open mic

I don't like the notion of self-made rules-the assertion of being better than someone else based on a scoring system you've created. Having rules generates a circular timesuck of: wrongdoing, guilt, repentance, re-dedication, wrongdoing, double guilt, etc. People become so obsessed with a conflict they've created, and perhaps it's the need of conquest, the need of heroism, or maybe we are just self-involved to the point of psychosis.

I do believe in positive guidelines though. Example being-my mantra of only spending time with people who can legitimately inspire me. Life is too short to hang out with shades of grey.

Last night I watched one of my exceptional friends play guitar and sing at an open mic night. All the acts that preceded him were pleasant to listen to, but lacking any aspect that rose above the artistic doldrums. A lot of light strumming, a lot of lyricism reminiscent of high school dance dilemmas, and overtly-emotive singing plagued each set. My compadre, Zach, got up, and he whispered into the mic, inaudibly. He wasn't up there for the viewers, that was obvious as the first note was struck. His face removed itself from the world around him, and sank into the murk of his soul. He drew everyone in; not because of showmanship, but for his blunt honesty. His world-weary delivery was haunting to the point of discomfort. He forced everyone to feel his misery, he broke through the reality tv playing on the screens behind me, broke through the commodified coffee drinks, the harlots with ruby red lipstick, and the heathens rolling their eyes.

Maybe that's what true art is-making everyone shut up for a second.