Angelic Catharsis

I’m in a league of my own. At least I would like to think I am. It may be more easily put that I’m not in anyone else’s league, but I guess I don’t necessarily need to have company to have my own league. What is a league, anyway? I’m not about to dictionary it.
Yes, that’s right, I said ‘Dictionary it’, NOT ‘Google it’.
I am about to write without pretense… sure, I prefer to not write unnecessarily personal, potentially defining stuff, unlike the populus, but I’ve just been watching my new fav, so I’ll allow myself a bit of blasphemation (what tha…?).

Just how far behind my contemporaries are I? At this reasonable age, here I am, working in the Hi-Tech industry, with everyone around me speaking the Hi-Tech lingo and playing the Hi-Tech game. But here I am, watching movies late at night and contemplating what the future of cinema might hold because it seems like all the honestly good stories are being taken. In keeping with all universal laws of equilibrium, they must run out of the good stuff at some time. And this comes to mind at the cost of politics, financial whiz and other grown-up discussions that increasingly surround me. Just how far behind my contemporaries are I?
Since as far back as I can remember I have never been able to imagine myself in the stereo 9 to 5 mould: the desk-sitting, the job smarts, the Honey-I’m-Home, the settling down in an urban haven… it’s the sort of picture that has never fit neatly into my thoughts. Of course, my experiences so far have all been contrary to that image as well, so that doesn’t help me any in figuring out how to put it together. As far as I can tell, I am largely living on past glory, without a plan for the future. I haven’t yet even seen enough proof that I belong in this niche of the professional world.
And these darn movies always make me itch. It’s an unjustified, indefinable crazy itch because I have no idea of its significance. Like some innate creative bone stirring; you know it’s there somewhere inside but you just can’t exactly put your finger on it. I’ve always tended towards creative stuff, but I’ve never known what to make of it. Sure, I’ve turned out a few good sketches and put down a few silly rhymes and fancy myself an as yet immature wordsmith, but that’s not enough to go by. If one is of a creative propensity, or thinks that one is, does it mean that by right one ought to pursue a semi- (?) alternative career path? Does it mean that one will discover one’s calling in a non-mainstream profession? I know these creative types are the cool ones who end up as marketing gurus or advertising geniusii or reclusive, classic novelists or acclaimed composers or sculptors or animators or screenplay writers or whatever else comes to mind when one abandons the mundane.

But I’ve always been too much of a pussy to pursue anything unserious seriously. And I’ve also been too much of a pussy to pursue anything serious seriously. That just leaves me with two empty hands and hundreds of shards of what could have been ambition, to pick up off the floor. Ok, maybe that was over-dramatising. And in the meantime, I’m busy allowing myself to surrender to the music and the movies and everything that eventually glosses over everything that’s a-missing. Phuket, Thailand…


Silencio, Old Man!

Mott The Hoople – All The Young Dudes
The Moldy Peaches – Anyone But You