Williamsburg, Brooklyn, New York
I walked perhaps another eighty miles today to simply drop off two resumes: one to a guy who at first wanted to throw me out of the venue that was only open at the time because of work being done inside; the other to a kid mopping the floor of another venue who looked like he was half my age. That's become a bit of a theme over the past few days (besides the endless walking which will sort itself out once I get a better grasp of the city and subway, stop getting on the wrong trains, stop walking the wrong way, and stop getting lost): kid's who I give my resume to that look like they're half my age. I did see one older looking guy at one of the six places that I dropped my resume at in the last two days - the one who wanted to throw me out initially. Point is, I think my time in the Rock n' Roll world may have passed me by. Rock n' Roll is for the kids. It's not that I hadn't noticed it before in Texas, it's just that I was in it - can't see the forest for the trees type thing. And thinking back most of the 'older' guys were either in charge of something or someone important, i.e. they'd worked themselves into a position of some prominence - while I was slowly getting nowhere. The other 'old' one's were just plain cranky and pissed off that they were still in the industry, or they were druggies who didn't fit in in the 'real world' and wanted to have a 'lifestyle' at their age that included lots of drugs and alcohol, or they were just plain old dip shit drop outs. I, like I said, was working my way up there to oblivion with the old dropouts... slowly but surely. And it's not that I really give a shit that the Rock n' Roll world may have passed me by, I just give a shit that the one thing that I've been able to latch onto to get me by - barely - for the last little while in my life, seems to be passing me by, as I haven't quite ascended the Rock n' Roll heap to a position of prominence. Sure, I've got some skills and some know how and had become a supervisor and can keep famous actors out of the cocaine room if I need to, I just don't have a glorified job title that demands glorified money. And that's what it comes down to - money. I need money. I need a job that pays some decent money. And I'm feeling like the one little niche that I have (that I never really intended as a 'career') may be passing me by. And I'm thinking I may need some more specific money making skills and credentials here SOON. The problem is, is that's it's hard to even think about the future when rent is coming due again. And that's how you get 'stuck' doing something that you don't really want to be doing - it pays the immediate bills. But I'm feeling like I'd do just about anything right now that could relieve the stress of not having money. It follows me around like a plague - poverty. It's been the central diseased theme of my life and every meaningful relationship I've had - lack of money. Somebody bring me some money please. And it's rearing it's ugly head again in this relationship. And the lack of it, desperation for it, and fear that I may always be a fucking slave to the lack of it leaves me feeling a little bit ashamed, saddened and hopeless, as I keep feeling like if I hang on long enough in this life my proverbial ship will come in and I'll have a reason and a meaning and some stability and a thing that makes me happy to be doing. But that thought just keeps on seeming like an oasis, as I still don't really know what that 'thing' is that's supposed to make me happy. And I'm tired of just stumbling along hoping that one day I'll stumble into it. I'm tired of just holding on. I think that writing is about the closest thing that I have to that elusive 'thing' that will make me happy, that I really want to be doing. As when I think about writing - authors, books, magazines, newspapers, blogs - it gives me hope as it seems to be one of the few ways to transcend the pain and suffering in this life that I can tap into, as somehow, magically, the written word gives me hope. And hope is no small thing to come by in this life. So I'm looking at taking a year long certificate program in journalism at NYU that starts this summer to get some of those 'skills' that I was talking about. Let's just hope that I can make rent so that I'll still be here when summer rolls around. Until then I'll keep walking my ass off handing out my resume. Right now, nothing is happening. But it still feels like something... sort of.