(What do I want to Do?)

If you could have any job in the world, which job would it be?

Would you still want it if you had to, let's say... die at 75?

Would you still want it if you could never be the best in the world at it?

How about if you would never make more than the equivalent of what is $25,000 a year currently; even then?

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ok... what do I want...

...it can sort of be the question to end all questions, in a way. Seems most people around me are rather focused on that particular question. Throughout my life I've been sort of caught on it. It's another example of blessings and curses going hand in hand. I was blessed in that I seem to be able to do just about anything well, but the result is that I've never focused on one thing long enough to fully integrate it into part of my being. I can't say "I'm a lawyer." or "I'm an Engineer." or that I'm anything really. I'm just me. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but every now and again I want to be able to say that what I dedicate my life to helps to define who I am.

As the years have passed, I've boiled things down a bit... eliminated one thing after the next for various reasons. I've tried many things, and I've found that they were wrong for me... unsatisfying, shall we say - to put it lightly. Too, throughout all that hat sampling, I've also had to deal with my own head. Being legally insane is not all it's cracked up to be.

I have what I've dubbed "The Three 'M's". Music, Magick and Medicine. They've been my three main "wants". I've not been able to drop my focus on any of them... and so I've always ended up caught three ways, or like now... just at a simple standstill.

I've desired to be a Doctor since I was at least 10 or so. I was reading my mother's copy of Gray's Anatomy while other kids were reading Judy Blume and comic books. Thing is, I know that I desired to be a Doctor for all the wrong reasons. At first, I think that it was a way to get my mother to respect me. For some odd reason, people of her generation seem to revere doctors. It could be a doctor that had a C average in Med school and is a real prick, but to them, he's still God in a white coat. Then, of course, there was the money aspect. Being poor all my life, having money has always been rather attractive to me. My interest in human physiology has not diminished, but I've come to the conclusion that the Medicine "M" is one that just has to go. I've followed out that path in my head, and I know that in the end - even if I could follow the path for quite a while, through the schooling and such - I'd not be content. I only want the money for one reason (see the last "M" below), and the title to rub in my mother's face. The interest will never go, my fascination with the workings and quirks of the human carcass will always cause me to read the Merck Manual as a pastime, but the career plans have to be dropped.

As for the Magick "M"... The idea was to teach... do the college thing, get a degree in Occult Studies, and get myself a job at one University or another. I've been entirely submersed in the occult and religion in general since I was probably 9 or so. With Magick, you kind of get sucked down the path. Once you're open, you're open. As well, once you're on the path, you're no longer able to function very well in society. It changes you to the point of insanity. It can't be helped.

Along with the teaching idea came the book publishing idea. See, writing is magical. Not to go too far into that, but they just go together. Along with studying came the writing. Now, I'm full of information and have thousands of pages of writing. Do I teach? I suppose that I do, in a way; but do I have the papers that say I spent the money for the degree? Nope. Does it really matter that I don't teach in a University and make a salary from it? Nope.

The Magick "M" is a bit more difficult to drop though. When you have that piece of paper, people listen to you a lot more intently.... and when you want to share your knowledge with others in order to help them out, you just want people to listen before writing you off. Thinking about that though... if people want help... if they REALLY want help, it's not the author that matters, it's what's written in the book. When you really want help, you'll read the back of a cereal box if that's what helps you. The real difference between the rantings of a lunatic and a book written by a paper-wielding, upstanding member of society is the size of their wallets. The only reason to get that degree is in order to attract more people to your book... including people who will just use it as a decoration on their mantle. The only reason to get the degree is to line my pockets. So, there we go with the money thing again... greed is not good... and it's not worth sacrificing 10 years of my life in order to make myself attractive to superficial mantle decorators. So, I drop the Magick "M" and settle for lunacy.

That brings us to the Music "M". Here we have my first want. I think that I can trace the desire back to, at least, age 6. Here we also have another blessing/curse scenario. I'm not sure if I was born with it, or if I just picked it up because of always being surrounded by music and people who could keep time and sing on key, but music is something that's at the core of my being. I grew up banging on my legs with paintbrushes, butter knives, chopsticks, anything that even remotely resembled a pair of drumsticks, to the point of having little purple bruises all over my thighs. I started studying music rather early in life... first piano, then violin, clarinet, percussion, double bass, electric bass, guitar, I tried a gazillion instruments it seems, and I did well at playing them. I even went through a year of college with my Upright in hopes of maybe getting that piece of money earning paper. That stopped when I realized that college is not for musicians... it's for note readers and mathematically based music theory buffs. My war cry of "Music is not Math!" carried me right out that door. It was best that I got out before it ruined my love of the bass... and it came damn close. I might add that with my wonderful lunacy, college was just not doable. My brain just doesn't work that way. Not that I didn't get the grades, I only got one "B" (ended with a 3.82 average, that semester. I got a 4.0 the first semester, from what I can recall, and I took about 15 classes total... in my 2 semesters.), but I just couldn't get there. It's a long story, but depending on the day, I'm lucky if I can remember my own name, let alone get to a class. That sort of helps to rule out the Doctor and Professor careers as options for me as well.

Anyway... along with all the instruments and singing if I felt like it (and the horrible required college course of sight-singing), there was always the drumming. The first time I sat down at a drum kit I was about 14. I never had any lessons... but I was damn good. I even shocked myself a little bit. It just came naturally. See... drumming is so much a part of who I am I can't even really accurately describe it. Drumming is better than sex. (and yes, I've had better sex than most people I've ever met in my life) It's more natural to me than breathing. Maybe I should put it this way.... It makes me HAPPY. Nothing else in life does that... and no matter where my brain is at, even if I don't know my own name, I can drum. It's like breathing, even if sometimes I have difficulty, it never stops entirely, and if it did, I'd be out of this human carcass. Writing is like that too, but with one exception... the happiness part. Writing helps to keep me alive, Drumming helps me to really live.

Now let me get to the blessing/curse part. It can be seen as a blessing, having talent or ability... having something that just feels 100% right and perfect. The curse part? (Here we go again) Money. Like I said, I've always been on the low end of the income tree. It's not that you can't drum if you're poor. You can always bruise your thighs and annoy the pus out of everyone by continuously tapping and stomping on everything. You might even be able to save up enough for a used kit... but playing a drum kit is something that you cannot do quietly. You can't keep it in a low-income apartment complex... apartments are not only usually too small, but you can't make that sort of noise in them... and if you find a band to play with, it's usually your house they rehearse in because it's not exactly easy to transport a drum set. Add to that the fact that even if you didn't rehearse at home, you'd have to afford a car... and know how to drive. Add to that a brain which does not function in a manner which allows you to hold down a job, and which results in a continuous lack of funds. That makes it nearly impossible to change the situation. The blessing is suddenly the curse of "Why the fuck couldn't I have been born a singer instead?". Boils down to the fact that between not having the space, not having the money and not having the ability to keep my brain working a specific way in order to get the money ... I tap and stomp a whole hell of a lot, feel dead inside, and am constantly tempted to use some of that Magick in order to change things, even though I know that it'd be the worst thing I could possibly do.

Do I care if I'm the best? Nope. Would I scrape 10 years off of my life expectancy? Not a problem. Do I care if I never get fame and fortune and can just barely keep food on my plate? Nope. It's all that makes me happy. Having a second-rate garage band is just fine. Making $50 a night playing for drunk idiots in a stinking bar would be more than just fine. As long as I could play the music that makes me happy, on the instrument I was born to play.

Mick said that sometimes if you can't get what you want, you can get what you need.

What the fuck do you know, you rich, happy bastard?