It's been a long time since I was inspired. Not just mildly prompted, but really inspired. I recall a time in my life when words were interesting. When applying concepts of a spiritual nature to my actual life was reality. I remember being inspired daily.

Fast forward four years or so. No longer can I pull off a twenty hour work week on a poverty income and get by. No longer can I tolerate debt. No longer do I have the luxury of engaging myself in texts, music, and substantive conversation. Life is quick, like the chirp of my cell phone and the speed of my son fleeing upstairs as soon as I turn my back.

Regiment, discipline, structure, never-ending duties, goals, responsibilities, and overextended commitments have clouded my intuitive sense of self. I never used to have to stop and think in order to stop and think. Now I have to relearn how to be introspective on those rare occasions where I might have a spare minute in which to attempt to enter a realm of introspection. There are bills to pay, calls to make, diapers to change, lawns to cut, registrations to renew, business matters to discuss, e-mails to read and send, and the damn trash needs to be taken out again. Life is good, but I'm a tad too numb for my liking. On the surface, thing couldn't be better. Got a great wife, a tremendous kid, a nice house. I dig my job at Lumberjack selling records. My label is steadily keeping me busy and giving me a sense of enjoyment. But I'm bogged down with detail, clamor, and distraction. I work so much by necessity. My wife works so we can eat. We have shifts in the house. I see her at meal times, and that is pretty much it. We have to talk about the necessary stuff -- who's doing what and going where and when, and oh yeah, don't forget to mail this or pick up that. Gotta pay the bills. Gotta start an IRA. Gotta pay off the appliances. Need to put in that overtime or I'll never get promoted, right? It's the economy, stupid. Right?...Yeah, right.

I understand sacrifice and accept it. I thrive on discipline and embrace it. But I live for interaction, passion, meaning, and purpose. I don't mean to sound like a Ray Cappo record here, but this is who I am. Interaction and relationships have been scarce because I am 'required' to do so much. Passion is still there, but is often quite because of the loud mouth of details and drudgery. Meaning is blurry and searching for definition. Purpose is clearly outlined, but often hard to feel, because frankly, I don't have time to feel anything.

I love running a label, and I'm thankful that I work in the music business. Anywhere else I'd be miserable. Other jobs have left me feeling like I want to be the sniper on the roof. But I miss being into music, without the business. I miss being in a band, playing live, and writing from my soul. I miss writing in my journal. That never happens anymore. The thoughts evaporate before I have the opportunity to flesh them out. The business aspect of music is inevitable for anyone who wants to be close to music as their livelihood. That doesn't make it any better. I hate thinking about numbers, although I do it well. I hate balancing my checkbook, although I'm damn good at it. I have to do the stuff I don't like to remain involved with what I do like. And it is what I do like that I constantly have to remind myself is central to what I wake up and do every day. What I do like is the music.

The Rev. Paul Bearer has done it again. Tonight I got the JOE COFFEE record and rocked it for the first time. I got the chills. The same chills that traversed through my body when SHEER TERROR'S "Love Songs For The Unloved" came out and I was inspired to write a whole book of poetry (entitled "Memoirs Of A Working Class Retard") mostly because of my reaction to that record. The same chills I got in high school when I heard SHEER TERROR'S "Just Can't Hate Enough" and realized that the human condition was for the most part an ugly one. That profound realization shaped my world view in such a way that I began to clearly delineate between right and wrong, good and evil, temporal and eternal. When I heard JOE COFFEE tonight I was reminded that it is because of those chills that I do what I do every day. I listened to Paul emit his gruff croon over the rock brought by JOE COFFEE and I began to actually 'feel' for the first time in a while. His words, his voice, and his delivery struck me. I felt that incredible transparency and vulnerability that links me to music and words. I identified with Paul's feelings of stumbling out of depravity and disillusionment only to discover that "no bridge, nor tunnel is showing me any mercy/ when the light at the end only winds up being Jersey". I think my tunnel leads to Detroit right about now. I identified with his self-appointed degree of a "curbside P.H.D.". I'm probably still on my curbside G.E.D. compared to Paul though.

I need those chills more often. I need the interference of art, emotion, spirit, and soul. I need the unscheduled arrival of introspection, reflection, and spiritual inventory. I need rock. I need hardcore. I need a vacation. I probably really need to go see the Cro-Mags again before they break up. I don't need more things to maintain and pay for. I don't need any more needless overtime. I need a date with my wife and an afternoon to continue teaching my son how to ride a skateboard. No, it is not the economy, stupid. It is soul, character, relationships, spirituality, and passion. It's the chills, stupid.

-- THORP, 7/25/02

Click here for previous diary entries.