarette
-Practice simpler song more
-Get it 95% down pat
-Attempt more complex song once again
-Fail miserably
-Smoke another cigarette
-Proceed to play simpler song until the end of time
BASS SUCCESS.
