Riker's Mailbox

Friday, July 30, 2004


Life listens poorly to the pleas of the downtrodden. In an absolute renunciation of this potential state of being, I resume living my already busy life at an accelerated pace. Scrambling toward my goals, some concrete and some abstract, I am drawing near the ideal self-condition: Struggling and thus working hard; passionate and thus deeply focused; comfortable and thus buoyant; determined and thus destined to succeed.

The first enemy to face is financial hardship. From a bird's eye view, one would find me gallivanting across the state to play a gig late into the night for a handful of cash, only to return tomorrow to play another gig for a little more money. Half of what I earn is likely to be translated into hydrocarbons and then into greenhouse gases, courtesy of my trusty Nissan that gets me where I need to be to perform said services in exchange for monetary compensation. (Hmm, I never really thought about it that way before... I get to contribute to global warming and increase local visual pollution, and I get to pay for it?)

This is the only way to keep on top of my affairs. It's something within me plugging away when I should be scared shitless. I am scared, but only scared to diminished quantities of shit, not completely devoid of it.

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