I'm an alien, man. I don't understand anyone's anything.
- Henry Rollins
My previous entry set in motion a chain of events that resulted in me removing myself from the band I'd been playing with for about a year.
I took a timeout for the weekend to weigh in my options. I needed time to process everything with a clear perspective. After an open exchange I felt insulted, hurt and unappreciated. Ironic, seeing as that was probably the exact emotional response my words brought forth in the guys. Too much was already said and done to push any further as a team, so after careful thought I decided to take my leave. There's more to this story of course, but that's water under the bridge now.
I tended in my resignation over the phone. Organizing some sort of round-table farewell would've ended in contrived smiles and plastique well-wishing, which would have degraded us all by being obviously less than heartfelt at this point. We were all tired of talking. Tired of hearing each other speak.
I feel strangely comfortable with the whole thing. I leave them a stronger musical unit than they were before I entered the fray, and I can draw a sense of accomplishment from that. I wish them well and hope they find what they're looking for. I hope it pans out. I couldn't bring myself to say that if I knew in my heart the sentiment wasn't genuine. I hold the gents in high regard even though I battled a sense of being a visitor, an outsider for my entire stint with the band and never really allowed myself to grow roots. In some sense that was part of the appeal. To chart unfamilliar waters with no real sense of direction.
On the upside, being somewhat distanced means I move away from it all with surprising ease, a sense of relief even. I wish I could say there are absolutely no ill feelings, but I believe the situation was manipulated and while a lot was said, even more remains untold. Perhaps I intruded upon some perceived territory. Perhaps my influence caused a power transfer that wasn't welcome. Perhaps I stripped the rehearsal space of a sense of home away from home by introducing work ethic at the expense of having fun. Perhaps I tried to set goals that seemed over-reaching. I don't know. I'm guessing. I'll never know for sure.
But it doesn't really matter at this point. They go one way, I go another. Whatever baggage I leave with will fall off in due time. I have a lot of history with one of the guys and he remains one of my favorite people on the planet. I'd like to kid myself that this won't affect our new-found relationship, but without some sort of "social glue" to keep you on each other's radars it's so, so easy to fall out of touch. I hope our paths will cross from time to time in the future.
I'd have an easier time coming to grips with the aftermath of my departure if I didn't feel like I've wasted my time. Almost a year has passed and I don't play any better, sing any better, interact with people any better... I come away from this none the wiser and it's entirely my own fault. It's time to lock myself into the HQ, slip on the ol' lab coat and begin brewing strange musical concoctions on my lonesome again. Hopefully I'll prove myself wrong in the process.
More and more I second-guess the nature and very worth of these entries. While the original idea(l) might have been pious and spiritually rewarding, my words have served to only widen gaps and alienate me further. The line between honesty and hostility isn't thin, but it's become blurred enough to confuse even the writer himself. One could argue I've set aflame bridges that weren't sturdy to begin with, but smirking "Well, they weren't built to last anyway" while watching the flames rise is a stance I've taken before and I know exactly where it leads. Straining relationships to the breaking point just to see them swing in the wind is an arrogant, ignorant errand.
I've certainly ripped a great deal of dark matter out of me by pouring my heart into this journal, but that energy has disintegrated into the air around me and I find myself surrounded by a cloud of negativity. It seems to have impacted everything and everyone around me. It wasn't my original nor current intent, but I need to reap what I've sown and try to grow in the process.
Purging the septic tank on your front lawn has one effect and one alone: everything in and around your house will smell like shit. I need to get my creative juices flowing full-steam, lest I wish to suffer the odor of Eau de Buttcrack for a long time to come. I plan on getting busy immediately.