Jazz bass is my intended major to study at the University of California. I started playing music at a young age but found my true calling with the bass, both electric and acoustic, at the start of college. I started playing bass because fellow music students needed a bass player for a recital they had to play. I learned my first bass line over a Wes Montgomery tune and became obsessed with the instrument. I have devoted my life since then to music, jazz, and learning all I can about bass. It has always been challenging, rewarding, and humbling. I have spent a vast majority of my time playing in ensembles in school, studying with world class bass players both inside and out of college, going to jam session in the area, and gigging as much as possible. Music has taught me discipline, self-respect, compassion, and the ability to truly find who I am. I have seen a glimpse of what it is to become a musician. Not a rock star, not an image, but someone who will stand by what he does regardless of the times, the styles, the gimmicks, and the dark side of the music industry. I have played with some of the best players in Los Angeles and it has only fueled me to become a better person and player. It has also taken me to different parts of the state, and has allowed me to meet amazing people from all over the world that have become life long friends. I feel that that is what music is all about; to share, grow, learn, and strive to find your voice.
I am a gigging bass player with a few steady gigs in downtown Los Angeles, as well as recording sessions and live bands that I am hired to play for. I have learned fast that to make it in music you need to be meticulous. You can not be late, must be friendly, confident, social, organized, and easy to work with. Being humble goes a long way as well. Working as a musician has also taught me the value of education. Some players say you don't need to go to college to be a great player, and they're right. You don't, but being a successful musician takes so much more than just being a great player. I feel that music school gives you a safe and friendly environment to learn the skills I listed above to make it in a hard profession. I have had lots of lessons both in and outside of the class room but I feel both are equally important.
But music is also much more than a profession or job to me. It is my life, and it has given back ten fold what I have put in and I know it will continue to do so as long as I put in the work. I have gained a new life, friends, memories, and a deeper understanding of who I am, the world, and who others are. I only wish to continue this journey at the finest institution I can.
Two years ago I contracted Lyme Disease in Japan. A few months after I came home from the trip in 2010 I began getting tendonitis, From there it went to extreme nerve pain, and within 3 months of the trip I could no longer drive, shower, brush my teeth, or do anything I was capable of before. I had to quit playing my bass for two years. I went undiagnosed for one year, and during that year no doctor could figure out what my diagnosis was. I didn't wait for the MD's to fix it and began researching. Through the internet I found a group of people who shared similar symptoms and stories as myself. I then linked all the information to Lyme Disease, and remembered that I had visited a deer park in Japan. It took lots of foot work, costs tens of thousands of dollars, dozens of doctors, multiple hospitalizations, endless pills, learning how to deal with chronic pain, losing my fiance, and diligence. I never gave up, I never stopped, until I had found out what the answer was, I fought for my life, and even after I had received the proper diagnosis I sill had to face treatment.
I took antibiotics for almost 2 years. At the end of the treatment I was put on IV antibiotics and was forced to sit in bed for 2 months and receive home infusions from a nurse. I also had a nurse help shower me, dress me, cook for me, wheel chair me around the block, and take me to appointments. I lost nearly 30 lbs. in a matter of 2 months. I became so ill on the treatment that I no longer had an appetite, couldn't walk , or care for myself. I was in and out of the hospital this time last year weighing only 125 lbs, with a heart rate in the 30's Multiple times I thought I wouldn't wake up, nor did I want to honestly.
Since the start of this year I have learned to walk again, eat, drive, run, go to school, play bass, socialize, date, dream, and have hope. I still live in chronic pain, but I will not let anyone or anything stop me from becoming the best musician I can. I want to share what I have learned through all this pain and suffering, and the best way I know how is through music. I am proud of who I am and what I have done, and I know that I can accomplish anything that I work hard enough for.
Music saved my life, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have it. I want to share this gift with everyone I can before I die, because I know that when I look back on my life that I want it to be worth something to me.
It is impossible to explain in mere words what I have been through. I remember applying to the UC system back when I first got sick. I couldn't type because the nerves in my hands and arms were always burning. I had a friend of mine type my essay over the phone for me. I got accepted to UCSD, but was unable to attend because I got a lot worse before I got better. I went through so many emotions of hate, anger, sadness, envy, bitterness...But I have learned to not hate. These things happen in life, and the only thing you can do is make good out of them. I hope someday that my hard work pays off and I can help people learn some of the things that I have learned, and also help those who are in the same situation as me or worse. I'm not motivated by money, status, vanity, or fame. These things really don't mean a whole lot to me anymore. Being honest, truly happy, hard working, compassionate, and open to others makes for a rich life. And that is what I want.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Good Advice
So I stood there, nervous, anxious, scared....I stood in front of on of the worlds greatest composer's asking a question. How should I phrase it? What words would sounds most intellectual? Will I sound like an idiot....But then I said fuck it...It's John Williams...I won't ever get a chance to ask someone like this again. *Ahem* "You have had the most amazing career around....I have a 2 part question. What piece of advice would you give to a young musician trying to make a career, and when you are writing a piece do you think about how its going to sound or what you're really feeling inside?" John looked at me and said "Well, the second part first...I always write with thinking about how its going to sound. Some composers don't take into consideration the limitations of instruments or how they players will interpret the work. But I write for it to sound good...The second part I will say this. I don't have much advice to give because what I have always heard about good advice is to pass it on. But I will say that goals are over rated. Most people...and especially young university music students get caught up in what they are trying to achieve. They do no focus on the now. If I had wondered or thought, or tried to imagine what my career would be like it would have never happened. I just sat there at did the best work I could do with what I had in front of me. And that was the most important."
I left...and I thought. I was sitting at the bar in the biltmore hotel. Hanging out with the past 30 years of movie recordings...what a trip. In the next 3 hours I would get the best history lesson not available in schools. They talk about it, they try to emulate it, but it doesn't happen in the class room. It happens when guys who have been playing in orchestras, circus bands, combos, movies, tv shows, and everything in between want to unload all the shit they've been saving for years. And it doesn't come easy, but man it is worth it.
In short this night ends with lots of alcohol, me getting a free $180 dinner, meeting beautiful violin players form all over the world, learning all the shit there is to know about everyone, and being happy. That is the most important part. Fuck the rest, just be who you are and don't give a fuck. It doesn't matter what everyone thinks of you, it only matters what the good people think of you.
I left...and I thought. I was sitting at the bar in the biltmore hotel. Hanging out with the past 30 years of movie recordings...what a trip. In the next 3 hours I would get the best history lesson not available in schools. They talk about it, they try to emulate it, but it doesn't happen in the class room. It happens when guys who have been playing in orchestras, circus bands, combos, movies, tv shows, and everything in between want to unload all the shit they've been saving for years. And it doesn't come easy, but man it is worth it.
In short this night ends with lots of alcohol, me getting a free $180 dinner, meeting beautiful violin players form all over the world, learning all the shit there is to know about everyone, and being happy. That is the most important part. Fuck the rest, just be who you are and don't give a fuck. It doesn't matter what everyone thinks of you, it only matters what the good people think of you.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
A Very Good Day
Music has taken me to places and let me experience things I never would have thought possible. I believe it will continue to do so. I got the chance to meet a great person and musician. He is what you would call a true bassist. His technique is flawless, his bowing is like singing, and his feel is astounding. I met him at a concert I sang for in a choir. He played bass for the orchestra, and I went to talk to him afterwards. Although we had just met we soon began talking like we had been friends for quite a while. Never have I met someone who was so willing to share all the prized information and lessons he had learned in music, as well as his generosity. We met for drinks and he told me all about his career, and what he knew about the bass. I had asked him if he gave lessons. "I don't want your money, I just want to teach you how to make the bass sing...you know when you hear someone playing with a bow and it just screeches...You can feel the tenseness in their hands." He then looked at me and said "The bass is a beautiful instrument, and when it sounds that way it just goes 'AAAAAAHHHHHHH'". At that moment I knew exactly what he meant. We talked a bit more about some other things and where he went to school etc.
We met up for lunch at a nice place a few weeks later and talked some more. It was a rainy Thursday and I had my bass in my car. We drove back to his house in the pouring rain. I followed him up and up the road, farther and farther away from the city and all the chaos, noise, and bustle that it held. When we reached his house I was in awe of how beautiful the surrounding mountains and greenery were. I unloaded my bass and we walked in. I met his girlfriend who plays cello and she welcomed me into their home. We walked into the living room....never had I found such an amazing place to practice. There was a Steinway piano and 2 very expensive basses on the wall next to it. The walls were a warm white, and beautiful pieces of art were hung on the walls. I could feel the energy that he and his girlfriend created in the house with their instruments. I felt very inspired and also intimated to play. I was in the presence of not one, but two masters of their instruments. I really had no business playing in their house. These people had traveled the world and dedicated their lives to their art. Although I am trying to accomplish the same I was no where near their level.
He helped me fix the bridge on my bass after he saw me play on it for a few minutes. He could tell and sense things about it that I didn't know where possible. After he adjusted the bridge he began to play it. "It's finicky in spots. Some notes on your fretboard aren't as good as others. The same with my bass." He began to play more and stopped. "Do you hear that?", "No" I replied. "The low E...when you play the low E and cover the G string the sound shuts down. It is sympathetically vibrating to help the sound." He also told me that every note has a perfect spot on the string to bow with and if you slide your bow down the strings it will catch it, as if it is meant to be there. I really couldn't believe he had completely dissected my bass in a matter of minutes. He then showed me how to hold a french bow, and it was a bit different than the way I had been taught before but felt great. We sight read some music and played a blues. I was embarrassed to miss a lot of the notes when we read but he was patient "You're not a reader huh?" he said. "I'm working on it..." I smiled. He showed me some more music he had done for movies. Also some scores that John Williams had given him to play. It was a history lesson in the art of recording music for TV and Film.
But then he took my bass and played it again with his bow. He made my cheap plywood Chinese bass sing with the sorrow of a million broken hearts, so beautiful yet so sad. I couldn't believe the sound that he made come from what I had been playing for a few years. It flowed, it sang, it breathed with the intensity and quality of a fine instrument. After that he offered me a glass of beer. We went out to the back and talked more. I told him about what I had been through, all the pain and suffering, and dealing with Lyme disease and chronic pain. I told him about what I wanted to do with music, about how I was engaged, what had happened the past 2 years, and how I was so honored and grateful to meet as amazing a person as he was. I told him that I am always in physical pain and the only time it stops is when I play music, and it's the most beautiful in the world. I asked if he knew the tune Beautiful Love, and he said he doesn't remember names but if he heard it he might know it. So I offered to play it for him.
We walked back inside and I picked up my bass. It was the first time that kind of feeling had ever happened with picking up the instrument. I was going to play for him, but I was also going to show him who I was. I was going to speak to him through my bass and I knew he would listen. Everything seemed to work, the bass felt like it was just apart of me and when I wanted to do something it did it. It was really some of the finest playing I had ever done at that point I feel like. It wasn't perfect, but even when I missed a note, or wasn't on pitch I knew he knew what I was trying to say and that it was ok. Afterwards he helped me load my bass into my car and I asked him, "Do you really think I can do this? Am I good enough to be a professional?" He looked at me and said "You're very talented and I think you can, but you're starting late in life. I'm not the best teacher because I wasn't the best student, but whenever I can I will teach you what I know."
We met up for lunch at a nice place a few weeks later and talked some more. It was a rainy Thursday and I had my bass in my car. We drove back to his house in the pouring rain. I followed him up and up the road, farther and farther away from the city and all the chaos, noise, and bustle that it held. When we reached his house I was in awe of how beautiful the surrounding mountains and greenery were. I unloaded my bass and we walked in. I met his girlfriend who plays cello and she welcomed me into their home. We walked into the living room....never had I found such an amazing place to practice. There was a Steinway piano and 2 very expensive basses on the wall next to it. The walls were a warm white, and beautiful pieces of art were hung on the walls. I could feel the energy that he and his girlfriend created in the house with their instruments. I felt very inspired and also intimated to play. I was in the presence of not one, but two masters of their instruments. I really had no business playing in their house. These people had traveled the world and dedicated their lives to their art. Although I am trying to accomplish the same I was no where near their level.
He helped me fix the bridge on my bass after he saw me play on it for a few minutes. He could tell and sense things about it that I didn't know where possible. After he adjusted the bridge he began to play it. "It's finicky in spots. Some notes on your fretboard aren't as good as others. The same with my bass." He began to play more and stopped. "Do you hear that?", "No" I replied. "The low E...when you play the low E and cover the G string the sound shuts down. It is sympathetically vibrating to help the sound." He also told me that every note has a perfect spot on the string to bow with and if you slide your bow down the strings it will catch it, as if it is meant to be there. I really couldn't believe he had completely dissected my bass in a matter of minutes. He then showed me how to hold a french bow, and it was a bit different than the way I had been taught before but felt great. We sight read some music and played a blues. I was embarrassed to miss a lot of the notes when we read but he was patient "You're not a reader huh?" he said. "I'm working on it..." I smiled. He showed me some more music he had done for movies. Also some scores that John Williams had given him to play. It was a history lesson in the art of recording music for TV and Film.
But then he took my bass and played it again with his bow. He made my cheap plywood Chinese bass sing with the sorrow of a million broken hearts, so beautiful yet so sad. I couldn't believe the sound that he made come from what I had been playing for a few years. It flowed, it sang, it breathed with the intensity and quality of a fine instrument. After that he offered me a glass of beer. We went out to the back and talked more. I told him about what I had been through, all the pain and suffering, and dealing with Lyme disease and chronic pain. I told him about what I wanted to do with music, about how I was engaged, what had happened the past 2 years, and how I was so honored and grateful to meet as amazing a person as he was. I told him that I am always in physical pain and the only time it stops is when I play music, and it's the most beautiful in the world. I asked if he knew the tune Beautiful Love, and he said he doesn't remember names but if he heard it he might know it. So I offered to play it for him.
We walked back inside and I picked up my bass. It was the first time that kind of feeling had ever happened with picking up the instrument. I was going to play for him, but I was also going to show him who I was. I was going to speak to him through my bass and I knew he would listen. Everything seemed to work, the bass felt like it was just apart of me and when I wanted to do something it did it. It was really some of the finest playing I had ever done at that point I feel like. It wasn't perfect, but even when I missed a note, or wasn't on pitch I knew he knew what I was trying to say and that it was ok. Afterwards he helped me load my bass into my car and I asked him, "Do you really think I can do this? Am I good enough to be a professional?" He looked at me and said "You're very talented and I think you can, but you're starting late in life. I'm not the best teacher because I wasn't the best student, but whenever I can I will teach you what I know."
Friday, October 5, 2012
Putter's Lesson
I began to practice in the morning a few days ago on the bass. I was doing some bowing work and needed some rosin but didn't have any. I called a friend of mine, Putter Smith, to ask if I could borrow some. He said sure thing, to come by in 20 minutes. I walked over to his place about a block away and went back to his studio. To make a brief description of Putter I would say that he is the warmest, kindest, looking man you could ever see. And beyond that this man knows his music. He oozes it. And not just the notes, or the technique, or the nuts and bolts. He knows the ESSENCE of music. What extends beyond any book ,class, lesson, or etude. You can feel his playing in a very special way when he picks up the bass.
I asked him if I could watch his practice routine and he agreed. He started with a 3 finger technique that involved attacking each separate string with each different finger. He would start on open strings and hit the E with his index, A with his middle, and D with his ring. He would then skip the next string and repeat the process till he cycled through all variations. Once he was done with that he started the cycle with his middle finger, and once he finished that he start the cycle with his ring finger. After he finished playing open strings he began running scales up and down the neck. After the scales came the arpeggios, and to top it all off he would do it staccato at the end. It was the mos intense 10 minutes I had ever seen. The energy in that room skyrocketed the second he started. It was a true art from to see a master hone his craft. "I do this everyday, and once I start I don't stop." He explained about the long process that it took to reach a point where it would get easier, and then as soon as it did he would change up the exercises. I told him how amazing it sounded and how great it was to see it. He replied "well just wait...I'm not done yet. I sight read some stuff out of this book. I usually work on it for a month or two to where it gets musical. But it sounds horrible until then."
I thought he was joking, I don't think I've ever heard Putter sound bad...But he opened up the book and started to bow this music. It was all thumb position, and hard shit. It sounded so bad....like a kid had picked up the bass for the first time and tried to sight read. The bow didn't connect in spots, the intonation was off, the time faltered in spots. But he never stopped playing. Every now and again he would yell "Oh man, I'm fucking this up bad..." But he kept going. "I submit myself to this. I keep going until it ends no matter how bad it sounds. I have to force myself to get through it, and after the 2 months it gets to the point where it starts to sound like music" I was really surprised...I was sure he would be able to do this stuff...but I asked him if it was written for bass. "Oh no...this is a classical trumpet concerto book." It was all in treble cleft and insane leaps all over. It looked intense.
He then taught me a bowing exercise that involved making a consistent sound across all bowing points. Closer to the fretboard the bowing is louder with less movement. But the lower you go towards the bridge the less speed you need to create the same sound. I would start bowing near the fretboard and then count how many beats it took to get to the frog of the bow. Once I did that I then shift positions to the middle of the strings between the bridge and fretboard. I then had to count how many beats it took to get the same volume in that place as the last one. It added about 3 beats, and near the bridge added about 4.
After that we talked a little bit about music and his experiences. When I was leaving he told me he is envious of people who quit music. "I really admire someone who can quit. I wish I had the balls to do it, but I'm too scared. Music is what I do, and it is a part of who I am. It is a terrible profession, but if you know it is your only choice then it is your only choice."
That was a very special day.
I asked him if I could watch his practice routine and he agreed. He started with a 3 finger technique that involved attacking each separate string with each different finger. He would start on open strings and hit the E with his index, A with his middle, and D with his ring. He would then skip the next string and repeat the process till he cycled through all variations. Once he was done with that he started the cycle with his middle finger, and once he finished that he start the cycle with his ring finger. After he finished playing open strings he began running scales up and down the neck. After the scales came the arpeggios, and to top it all off he would do it staccato at the end. It was the mos intense 10 minutes I had ever seen. The energy in that room skyrocketed the second he started. It was a true art from to see a master hone his craft. "I do this everyday, and once I start I don't stop." He explained about the long process that it took to reach a point where it would get easier, and then as soon as it did he would change up the exercises. I told him how amazing it sounded and how great it was to see it. He replied "well just wait...I'm not done yet. I sight read some stuff out of this book. I usually work on it for a month or two to where it gets musical. But it sounds horrible until then."
I thought he was joking, I don't think I've ever heard Putter sound bad...But he opened up the book and started to bow this music. It was all thumb position, and hard shit. It sounded so bad....like a kid had picked up the bass for the first time and tried to sight read. The bow didn't connect in spots, the intonation was off, the time faltered in spots. But he never stopped playing. Every now and again he would yell "Oh man, I'm fucking this up bad..." But he kept going. "I submit myself to this. I keep going until it ends no matter how bad it sounds. I have to force myself to get through it, and after the 2 months it gets to the point where it starts to sound like music" I was really surprised...I was sure he would be able to do this stuff...but I asked him if it was written for bass. "Oh no...this is a classical trumpet concerto book." It was all in treble cleft and insane leaps all over. It looked intense.
He then taught me a bowing exercise that involved making a consistent sound across all bowing points. Closer to the fretboard the bowing is louder with less movement. But the lower you go towards the bridge the less speed you need to create the same sound. I would start bowing near the fretboard and then count how many beats it took to get to the frog of the bow. Once I did that I then shift positions to the middle of the strings between the bridge and fretboard. I then had to count how many beats it took to get the same volume in that place as the last one. It added about 3 beats, and near the bridge added about 4.
After that we talked a little bit about music and his experiences. When I was leaving he told me he is envious of people who quit music. "I really admire someone who can quit. I wish I had the balls to do it, but I'm too scared. Music is what I do, and it is a part of who I am. It is a terrible profession, but if you know it is your only choice then it is your only choice."
That was a very special day.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Long time
It has been a while since I have written to you, to talk about the things that have been brewing in this head of mine. I've been busy, really busy. I've been at school everyday playing, I've been at jam sessions playing, I've been in the practice room shedding, I've been in the scene trying to stake a claim on a career I am trying to build. I've met some really cool people, and have had some great experiences. Unfortunately my brain still seems to keep thinking at a deeper level. It doesn't stop. I guess once you've experienced severe trauma then you re never the same. I remember the days when I didn't think about how much longer do I have, or what can I do all the time to make this life worth living. For those of you reading this for the first time, I got very sick with lyme disease. And in the end it doesn't really matter what the fuck you call it. I got sick, when it hurts so bad and you feel like you're dying it really doesn't matter what it is. Pain is pain, there is no specific term to help make it any easier.
But my world isn't the same, no matter how much I try and turn it off I can't. I see how people act now, I see how people think, I see how society works, and I don't fucking get it. I wish I could smack everyone in the face and tell them, "Do you know it's going to end? Do you know one day you will die and it will come sooner than you think? And when you die do you want to look back at all the times you cared what others thought of you, or were ashamed of yourself, or embarrassed of yourself, or hurt others, or hurt yourself? Or how you were obsessed with vanity, or materials, or money....and now you're on your last breath none of that matters? You can't take things with you, you can't take looks with you, the only thing you can take is the memories you have made in this life and the connections with those you've met. But people get caught up in egos, or caught in doubt and regret. They project it onto others, and subject themselves to their own punishment. I just don't understand people anymore. As a society, as a whole, as a functioning unit. There are so many things that are not important nor helpful to people that grab so much money, attention, and effort from people in life. I wonder if it is in our nature to suffer, or feel bad....
I smile a lot, I laugh a lot, and I try and show as much love as I can. I still have an ego, after all the shit I have been through sometimes it still comes out. I've gotten better at realizing that it doesn't serve me, and that I need to stop it asap. It's hard, especially when you are in pain everyday and no one can see it. I am not talking about emotional pain, I am talking about physical pain. I used to think that physical pain wasn't as bad as emotional pain, because the physical pain went away....but fuck that. This shit hasn't gone away for almost 3 years, and I am convinced at this point it never will. I just deal. I grind my fucking teeth, I barely sleep, I get depressed, angry, lonely, sad, scared...but I keep going. Everyday seems like a challenge. Music is really the only thing that makes it worth it anymore, I would say love but fuck...that shit is hard to come by. And even when I do find someone it is impossible for them to understand. It feels like a big barrier.
I got to rehearse today with a guy for an Irish music festival next week. I didn't know what to expect, but it was amazing. The chord changes were simple, the time was all 4/4, and the tempos weren't fast. But the music was pure energy. I could feel his spirit in the way he played his guitar, and in the way the music moved. It made me feel alive, and I could tell why this music is still alive and well in the culture. It really made this shitty week worth it. I also got a lot of compliments about a composition I did on bass. It really told the story of what I had been through without actually having to speak a word. I know I can become a great musician, but My hand always hurt, my arms always hurt, and I just get tired. Its just a lot of pain.
Pain is interesting. Why does it exist? I mean, pain is a sensor, it is information to the brain. In fact it is the thing the brain processes first. When you are in pain your brain automatically demands you to recognize it. It doesn't stop. As long as the pain is always there then your brain always has to process that information. And the more you try and shove it down the more your brain has to process. I've gotten so used to ignoring it, it's insane. I feel like screaming all the time, or throwing things. It drives me fucking nuts. But even though as much pain as I am in, and as much shit I have to deal with I feel like this needed to happen. I feel like I needed to go through this hardship to really understand life, and to grab onto a purpose. Before I was somewhat aimless, and not sturdy in my convictions. Anyway seemed to be a good way if it was promising. I wasn't positive or sure enough of myself to dedicate my life to one craft, music. But now I know that it is the only thing I can do, and everyone else has their path but I have to follow mine. And it has only made music sweeter, deeper, heavier, lighter, happier, sadder, just better.
I know you have pain in your life. It may be small, it may be large, it may be there sometimes or all the time. But what I want you to do is take a lesson from your pain. Realize that everyone else has the same pain inside of them, that you are no different. Not more special, not any less...equal. You bleed the same as me, or him, or her. Don't let your pain take your humanity away, don't let it ruin your spirit. If someone has hurt you along the way don't give them the satisfaction of changing your life with hurt. Because at the end of the day when someone really isn't a good person and hurts people, its just sad. It is sad that that person is so fucked up inside that they can't see it themselves. And believe me, in this life or the next they will get theirs. Let your pain humble you, free your mind and body from all the bullshit that people deal with. The vanity, the fakeness, lies, the materialism, the egos....People use all of these things to deal with pain, but it doesn't help them. Be better than that, don't let pain create more pain.
I wonder what Charles Mingus thought about when he was dying....when he couldn't play the bass. How he didn't let it destroy him. I know how my life ends, and it isn't fun. It's a long slow process. Where your body deteriorates and the things you love to do you can't anymore, the people you used to see don't come around anymore, and the love you have in your life isn't there anymore. It's hard to think about when it has already happened once. I know it's going to happen again and I don't want it to....
But my world isn't the same, no matter how much I try and turn it off I can't. I see how people act now, I see how people think, I see how society works, and I don't fucking get it. I wish I could smack everyone in the face and tell them, "Do you know it's going to end? Do you know one day you will die and it will come sooner than you think? And when you die do you want to look back at all the times you cared what others thought of you, or were ashamed of yourself, or embarrassed of yourself, or hurt others, or hurt yourself? Or how you were obsessed with vanity, or materials, or money....and now you're on your last breath none of that matters? You can't take things with you, you can't take looks with you, the only thing you can take is the memories you have made in this life and the connections with those you've met. But people get caught up in egos, or caught in doubt and regret. They project it onto others, and subject themselves to their own punishment. I just don't understand people anymore. As a society, as a whole, as a functioning unit. There are so many things that are not important nor helpful to people that grab so much money, attention, and effort from people in life. I wonder if it is in our nature to suffer, or feel bad....
I smile a lot, I laugh a lot, and I try and show as much love as I can. I still have an ego, after all the shit I have been through sometimes it still comes out. I've gotten better at realizing that it doesn't serve me, and that I need to stop it asap. It's hard, especially when you are in pain everyday and no one can see it. I am not talking about emotional pain, I am talking about physical pain. I used to think that physical pain wasn't as bad as emotional pain, because the physical pain went away....but fuck that. This shit hasn't gone away for almost 3 years, and I am convinced at this point it never will. I just deal. I grind my fucking teeth, I barely sleep, I get depressed, angry, lonely, sad, scared...but I keep going. Everyday seems like a challenge. Music is really the only thing that makes it worth it anymore, I would say love but fuck...that shit is hard to come by. And even when I do find someone it is impossible for them to understand. It feels like a big barrier.
I got to rehearse today with a guy for an Irish music festival next week. I didn't know what to expect, but it was amazing. The chord changes were simple, the time was all 4/4, and the tempos weren't fast. But the music was pure energy. I could feel his spirit in the way he played his guitar, and in the way the music moved. It made me feel alive, and I could tell why this music is still alive and well in the culture. It really made this shitty week worth it. I also got a lot of compliments about a composition I did on bass. It really told the story of what I had been through without actually having to speak a word. I know I can become a great musician, but My hand always hurt, my arms always hurt, and I just get tired. Its just a lot of pain.
Pain is interesting. Why does it exist? I mean, pain is a sensor, it is information to the brain. In fact it is the thing the brain processes first. When you are in pain your brain automatically demands you to recognize it. It doesn't stop. As long as the pain is always there then your brain always has to process that information. And the more you try and shove it down the more your brain has to process. I've gotten so used to ignoring it, it's insane. I feel like screaming all the time, or throwing things. It drives me fucking nuts. But even though as much pain as I am in, and as much shit I have to deal with I feel like this needed to happen. I feel like I needed to go through this hardship to really understand life, and to grab onto a purpose. Before I was somewhat aimless, and not sturdy in my convictions. Anyway seemed to be a good way if it was promising. I wasn't positive or sure enough of myself to dedicate my life to one craft, music. But now I know that it is the only thing I can do, and everyone else has their path but I have to follow mine. And it has only made music sweeter, deeper, heavier, lighter, happier, sadder, just better.
I know you have pain in your life. It may be small, it may be large, it may be there sometimes or all the time. But what I want you to do is take a lesson from your pain. Realize that everyone else has the same pain inside of them, that you are no different. Not more special, not any less...equal. You bleed the same as me, or him, or her. Don't let your pain take your humanity away, don't let it ruin your spirit. If someone has hurt you along the way don't give them the satisfaction of changing your life with hurt. Because at the end of the day when someone really isn't a good person and hurts people, its just sad. It is sad that that person is so fucked up inside that they can't see it themselves. And believe me, in this life or the next they will get theirs. Let your pain humble you, free your mind and body from all the bullshit that people deal with. The vanity, the fakeness, lies, the materialism, the egos....People use all of these things to deal with pain, but it doesn't help them. Be better than that, don't let pain create more pain.
I wonder what Charles Mingus thought about when he was dying....when he couldn't play the bass. How he didn't let it destroy him. I know how my life ends, and it isn't fun. It's a long slow process. Where your body deteriorates and the things you love to do you can't anymore, the people you used to see don't come around anymore, and the love you have in your life isn't there anymore. It's hard to think about when it has already happened once. I know it's going to happen again and I don't want it to....
Friday, September 7, 2012
The underlying theme
There are themes in this world. There are messages that some ignore and some answer, it really depends on who you are. I used to think that there are those who are differnt. Some people get it and some people don't, but now I really think that everyone gets it but they choose to ignore it. We spend so much time dealing with actions and formalities tha don't serve us. On top of that we have the media and socity making us try to be something we are not. It really isn't all it is cracked up to be. Perhaps you want fame, fortune, or some recognition. But those things don't matter unless you have it in yourself. If you reallly believe in yourself and all the struggles and bullshit you have been through.
I have met so many amazing people lately. People who stand amongst a few in the population, and they know it. But they know the hard work, and the dedication, and what it really takes. These cats are gold. But this gold is just like you and me, struck from the depths of their souls. It isn't special, it is just real. I feel like this world tries to stop who you are, or who you can be. And I wonder why....is it our human nature to exlude...or judge...or segregate.....Why? We are all the same, we bleed, we hurt, we hope, we dream, and we die. There is no special exception at the end no matter who or how much you accomplish. Just live for who you are and what you stand for. Don't let this world rule your soul.
I have met so many amazing people lately. People who stand amongst a few in the population, and they know it. But they know the hard work, and the dedication, and what it really takes. These cats are gold. But this gold is just like you and me, struck from the depths of their souls. It isn't special, it is just real. I feel like this world tries to stop who you are, or who you can be. And I wonder why....is it our human nature to exlude...or judge...or segregate.....Why? We are all the same, we bleed, we hurt, we hope, we dream, and we die. There is no special exception at the end no matter who or how much you accomplish. Just live for who you are and what you stand for. Don't let this world rule your soul.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Every once an a while I get hit with the why do I play music question. At first perhaps my intentions were impure, you might want to play to be good, or be popular, or become it seems cool. But whatever that reason was it has vanished. It has become an obsession that knows no limit. It has consumed my everday thoughts and actions, maybe I am getting to close....maybe this is what drives people too crazy. I am not sure what to say or do about, but it has been getting bothersome.
I play for that feeling, that makes you have goosebumps, and makes you light headed, your heart beat faster, and to be able to express yourself without the need for judgement. But for some reason it has become all about that. I get glmipses, of where my playing is what it could be. Or who I am turning into, but most of the time it is relfecting on the outcome. I feel a pressure and I don't know what to do with it. I am reading Effortless Mastery right now and thank god someone else feels this way. I hate being judged, but I do it all the time. I need to be kind to myself...if I don't play great then I need to let it go...
I play for that feeling, that makes you have goosebumps, and makes you light headed, your heart beat faster, and to be able to express yourself without the need for judgement. But for some reason it has become all about that. I get glmipses, of where my playing is what it could be. Or who I am turning into, but most of the time it is relfecting on the outcome. I feel a pressure and I don't know what to do with it. I am reading Effortless Mastery right now and thank god someone else feels this way. I hate being judged, but I do it all the time. I need to be kind to myself...if I don't play great then I need to let it go...
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Everything happens for a reason?
It has been said many times before by many people all over the world. How many people take it to heart? Most people I hear say these things are talking about someone else s tragedy. They hear about it and nod and say the mantra that has been passed down for ages. I wonder who came up with it...Did the person who did really have a tragedy happen or something that forced them to grow in their life? I believe everything does happen for a reason. There are different extents. You get fat because you eat too much, or you get tired because you don't sleep too much.. But then there is the reason people say it. You lose your fiance, you don't get that job, or you can't go to school. Some of those things are common for a lot of people, but then there are the things that really force you to not say everything happens for a reason. Genocide, chronic illness, rape, slavery, corruption, conspiracy....
In my case I had a severe experience with Lyme. I lost my friends, my fiance, my school, my music, my life for a few years. I am thankful it is coming back. But it is hard to accept it. Someways I feel good about what I have done, and where I have gone. I think I am proudest of the person I have evolved into. Life isn't the same anymore, and it never will be. I think I've talked about it before but it is like the first time you found out the tooth fairy is fake, Santa isn't real, all dogs don't go to heaven (haha) But there is a lesson in everything. I think these horrible things happen to teach us. To keep us human. Not everyone responds, hell most people don't respond. If it isn't on their radar or affecting them personally they really don't give a shit. But then there are the minority who understand, or at least try to. It truly is the human spirit. People struggling to be, and to achieve what they can in the face of trials. Sometimes for some people that struggle is just be be. Not to be famous, or rich, or popular, or successful. But simply to be able to wake up and walk, or eat, or talk, or enjoy a movie. People don't like to think about these things but I try and make them.
I was in the hospital one time. My heart was failing. It had been a rough battle and I was very sick of fighting. I really didn't want to continue. I received my last rights from my priest at the church my dad goes to. I saw him the other day and he gave me communion and we talked. I wasn't a very avid believer in God before I got ill, but now I have a faith. Because at the end of the day whether it be God or Buddha or whatever that is all there is. There is nothing definite, nothing positive in this world. It is ever changing and unforgiving at times. But there are diamonds in the rough. He told me that everyone has a plan, and that it wasn't my time. I had more work to do. I honestly believe that. I feel like a purpose has been laid out for me. I took something from the bad, and I think that is why everyone happens for a reason. I get it now. I don't want to sound like a cocky asshole but I look past the bullshit for what it is. Bullshit. And there is so much of it in everyday life, some necessary and most not. These things happen in life to teach us, to keep us human, compassionate, and kind to each other. Still most people ignore it, but I'm not doing it for them. I am doing it for me.If the message I send never gets heard I will still write it, because it is what I need to do. I really appreciate the people who do get it, and I can filter out the BS with them. I dunno man, I feel like I am spewing a lot of bull, but whatever. I know I have work to do. I just need this vessel of my body to be able to keep up with my heart and spirit. It's like reaching for a note but you miss it by a half step. You can still get the point across, but you still need to work to be able nail next time...or just move down a fret :)
I feel like Jazz has taught me a lot about these lessons too. It is all interconnected. What a beautiful art form man, truly a gift from the gods. Some people don;t dig it because there aren't good lyrics, or it's outdated, or whatever. Fuck that man, this is gold. Never have I met such good people and such raw energy coming from any other facet of life. It is intangible but the most exhilarating experience ever. But it is the same with the bigger picture, most people don't want to see it. But those who do....are special. I just hope that I can use these busted ass hands and this warped brain of mine to make something that can make people go "Wow" and hopefully start to get it, whatever it is. I guess it is a lot to ask for, but I love that energy.
Just remember how lucky you are, yes you reading this. Everything does happen for a reason, and please don't let that reason be a waste.
On a side note I am happy to be starting school again and playing lot. It has been a while since I've been in a music program.. Best times of my life.
In my case I had a severe experience with Lyme. I lost my friends, my fiance, my school, my music, my life for a few years. I am thankful it is coming back. But it is hard to accept it. Someways I feel good about what I have done, and where I have gone. I think I am proudest of the person I have evolved into. Life isn't the same anymore, and it never will be. I think I've talked about it before but it is like the first time you found out the tooth fairy is fake, Santa isn't real, all dogs don't go to heaven (haha) But there is a lesson in everything. I think these horrible things happen to teach us. To keep us human. Not everyone responds, hell most people don't respond. If it isn't on their radar or affecting them personally they really don't give a shit. But then there are the minority who understand, or at least try to. It truly is the human spirit. People struggling to be, and to achieve what they can in the face of trials. Sometimes for some people that struggle is just be be. Not to be famous, or rich, or popular, or successful. But simply to be able to wake up and walk, or eat, or talk, or enjoy a movie. People don't like to think about these things but I try and make them.
I was in the hospital one time. My heart was failing. It had been a rough battle and I was very sick of fighting. I really didn't want to continue. I received my last rights from my priest at the church my dad goes to. I saw him the other day and he gave me communion and we talked. I wasn't a very avid believer in God before I got ill, but now I have a faith. Because at the end of the day whether it be God or Buddha or whatever that is all there is. There is nothing definite, nothing positive in this world. It is ever changing and unforgiving at times. But there are diamonds in the rough. He told me that everyone has a plan, and that it wasn't my time. I had more work to do. I honestly believe that. I feel like a purpose has been laid out for me. I took something from the bad, and I think that is why everyone happens for a reason. I get it now. I don't want to sound like a cocky asshole but I look past the bullshit for what it is. Bullshit. And there is so much of it in everyday life, some necessary and most not. These things happen in life to teach us, to keep us human, compassionate, and kind to each other. Still most people ignore it, but I'm not doing it for them. I am doing it for me.If the message I send never gets heard I will still write it, because it is what I need to do. I really appreciate the people who do get it, and I can filter out the BS with them. I dunno man, I feel like I am spewing a lot of bull, but whatever. I know I have work to do. I just need this vessel of my body to be able to keep up with my heart and spirit. It's like reaching for a note but you miss it by a half step. You can still get the point across, but you still need to work to be able nail next time...or just move down a fret :)
I feel like Jazz has taught me a lot about these lessons too. It is all interconnected. What a beautiful art form man, truly a gift from the gods. Some people don;t dig it because there aren't good lyrics, or it's outdated, or whatever. Fuck that man, this is gold. Never have I met such good people and such raw energy coming from any other facet of life. It is intangible but the most exhilarating experience ever. But it is the same with the bigger picture, most people don't want to see it. But those who do....are special. I just hope that I can use these busted ass hands and this warped brain of mine to make something that can make people go "Wow" and hopefully start to get it, whatever it is. I guess it is a lot to ask for, but I love that energy.
Just remember how lucky you are, yes you reading this. Everything does happen for a reason, and please don't let that reason be a waste.
On a side note I am happy to be starting school again and playing lot. It has been a while since I've been in a music program.. Best times of my life.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
The Unsung Hero
In this world there are people that catch everyone's attention. It depends on what level of talent, or charisma they have, or perhaps good looks or fashion. But this doesn't go to them, this doesn't go to the ones who are easy to spot, easy to trace, and easy to love. This song goes to the ones who have it hard, who are warriors....Who face day in and out with a conviction that can only be unlocked by an honest heart and an open mind. A person who has waded through the bullshit, that knows what is important.
The person who can't walk without crutches everyday, but has to. The woman who can't use her arms but continues to strive for a goal. Any human being who has had life throw the biggest fucking curve ball and knock them on their ass and tried to make them quit, tried to make them end, tried to stop their existence....
This goes out to the ones who said no...and not only said no but said a fuck you, I am still going to be the human being that I was born and destined to be. There are some things in this world that are so powerful and impossible to comprehend, and some people will never come close to touching it, or experiencing it. I know not everyone wants to be stimulated all the time, or inspired, or activated, or provoked, or inclined to feel. But dam it man I feel like that all the time....I always feel some deeper connection to something that needs to happen. I can't shut my brain off, and I don't know why. I am not sure if it is a curse or a gift.
I'll be honest, sometimes I feel bad. Sometimes I feel real bad....My hands aches that I can barely pick up my bass, let alone brush my teeth. Sometimes My legs hurt so bad I cringe when I have to walk up a flight of stairs. Sometimes I am so nauseated that the thought of eating another meal again makes shutter. And I think the worst part of it all is that sometimes I feel bad for going through this. I feel bad because it happened to me, like a pain, like a loss, like a heartache. It is hard to move on sometimes, and forget about lost time, a lost love, and lost opportunities. I work hard to move forward and try and stake a future for myself, but I am never sure where I will go or how I will end up. I am just soloing over life's changes. Its scary man, real scary. Scary to think who and where I am now. Scary to think how it was before.
I am thankful to God that I can do the things I still love, because I never thought I would get the chance again. But it's just that much harder. I hope that my efforts can be recognized by those around me, but ultimately I think I need to recognize them. I don't need your approval, I need my own.
I had told a friend of mine about how I went to the edge of my sanity one time. That I had been in a place where I never thought I would have come back, and I did. He thought it was awesome....he wanted to have the same experience. He even told me he considered becoming addicted to drugs to reach where I had gone, and I don't think he was joking either. He said that it was awesome that I had gone through that, that I was no longer like most people. That I could no longer relate to most people....I found a lot of truth in that. I have learned a lot, and have tried to use my experience in a positive manner. I do find it hard to relate to others now....almost impossible at times. It's like finding out Santa Claus isn't real when you're still in kindergarten. You want to tell all your classmates but they don't believe you. They think you're crazy....because they all know Santa is real. Then you're alone...you know the truth but the truth has segregated you from the major populace. And slowly years later one friend pops up and says they found out Santa isn't real, and that they couldn't believe it until they saw it for their own eyes, or whatever. They didn't want to believe your sincerity and honesty when you told them that he was a farce...but they inevitably found out about through their own experience. I guess that is the easiest way of explaining how I feel at times.
Don't ever feel bad or wrong about your truth, it is yours and no one else. It deserves the respect and recognition just as much as the sky deserves the sun, or the clouds deserve the wind. Shout your truth from the mountain tops, and be proud.
The person who can't walk without crutches everyday, but has to. The woman who can't use her arms but continues to strive for a goal. Any human being who has had life throw the biggest fucking curve ball and knock them on their ass and tried to make them quit, tried to make them end, tried to stop their existence....
This goes out to the ones who said no...and not only said no but said a fuck you, I am still going to be the human being that I was born and destined to be. There are some things in this world that are so powerful and impossible to comprehend, and some people will never come close to touching it, or experiencing it. I know not everyone wants to be stimulated all the time, or inspired, or activated, or provoked, or inclined to feel. But dam it man I feel like that all the time....I always feel some deeper connection to something that needs to happen. I can't shut my brain off, and I don't know why. I am not sure if it is a curse or a gift.
I'll be honest, sometimes I feel bad. Sometimes I feel real bad....My hands aches that I can barely pick up my bass, let alone brush my teeth. Sometimes My legs hurt so bad I cringe when I have to walk up a flight of stairs. Sometimes I am so nauseated that the thought of eating another meal again makes shutter. And I think the worst part of it all is that sometimes I feel bad for going through this. I feel bad because it happened to me, like a pain, like a loss, like a heartache. It is hard to move on sometimes, and forget about lost time, a lost love, and lost opportunities. I work hard to move forward and try and stake a future for myself, but I am never sure where I will go or how I will end up. I am just soloing over life's changes. Its scary man, real scary. Scary to think who and where I am now. Scary to think how it was before.
I am thankful to God that I can do the things I still love, because I never thought I would get the chance again. But it's just that much harder. I hope that my efforts can be recognized by those around me, but ultimately I think I need to recognize them. I don't need your approval, I need my own.
I had told a friend of mine about how I went to the edge of my sanity one time. That I had been in a place where I never thought I would have come back, and I did. He thought it was awesome....he wanted to have the same experience. He even told me he considered becoming addicted to drugs to reach where I had gone, and I don't think he was joking either. He said that it was awesome that I had gone through that, that I was no longer like most people. That I could no longer relate to most people....I found a lot of truth in that. I have learned a lot, and have tried to use my experience in a positive manner. I do find it hard to relate to others now....almost impossible at times. It's like finding out Santa Claus isn't real when you're still in kindergarten. You want to tell all your classmates but they don't believe you. They think you're crazy....because they all know Santa is real. Then you're alone...you know the truth but the truth has segregated you from the major populace. And slowly years later one friend pops up and says they found out Santa isn't real, and that they couldn't believe it until they saw it for their own eyes, or whatever. They didn't want to believe your sincerity and honesty when you told them that he was a farce...but they inevitably found out about through their own experience. I guess that is the easiest way of explaining how I feel at times.
Don't ever feel bad or wrong about your truth, it is yours and no one else. It deserves the respect and recognition just as much as the sky deserves the sun, or the clouds deserve the wind. Shout your truth from the mountain tops, and be proud.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Mad World
I really don't have aset point to put across tonight I guess. I just finished playing a show at the House of Blues in Hollywood. It was really fun and exciting. Needless to say that I met the band leader 2 weeks ago, got the music 4 days later, and had 2 rehearsals to learn 8 tunes to perform with 2 people I had never played with before made it even more exciting (nerve wrecking).
Being in Hollywood trips me out. You have a city where it takes 30 minutes to drive 2 miles, nothing but restaurants, clubs, and bars as far as the eye can see, and everyone and their mother trying to make it in the biz. It is like a bunch of wild animals out of their cage during feeding time. Smoke, drink, flirt, party party....But it is nice to know there are people who sift through the bullshit rather than get swept away.
I used to be into status, who knows who, who does what, how someone sounds, how someone looks, what it is. But after a while the glam fades and all you are left with is the truth. I really cannot say much more than that about it, and it is especially true for musicians. It is a shitty profession. You work long hours, late at night, no security, no benefits, and one of the steepest fucking learning curves ever to exist. All in the name of self expression. Weird I am here but it is what I wanted. I feel ok with it because it was my choice.
On a side note, fuzz pedals are fucking amazing for bass solos. I felt like a guitar player when I could hold out a note for more than a few seconds. Now to put that into jazz somehow.
I will leave you with an impromptu poem/artistic piece of crap that I will try to congure up
Intents and purposes
never make me the same again
Don't stop writing because you can't make a mistake
even when you do the mistake is a fleeting moment in time that defines that moment
Is there ever truly a mistake if whatever you were feeling at that point in time was represented by that so called "mistake"?
Are there ever really mistakes or just expressions of feeling off?
my back hurts, nighty night
Being in Hollywood trips me out. You have a city where it takes 30 minutes to drive 2 miles, nothing but restaurants, clubs, and bars as far as the eye can see, and everyone and their mother trying to make it in the biz. It is like a bunch of wild animals out of their cage during feeding time. Smoke, drink, flirt, party party....But it is nice to know there are people who sift through the bullshit rather than get swept away.
I used to be into status, who knows who, who does what, how someone sounds, how someone looks, what it is. But after a while the glam fades and all you are left with is the truth. I really cannot say much more than that about it, and it is especially true for musicians. It is a shitty profession. You work long hours, late at night, no security, no benefits, and one of the steepest fucking learning curves ever to exist. All in the name of self expression. Weird I am here but it is what I wanted. I feel ok with it because it was my choice.
On a side note, fuzz pedals are fucking amazing for bass solos. I felt like a guitar player when I could hold out a note for more than a few seconds. Now to put that into jazz somehow.
I will leave you with an impromptu poem/artistic piece of crap that I will try to congure up
Intents and purposes
never make me the same again
Don't stop writing because you can't make a mistake
even when you do the mistake is a fleeting moment in time that defines that moment
Is there ever truly a mistake if whatever you were feeling at that point in time was represented by that so called "mistake"?
Are there ever really mistakes or just expressions of feeling off?
my back hurts, nighty night
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Some random thoughts for your enjoyment
A had a few random thoughts tonight that really sparked my mind
1. Music isn't a competition, it is about self expression
2. It would suck to be the first guy to discover a poisonous plant
3. How do bad things happen to good people?
4. how can we end up being alone?
5. I forgot
6. What would have happened if it never had happened?
7. What are you thinking about when you are reading this?
8. eight was supposed to be really good so let's see if I can remember it by the time number 9 comes...
9. Nope...not yet.....
10. How can my mind be so conflicted with the truth?
11. Will lyme ever go away?
12. Will anyone ever care?
13. Too many questions and not enough statements.
14. My family has been through some shit
15. I've been through some shit
16. I am still going through shit
17. I think people like to hear about happy things....things that make you feel good, or them feel good. They don't want to hear about the struggle, the hard work, the loneliness, the things that make us human. But I like to hear about the struggle, the hard work, the agony and trials. I think its inspirational, I think it's what makes us grow as humans. To deepen our understanding of each other and the world around us. Why wouldn't you want to do that?
18. I was wondering what the meaning of life was but I kind of answered my own question.
19. How does everybody talk about fake people? If one person is talking about a fake person and then the other person who is being talked about is talking the person who saying they are a fake, what is it that? Do you know if you're fake?
20. How the fuck am I so different from everyone else. I used to think maybe it wasn't true or I didn't want it to be, but it really is true. I am different from a lot of people. I wonder why....
21. Could I ever make a good living being an artist....(million dollar question here)
22. I don't know the answer but I am still going to try....because when you're on the bed in the hospital and your heart rate is in the 30's, your lying there in pain and not sure if you will wake up tomorrow, and you dream of all the things you used to do, all the people you would see, the food you would eat, the places you would see, and the things you could do,....and you realize you haven't done any of it....and you really ask yourself with an honest open heart...."What have I done with my life?" and really mean every single word of that sentence....you never take the chance of a lifetime to get another shot at doing it, and fuck it up....because when the time comes where I have to ask myself that question again, I want to be happy with the answer.
1. Music isn't a competition, it is about self expression
2. It would suck to be the first guy to discover a poisonous plant
3. How do bad things happen to good people?
4. how can we end up being alone?
5. I forgot
6. What would have happened if it never had happened?
7. What are you thinking about when you are reading this?
8. eight was supposed to be really good so let's see if I can remember it by the time number 9 comes...
9. Nope...not yet.....
10. How can my mind be so conflicted with the truth?
11. Will lyme ever go away?
12. Will anyone ever care?
13. Too many questions and not enough statements.
14. My family has been through some shit
15. I've been through some shit
16. I am still going through shit
17. I think people like to hear about happy things....things that make you feel good, or them feel good. They don't want to hear about the struggle, the hard work, the loneliness, the things that make us human. But I like to hear about the struggle, the hard work, the agony and trials. I think its inspirational, I think it's what makes us grow as humans. To deepen our understanding of each other and the world around us. Why wouldn't you want to do that?
18. I was wondering what the meaning of life was but I kind of answered my own question.
19. How does everybody talk about fake people? If one person is talking about a fake person and then the other person who is being talked about is talking the person who saying they are a fake, what is it that? Do you know if you're fake?
20. How the fuck am I so different from everyone else. I used to think maybe it wasn't true or I didn't want it to be, but it really is true. I am different from a lot of people. I wonder why....
21. Could I ever make a good living being an artist....(million dollar question here)
22. I don't know the answer but I am still going to try....because when you're on the bed in the hospital and your heart rate is in the 30's, your lying there in pain and not sure if you will wake up tomorrow, and you dream of all the things you used to do, all the people you would see, the food you would eat, the places you would see, and the things you could do,....and you realize you haven't done any of it....and you really ask yourself with an honest open heart...."What have I done with my life?" and really mean every single word of that sentence....you never take the chance of a lifetime to get another shot at doing it, and fuck it up....because when the time comes where I have to ask myself that question again, I want to be happy with the answer.
Monday, July 2, 2012
What's my story?
Oh man what a question....I feel like I could write a book, oh wait I am. Or I am saying I am writing a book, with a little plot, a little character development...some enemies become friends, some friends become enemies...
Alright, well that's enough of that. I will continue to tell my story thus far. I left off at Huntington Memorial Hospital. I was at the ER with my family after suffering a few months of mysterious pain. I sat in the ER room with my brother who drove me there. He had a burrito that he had bought and at this time I couldn't lift my arms so he fed it to me. Man, if there is something in this world so horrid it is having to be fed when you are a grown man. It was really humiliating. The act of simply being able to grab something and lift it up, do not ever take that for granted because if you do, holy shit man you could be in for world of trouble. So I sat for about an hour and was called in. They said it was fast track....basically an expedited visit. I don't know if you even see a doctor. Funny how when they asked me what was wrong and I replied "I can't use my arms" they thought it was a quick fix. I got sat next to a girl who cut her finger on a tin can....I felt helped....
My mom argued with the nurse to put me in the regular pile and see a real doctor. So back out I went and sat some more in the ER. I was looking around at the other people wondering if anyone had something as crazy as I did, whatever it was. At this point in my life I had never experienced this time of pain, nor for this long. My back ached, my muscles burned, and I could feel the fire tracing down the nerves in my arms and hands, also shooting down my back and legs. After another hour or so they sent me down to the rooms. I sat there and waited to see the MD. I got a nice nurse who gave me some pain medicine and that was that. After a while I saw the doctor and told him the story. About how the pain had just started in my left arm, but soon spread to my right and then my legs. My elbows burned and my hands were useless. I don't really remember what he said, but I had asked for an MRI of my arms or something and he said that he would if he could, but since I was in an HMO and my HMO was not contracted with his hospital they could not admit me. They called the hospital I could go to and spoke to the admitting attending. He didn't want to admit me. The ER MD told me this and asked if I wanted to speak to him. The conversation went something like this...
Doctor: "Why do you want to go into the hospital?"
Me "I can't use my arms! I haven't been able to for a few weeks and nobody can tell me why!"
Doctor "You need to see a neurologist! You don't want to go into the hospital! We can schedule you an appointment! And run tests!"
Me "UNLESS YOU CAN GET ME INTO SEE A NEUROLOGIST TOMORROW MORNING THEN I WANT TO GO INTO THE HOSPITAL! I CAN'T USE MY FUCKING ARMS AND CAN'T FUNCTION! I SWEAR TO GOD I"LL SUE YOUR ASS FOR NEGLIGENCE! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IF YOU COULDN'T USE YOUR ARMS FOR SHIT?!!?! I"VE BEEN PUSHED AROUND IN THIS BULLSHIT FOR TOO LONG! YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF THIS NOW!"
Doctor "...............ok"
So he hung up and an ambulance came for me a few hours later. By this time it was probably 8 or 9 at night and I still had no answers. I was wheeled in by a woman in her early 20's. I told her about my experience and she nodded and said that these things were common. She also told me that her family gets better treatment because she works in the medical field. He grandmother fell and went to the local ER. Since they knew the grandmother they took her back immediately and had her seen. What a system, I thought. So we arrived and I was wheeled in. I was so diligent about school at the time I had text-ed my math tutor to tell my teacher I was going into the hospital.
I rolled into the room. A scenery over the next 2 years I would become very familiar with. The linoleum walls, the IV pole. the call button, the small TV off in the upper corner of the ceiling. And the pain chart....numbered from 1-10 with faces to correlate how the pain felt....There was no face on there that matched mine, nor any number....I spoke to the doctor and told him what had been going on. He said he was not sure but maybe I did damage with my weight lifting days. He told me a neurologist would be in to see me in the morning. For the time being he offered pain medicine. I had never taken morphine before in my life. I had only ever smoked weed and drank alcohol. I had an IV line in my left arm and soon the nurse came into the room with a tiny vial. She inserted a needle into the vial and extracted the morphine.
"What's your pain level?" She asked
"A 9 or 10...." I said
"Well this will help."
She picked up the IV line and stuck the needle in. As soon as she did I felt a rush in my body. Like if someone had thrown me onto a roller coast and sent me down the biggest drop ever built. My body reeled for a moment. I instantly felt high, and as soon as the high kicked in my body started to heat up. After the brief rush of heat was an attack of nausea. What felt like 5 minutes was only 5 seconds. I just laid there in a daze for a few more moments and suddenly the pain wasn't as bad as before. Or maybe it was, I just didn't care. Either way it had worked for me. My mom was there with me. She was wearing this red velvet sweater/ It was funny because my mom doesn't usually dress up. Only when I am in the hospital, haha.
I had a roommate. He was an older white business man with glasses. I had asked him what happened and he told me about some weird genetic GI disorder where feces backs up in the intestines and sits and gets infected. Eventually it spreads into the body. He said he woke up feeling fine one day and then an hour later he was on the floor in pain. He was lucky he got saved. After a quick operation that involved tearing his intestines out he was on the road to recovery. I was shocked to hear that story. He asked me what was wrong with me and I told him my story. He didn't know what to say but said that I would get help here. He also told me to be an advocate for myself, and don't let the doctors push you around because they will. You know your body better than anybody.
I tried to sleep that night, I really did...but it never happened. I just sat there while my hands burned. I went over it again and again in my mind. Had I done something? Why was this happening? What was the answer? Was it the car accident 2 years ago? Was it playing bass? Was it carpal tunnel? Was I dying? What??? I think I fell asleep for 2 hours. But from that point on I was asking for morphine ever 4 hours. The thing that sucked about it was that the pain went away for only an hour or so, but they couldn't give you more than one dose every 4 hours. What a gip....But it was better than nothing.....
I can't do anymore. I have to try and practice a little while. Its weird to think about these things again. I guess its good I chronolog it. It is important for a person to reflect and evaluate their lives ever so often. As much as things suck now, it isn't as bad as that time. I am thankful for that.
If you're just reading this now the beginning is in some other posts. Check it out if you want to see the beginning.
Night
Alright, well that's enough of that. I will continue to tell my story thus far. I left off at Huntington Memorial Hospital. I was at the ER with my family after suffering a few months of mysterious pain. I sat in the ER room with my brother who drove me there. He had a burrito that he had bought and at this time I couldn't lift my arms so he fed it to me. Man, if there is something in this world so horrid it is having to be fed when you are a grown man. It was really humiliating. The act of simply being able to grab something and lift it up, do not ever take that for granted because if you do, holy shit man you could be in for world of trouble. So I sat for about an hour and was called in. They said it was fast track....basically an expedited visit. I don't know if you even see a doctor. Funny how when they asked me what was wrong and I replied "I can't use my arms" they thought it was a quick fix. I got sat next to a girl who cut her finger on a tin can....I felt helped....
My mom argued with the nurse to put me in the regular pile and see a real doctor. So back out I went and sat some more in the ER. I was looking around at the other people wondering if anyone had something as crazy as I did, whatever it was. At this point in my life I had never experienced this time of pain, nor for this long. My back ached, my muscles burned, and I could feel the fire tracing down the nerves in my arms and hands, also shooting down my back and legs. After another hour or so they sent me down to the rooms. I sat there and waited to see the MD. I got a nice nurse who gave me some pain medicine and that was that. After a while I saw the doctor and told him the story. About how the pain had just started in my left arm, but soon spread to my right and then my legs. My elbows burned and my hands were useless. I don't really remember what he said, but I had asked for an MRI of my arms or something and he said that he would if he could, but since I was in an HMO and my HMO was not contracted with his hospital they could not admit me. They called the hospital I could go to and spoke to the admitting attending. He didn't want to admit me. The ER MD told me this and asked if I wanted to speak to him. The conversation went something like this...
Doctor: "Why do you want to go into the hospital?"
Me "I can't use my arms! I haven't been able to for a few weeks and nobody can tell me why!"
Doctor "You need to see a neurologist! You don't want to go into the hospital! We can schedule you an appointment! And run tests!"
Me "UNLESS YOU CAN GET ME INTO SEE A NEUROLOGIST TOMORROW MORNING THEN I WANT TO GO INTO THE HOSPITAL! I CAN'T USE MY FUCKING ARMS AND CAN'T FUNCTION! I SWEAR TO GOD I"LL SUE YOUR ASS FOR NEGLIGENCE! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IF YOU COULDN'T USE YOUR ARMS FOR SHIT?!!?! I"VE BEEN PUSHED AROUND IN THIS BULLSHIT FOR TOO LONG! YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF THIS NOW!"
Doctor "...............ok"
So he hung up and an ambulance came for me a few hours later. By this time it was probably 8 or 9 at night and I still had no answers. I was wheeled in by a woman in her early 20's. I told her about my experience and she nodded and said that these things were common. She also told me that her family gets better treatment because she works in the medical field. He grandmother fell and went to the local ER. Since they knew the grandmother they took her back immediately and had her seen. What a system, I thought. So we arrived and I was wheeled in. I was so diligent about school at the time I had text-ed my math tutor to tell my teacher I was going into the hospital.
I rolled into the room. A scenery over the next 2 years I would become very familiar with. The linoleum walls, the IV pole. the call button, the small TV off in the upper corner of the ceiling. And the pain chart....numbered from 1-10 with faces to correlate how the pain felt....There was no face on there that matched mine, nor any number....I spoke to the doctor and told him what had been going on. He said he was not sure but maybe I did damage with my weight lifting days. He told me a neurologist would be in to see me in the morning. For the time being he offered pain medicine. I had never taken morphine before in my life. I had only ever smoked weed and drank alcohol. I had an IV line in my left arm and soon the nurse came into the room with a tiny vial. She inserted a needle into the vial and extracted the morphine.
"What's your pain level?" She asked
"A 9 or 10...." I said
"Well this will help."
She picked up the IV line and stuck the needle in. As soon as she did I felt a rush in my body. Like if someone had thrown me onto a roller coast and sent me down the biggest drop ever built. My body reeled for a moment. I instantly felt high, and as soon as the high kicked in my body started to heat up. After the brief rush of heat was an attack of nausea. What felt like 5 minutes was only 5 seconds. I just laid there in a daze for a few more moments and suddenly the pain wasn't as bad as before. Or maybe it was, I just didn't care. Either way it had worked for me. My mom was there with me. She was wearing this red velvet sweater/ It was funny because my mom doesn't usually dress up. Only when I am in the hospital, haha.
I had a roommate. He was an older white business man with glasses. I had asked him what happened and he told me about some weird genetic GI disorder where feces backs up in the intestines and sits and gets infected. Eventually it spreads into the body. He said he woke up feeling fine one day and then an hour later he was on the floor in pain. He was lucky he got saved. After a quick operation that involved tearing his intestines out he was on the road to recovery. I was shocked to hear that story. He asked me what was wrong with me and I told him my story. He didn't know what to say but said that I would get help here. He also told me to be an advocate for myself, and don't let the doctors push you around because they will. You know your body better than anybody.
I tried to sleep that night, I really did...but it never happened. I just sat there while my hands burned. I went over it again and again in my mind. Had I done something? Why was this happening? What was the answer? Was it the car accident 2 years ago? Was it playing bass? Was it carpal tunnel? Was I dying? What??? I think I fell asleep for 2 hours. But from that point on I was asking for morphine ever 4 hours. The thing that sucked about it was that the pain went away for only an hour or so, but they couldn't give you more than one dose every 4 hours. What a gip....But it was better than nothing.....
I can't do anymore. I have to try and practice a little while. Its weird to think about these things again. I guess its good I chronolog it. It is important for a person to reflect and evaluate their lives ever so often. As much as things suck now, it isn't as bad as that time. I am thankful for that.
If you're just reading this now the beginning is in some other posts. Check it out if you want to see the beginning.
Night
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
I don't want to burn like the sun
I just want to warm people with the heat
I don't need to part the sky
I just want to unite it
I never will heed the call and asnwer of what the world has preconstructed
I never will be quite what was planned
No need to reach and grab a star
If you can be the light that shines in your palm
Frustrating when your words are on the tip of your brain
But are blocked by that sensation to evaluate
No need to be that way
So when I walk around that cold street downtown looking for that light
Just be
shit man I thought that was good for a second but the thought process disrupted the result.
I feel like my brain is moving slow, and I don't know why. Maybe I will never know. Too bad because maybe I am just tired, or maybe I am just right.
How do you take all you have ever experienced and transform it into a medium that is comparable to what you went through? I don't know if it's possible.
fack
I just want to warm people with the heat
I don't need to part the sky
I just want to unite it
I never will heed the call and asnwer of what the world has preconstructed
I never will be quite what was planned
No need to reach and grab a star
If you can be the light that shines in your palm
Frustrating when your words are on the tip of your brain
But are blocked by that sensation to evaluate
No need to be that way
So when I walk around that cold street downtown looking for that light
Just be
shit man I thought that was good for a second but the thought process disrupted the result.
I feel like my brain is moving slow, and I don't know why. Maybe I will never know. Too bad because maybe I am just tired, or maybe I am just right.
How do you take all you have ever experienced and transform it into a medium that is comparable to what you went through? I don't know if it's possible.
fack
Saturday, June 2, 2012
The Lion's cage
It has been an eventful few weeks. I have really overdone myself, trying to act like a normal 24 year old. But in this short period of time I have done a few things I thought I never would again. I played a show, let alone a show at a world famous jazz club, had a birthday dinner, got drunk, smoked a cigarette, flirted with random women, gotten random phone numbers, exercised, practiced, composed. Unfortunately I feel like I am relapsing. I got bit by dog at Griffith park. The bite wasn't bad, and it was my fault for wanting to pet it. I should know better than to touch animals or go the park after everything that has happened. I got a tetanus shot and I think that is what did it. The neuropathy is back and its killing me, but I can't stop. I won't let this interfere with my dream of being a musician.
I sat in on a gig with my good friend and former teacher Brandon Bernstein at Red White and Bluezz in Pasadena. I had a blast and was able to see Putter Smith. Putter Smith is a bassist who played with the legendary Thelonious Monk, as well as dozens of other well know jazz musicians. We had the chance to talk a little bit about life and music. I went to a gig he played with a drummer friend of mine at UCI. I rode in Putter's car and we had a long time to chat about music and life. He said some incredible things. I really admire him for being a true musician. I had asked him about his upbringing and when he got started. He said he got his first gig at 13, and his bass only had 3 strings on it. But he kept playing and learning and would eventually blossom into an amazing artist. He told me there was a point in his life where he said that "Jazz was it", that there was nothing else on this green earth that he was meant to do. He knew it too, and said it with such conviction that I got goose bumps. He talked about being a session musician, playing classical gigs, and teaching, but at the end of the day his purpose was to express himself through jazz. He told me that his whole goal was to express whatever was in him, and in his words "People ask me what are you trying to express? I don't know what the fuck it is, all I know is that it feels awesome when it comes out. It isn't some underlying sorrow or angst inside me. But I just need to get it out." I whole heartedly agreed. I feel that way about music and I constantly feel this urge to let whatever is going on inside of me out that way. The only true form of self expression. I guess you could say I am awkward about myself, about the truth inside of me. I don't know what it is that makes me feel different or weird, but the only thing that makes me feel better is playing that damn bass.
He also told me about making it as a musician, and how he realized that when he was trying to get food stamps that he was poor. He raised 2 kids and had a wife while only playing music his whole life, but he also invested in real estate after only reading a book. If that isn't the sign of a genius I don't know what is. So I had a great time just talking with him about life and getting some good advice. I also got the chance to see him play, and man what a master. His soloing is so amazing. He really does express himself. Sitting in that bar listening to a trio of drums, bass, and trombone I felt whole. I felt connected to something bigger than me and everyone else in the room. I also got the chance to play and do some of my own expression. It sucks sometimes that the only thing in life we want to do we can't.
I met a guy in the UCLA psych ward who had really bad spine problems. Apparently he had been hit by a truck on his motorcycle when he was 22 and was in constant pain ever seen. He looked mean as hell when I saw him but I soon realized that the constant grimace on his face wasn't from anger, but from the constant pain he was in. We talked a lot about music. He told me that he worked as a grip in movies in Hollywood, had a wife and 2 kids. He just got tired of dealing with the pain and called his parents and said he was done. So they took him to UCLA and tried to get him some help. He loved music too, and he said it was the only thing that he wanted to do besides be a father. He brought in his guitar and played some; I could tell that it hurt to pick it up, it hurt to think about the notes, it hurt to move his fingers, but he did it anyways. Because the pain was worth the feeling he got from it. At that time I couldn't really use my right arm, kind of like now, so I really understood him. I really understood how the music transcended his pain and anger, how he could just live and be without the constant chatter from his body. It still does it to this day, and will continue to do so. No matter how much I hurt, no matter how much my arms burn, or my back aches, or my mind wanders I vow to never stop playing and expressing whatever the fuck is inside of me.
I sometimes get scared about dying young...about how I won't have all the opportunity to do things or live the lives others do. I know I am jumping ahead and I don't know anything for sure, but it does cross my mind. I guess at the end of the day I would still rather burn out then fade away. It's funny because everyone talks about it like it is nothing, but how many of them are given the chance? Not many, and I am sure none of them would like to, given the opportunity. But I wasn't given a choice in this matter I suppose. I was merely dealt the hand I was, and now I have to make do what I have. I always will...
I'll finish writing about my whole story some other time. My hands ache right now.
I sat in on a gig with my good friend and former teacher Brandon Bernstein at Red White and Bluezz in Pasadena. I had a blast and was able to see Putter Smith. Putter Smith is a bassist who played with the legendary Thelonious Monk, as well as dozens of other well know jazz musicians. We had the chance to talk a little bit about life and music. I went to a gig he played with a drummer friend of mine at UCI. I rode in Putter's car and we had a long time to chat about music and life. He said some incredible things. I really admire him for being a true musician. I had asked him about his upbringing and when he got started. He said he got his first gig at 13, and his bass only had 3 strings on it. But he kept playing and learning and would eventually blossom into an amazing artist. He told me there was a point in his life where he said that "Jazz was it", that there was nothing else on this green earth that he was meant to do. He knew it too, and said it with such conviction that I got goose bumps. He talked about being a session musician, playing classical gigs, and teaching, but at the end of the day his purpose was to express himself through jazz. He told me that his whole goal was to express whatever was in him, and in his words "People ask me what are you trying to express? I don't know what the fuck it is, all I know is that it feels awesome when it comes out. It isn't some underlying sorrow or angst inside me. But I just need to get it out." I whole heartedly agreed. I feel that way about music and I constantly feel this urge to let whatever is going on inside of me out that way. The only true form of self expression. I guess you could say I am awkward about myself, about the truth inside of me. I don't know what it is that makes me feel different or weird, but the only thing that makes me feel better is playing that damn bass.
He also told me about making it as a musician, and how he realized that when he was trying to get food stamps that he was poor. He raised 2 kids and had a wife while only playing music his whole life, but he also invested in real estate after only reading a book. If that isn't the sign of a genius I don't know what is. So I had a great time just talking with him about life and getting some good advice. I also got the chance to see him play, and man what a master. His soloing is so amazing. He really does express himself. Sitting in that bar listening to a trio of drums, bass, and trombone I felt whole. I felt connected to something bigger than me and everyone else in the room. I also got the chance to play and do some of my own expression. It sucks sometimes that the only thing in life we want to do we can't.
I met a guy in the UCLA psych ward who had really bad spine problems. Apparently he had been hit by a truck on his motorcycle when he was 22 and was in constant pain ever seen. He looked mean as hell when I saw him but I soon realized that the constant grimace on his face wasn't from anger, but from the constant pain he was in. We talked a lot about music. He told me that he worked as a grip in movies in Hollywood, had a wife and 2 kids. He just got tired of dealing with the pain and called his parents and said he was done. So they took him to UCLA and tried to get him some help. He loved music too, and he said it was the only thing that he wanted to do besides be a father. He brought in his guitar and played some; I could tell that it hurt to pick it up, it hurt to think about the notes, it hurt to move his fingers, but he did it anyways. Because the pain was worth the feeling he got from it. At that time I couldn't really use my right arm, kind of like now, so I really understood him. I really understood how the music transcended his pain and anger, how he could just live and be without the constant chatter from his body. It still does it to this day, and will continue to do so. No matter how much I hurt, no matter how much my arms burn, or my back aches, or my mind wanders I vow to never stop playing and expressing whatever the fuck is inside of me.
I sometimes get scared about dying young...about how I won't have all the opportunity to do things or live the lives others do. I know I am jumping ahead and I don't know anything for sure, but it does cross my mind. I guess at the end of the day I would still rather burn out then fade away. It's funny because everyone talks about it like it is nothing, but how many of them are given the chance? Not many, and I am sure none of them would like to, given the opportunity. But I wasn't given a choice in this matter I suppose. I was merely dealt the hand I was, and now I have to make do what I have. I always will...
I'll finish writing about my whole story some other time. My hands ache right now.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
For now we toast...
Today will be a short post and continuation of the story. I have not been feeling well lately and have been kind of lying to myself about it. Hopefully with some rest and good nutrition I will bounce back. I had 2 beers last night for the firs time in about a year and a half. I am also going out to dinner tonight for my birthday and am very excited. It feels unreal to be doing these things again. But very normal at the same time.
Back to the pain...that awful pain. I remember the night I had laid there in my bed in tears from the searing burning all over my body. I was awake the whole night wondering what was going on. I felt muscle twitches, spasms, stabbing, throbbing and everything imaginable possible in my body. Why? How is this possible??? What is causing this? I felt so alone and afraid. I wondered how I could have pinched nerves in both my arms. I had went to the ER and all they could do was give me Vicodin and send me home. I stayed at a friends house that night after he picked me up and I had hoped that the pain would subside but it didn't. I had driven to my Dad's house the next day with 2 useless arms. It was hard to navigate but sadly I had gotten used to it. I went inside and began sobbing. How was I going to finish school? The semester was almost over and I couldn't drop out. I had worked so hard...how was I going to play bass? How was I going to get into another college? How was I going to live with Mari when she got back from Japan? My Father thought I had cracked form stress. I went into my room and slept for a few hours finally. I woke up but the pain was still there. I had been to the doctor this whole time and no one offered any answer.
I sat in my GP's office for the hundred time it felt like. He walked in and examined me again and said.."perhaps it will get better...." I had asked for an MRI to see if there was a pinched nerve or anything there. But he said plainly "I will recommend anything you want but it is up to the review board to see if it is necessary and I don't see how an MRI would change your course of treatment." I sat in disbelief...He just rejected me. I had asked him to sign a disability paper for my college so I could have someone write for me and calss and take tests. I had also talked to my math tutor about dictating my homework for me. I walked into my math professor's office and explained my situation and how I had no arms that worked but I wanted to finish. She said ok and said that she hoped I felt better soon. There was about 3 weeks till finals. I was determined to make it. At this point the best answer I had gotten was that I needed ulnar nerve relocation surgery and then my problems would be solved. When I asked about my back or legs the surgeon said that sometimes when one thing hurts somewhere sometimes things hurt other places too. Very scientific for a doctor who went to Duke University So the plan was to finish the semester then get the surgery, recover for a few weeks and return to school in spring. But it didn't go that way.
I woke up that day in pain as usual. I got up and wore the same clothes I had fell asleep in. I think I slept 2 or 3 hours if that. I had not brushed my teeth in a few days because it hurt too much to bend my arms to do so. But I decided I needed to and tried anyways. I couldn't do it. I threw my tooth brush down and walked out to my car. How I drove was with stiff straight arms. I couldn't rotate my arms all the way around to turn so I had to do it in sections. I drove to subway and ordered some breakfast. I sat there staring at the egg sandwich....My arms hurt too much to pick it up but I was starving. There was only one other person eating there and I decided I didn't care what he though. I shoved my head face first into the food and took a bite. With each bite I felt shame and embarrassment. Also fear...a great fear that I still didn't know what was happening to me and if I didn't know how would it get any better. I finished and got up and the man opened to door for me. "Have a good day" he said. I wondered what he thought about me after seeing that. I went to my car and sat in the driver seat. I tried to put the key in the ignition and stopped. I cried. It hurt, every cell in my body screamed with agony, pain pain pain pain. What was happening? Somebody help me! Save me! I called my aunt and uncle who lived near by. They said I could drive to their house to rest, but I knew I couldn't make it. I then called my mom to pick me up and she said that my brother would get me. I mustered up the strength to drive the 2 miles. I parked and walked around. Then I felt the nerve in my lower back go off. Great, I thought. How could it get any worse. I waited and finally my brother came. He picked me up and I said I needed to go the hospital. He took me to Huntington Memorial. I thought that my salvation would be there. It was a state of the art facility. I would get the help I needed there.
I also recorded a bass solo piece. Please check it out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTwrhVwteV4
Back to the pain...that awful pain. I remember the night I had laid there in my bed in tears from the searing burning all over my body. I was awake the whole night wondering what was going on. I felt muscle twitches, spasms, stabbing, throbbing and everything imaginable possible in my body. Why? How is this possible??? What is causing this? I felt so alone and afraid. I wondered how I could have pinched nerves in both my arms. I had went to the ER and all they could do was give me Vicodin and send me home. I stayed at a friends house that night after he picked me up and I had hoped that the pain would subside but it didn't. I had driven to my Dad's house the next day with 2 useless arms. It was hard to navigate but sadly I had gotten used to it. I went inside and began sobbing. How was I going to finish school? The semester was almost over and I couldn't drop out. I had worked so hard...how was I going to play bass? How was I going to get into another college? How was I going to live with Mari when she got back from Japan? My Father thought I had cracked form stress. I went into my room and slept for a few hours finally. I woke up but the pain was still there. I had been to the doctor this whole time and no one offered any answer.
I sat in my GP's office for the hundred time it felt like. He walked in and examined me again and said.."perhaps it will get better...." I had asked for an MRI to see if there was a pinched nerve or anything there. But he said plainly "I will recommend anything you want but it is up to the review board to see if it is necessary and I don't see how an MRI would change your course of treatment." I sat in disbelief...He just rejected me. I had asked him to sign a disability paper for my college so I could have someone write for me and calss and take tests. I had also talked to my math tutor about dictating my homework for me. I walked into my math professor's office and explained my situation and how I had no arms that worked but I wanted to finish. She said ok and said that she hoped I felt better soon. There was about 3 weeks till finals. I was determined to make it. At this point the best answer I had gotten was that I needed ulnar nerve relocation surgery and then my problems would be solved. When I asked about my back or legs the surgeon said that sometimes when one thing hurts somewhere sometimes things hurt other places too. Very scientific for a doctor who went to Duke University So the plan was to finish the semester then get the surgery, recover for a few weeks and return to school in spring. But it didn't go that way.
I woke up that day in pain as usual. I got up and wore the same clothes I had fell asleep in. I think I slept 2 or 3 hours if that. I had not brushed my teeth in a few days because it hurt too much to bend my arms to do so. But I decided I needed to and tried anyways. I couldn't do it. I threw my tooth brush down and walked out to my car. How I drove was with stiff straight arms. I couldn't rotate my arms all the way around to turn so I had to do it in sections. I drove to subway and ordered some breakfast. I sat there staring at the egg sandwich....My arms hurt too much to pick it up but I was starving. There was only one other person eating there and I decided I didn't care what he though. I shoved my head face first into the food and took a bite. With each bite I felt shame and embarrassment. Also fear...a great fear that I still didn't know what was happening to me and if I didn't know how would it get any better. I finished and got up and the man opened to door for me. "Have a good day" he said. I wondered what he thought about me after seeing that. I went to my car and sat in the driver seat. I tried to put the key in the ignition and stopped. I cried. It hurt, every cell in my body screamed with agony, pain pain pain pain. What was happening? Somebody help me! Save me! I called my aunt and uncle who lived near by. They said I could drive to their house to rest, but I knew I couldn't make it. I then called my mom to pick me up and she said that my brother would get me. I mustered up the strength to drive the 2 miles. I parked and walked around. Then I felt the nerve in my lower back go off. Great, I thought. How could it get any worse. I waited and finally my brother came. He picked me up and I said I needed to go the hospital. He took me to Huntington Memorial. I thought that my salvation would be there. It was a state of the art facility. I would get the help I needed there.
I also recorded a bass solo piece. Please check it out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OTwrhVwteV4
Friday, April 20, 2012
Stay Human
There are thieves in this world who attempt to steal life's most precious treasure
They lie, beg, cheat, desecrate, and manipulate their way into our souls
These people try to steal your humanity
They are the men and women who leave you heart broken
The parents who never cared
The politicians who steal your money
The doctors who robbed you of your health
And the ones who said you can't
Sometimes it is inconceivable to imagine
These people attempt to make you like them
To rob you of your soul and your heart
To transform you into a heartless beast
But no matter what has been taken from you do not turn
Because if all we have in this world turns to dust
then all that matters is who we are
Not what we possess
Anyways, I would like to dedicate this to a Lyme disease patient who lost his battle today, Patrick Wylie Kelly.
My thoughts for his family and friends.
The past few days have been interesting;. A surge of symptoms here and there. Some loss of motivation and then right back to the forefront again. I won my SSI case today, so that is a great blessing. They ruled it was psychosomatic (I really don't care what they say as long as they give me money). Besides that I have been practicing and reflecting. I feel like it is time to lay this journey so far on paper. I know I have talked to many people in it in bits and pieces, but it really is an epic journey that has taken me across the world in terms of people I have met and things I have discovered, as well as the ends of my sanity and will to live.
It was June of 2010. I stood in the airport lobby staring at the huge 747 through the thick glass that would take me away from the woman I loved, from the dream I had accomplished, from a life I had built that I knew would end but never wanted it to. The last eight months had been building to this and I never could have dreamed I would be where I was then. It was literally at that point one of the hardest things I had done in my life. It was funny that I cried and she didn't, but we said good bye. My throat open and closed and I heaved and turned away to head back to my home. Little did I know I was bringing more than just some souvenirs and photographs from Japan.
That plane ride home was like torture....sitting in a crowded seat alone in a plane full of people. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about how I was going to do it. How we were going to do it, I was determined at the time though. So I sat in a daze and tried to sleep. Every few hours I would check the screen to see how far away I was from her and from home. It was quite unsettling a lot to know you were in the middle of no where. That if you were to crash that there would be no help. Thank god it never happened. I watched some movies on Chopin and listened to classical music on the way back. It set the mood fairly well. When I had arrived at LAX I looked at the grey smog filled sky with a giant sigh. Everything was fairly ugly compared to where I had been before, but it was home nonetheless. I met my dad and we drove home, there I continued to talk to her everday.
I began practicing bass again after a hiatus of about a month. I had accepted my admission and San Jose State University and was waiting to go up north. Every day I practiced around 5 or 6 hours. Eventually I got a gig playing for a friend's rock band with only 6 days to learn 5 songs from a CD. During the rehearsals my left hand and arm started to hurt. I was afraid, perhaps I was overdoing it. I went to the doctor and was instructed to take anti-inflammatories and ice it. So I did...for weeks and weeks. Eventually the pain got so bad I could not bend my arm. I then went to physical therapy week after week. At this point I had moved out on my own to a house in Cypress. I rented a nice room with a few other people and decided to change my major and try to get into a better school. Why you ask? Because I had been bombarded with the possibility of not being able to make any money in music. Suddenly things I had never cared about, like a family, kids, or a house, all seemed to be in the forefront of my mind. I wanted to get married, and she had said yes. But I had already felt the burden of needing to provide, instead of accomplishing what I wanted.
So instead of practicing bass 6 hours a day I began studying math. Day in and day out I studied and went to class. I was in 18 units and going to 3 different colleges 5 days a week. I thought the only way to succeed was to kill myself through hard work and effort. I still managed to practice and get some gigs on the side as well as get lessons from teachers. That time was very liberating though, I was completely on my own. I had only one purpose, and that was to serve me and survive. I honestly wasn't taking great care of myself then. I stayed up late, drank often, and ran myself ragged. All this time my left arm was literally broken. I woke up with it in pain, and I went to sleep with it in pain. I couldn't really use it anymore. It just tangled there useless. Eventually I began to wonder if there was something with the nerve as opposed to just tendonitis. I remember stretching it one day and it literally exploded. My elbow flared up and then began the worst pain I would soon know for what seemed an eternity.
Fire was the best way to explain it, but if you have never known the feeling of nerve pain than you better thank god, jesus, allah, buddha, and anyone else you could give thanks to because this is quite literally the greatest pain a person can experience. It felt like someone had shoved hot coals under my skin and set them there to burn. It tormented me day and night, never relenting. Soon the pain spread to my other arm, then my back, then my legs, and I was reduced to nothing. Just a shell of pain...
To be continued
They lie, beg, cheat, desecrate, and manipulate their way into our souls
These people try to steal your humanity
They are the men and women who leave you heart broken
The parents who never cared
The politicians who steal your money
The doctors who robbed you of your health
And the ones who said you can't
Sometimes it is inconceivable to imagine
These people attempt to make you like them
To rob you of your soul and your heart
To transform you into a heartless beast
But no matter what has been taken from you do not turn
Because if all we have in this world turns to dust
then all that matters is who we are
Not what we possess
Anyways, I would like to dedicate this to a Lyme disease patient who lost his battle today, Patrick Wylie Kelly.
My thoughts for his family and friends.
The past few days have been interesting;. A surge of symptoms here and there. Some loss of motivation and then right back to the forefront again. I won my SSI case today, so that is a great blessing. They ruled it was psychosomatic (I really don't care what they say as long as they give me money). Besides that I have been practicing and reflecting. I feel like it is time to lay this journey so far on paper. I know I have talked to many people in it in bits and pieces, but it really is an epic journey that has taken me across the world in terms of people I have met and things I have discovered, as well as the ends of my sanity and will to live.
It was June of 2010. I stood in the airport lobby staring at the huge 747 through the thick glass that would take me away from the woman I loved, from the dream I had accomplished, from a life I had built that I knew would end but never wanted it to. The last eight months had been building to this and I never could have dreamed I would be where I was then. It was literally at that point one of the hardest things I had done in my life. It was funny that I cried and she didn't, but we said good bye. My throat open and closed and I heaved and turned away to head back to my home. Little did I know I was bringing more than just some souvenirs and photographs from Japan.
That plane ride home was like torture....sitting in a crowded seat alone in a plane full of people. I couldn't concentrate, couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about how I was going to do it. How we were going to do it, I was determined at the time though. So I sat in a daze and tried to sleep. Every few hours I would check the screen to see how far away I was from her and from home. It was quite unsettling a lot to know you were in the middle of no where. That if you were to crash that there would be no help. Thank god it never happened. I watched some movies on Chopin and listened to classical music on the way back. It set the mood fairly well. When I had arrived at LAX I looked at the grey smog filled sky with a giant sigh. Everything was fairly ugly compared to where I had been before, but it was home nonetheless. I met my dad and we drove home, there I continued to talk to her everday.
I began practicing bass again after a hiatus of about a month. I had accepted my admission and San Jose State University and was waiting to go up north. Every day I practiced around 5 or 6 hours. Eventually I got a gig playing for a friend's rock band with only 6 days to learn 5 songs from a CD. During the rehearsals my left hand and arm started to hurt. I was afraid, perhaps I was overdoing it. I went to the doctor and was instructed to take anti-inflammatories and ice it. So I did...for weeks and weeks. Eventually the pain got so bad I could not bend my arm. I then went to physical therapy week after week. At this point I had moved out on my own to a house in Cypress. I rented a nice room with a few other people and decided to change my major and try to get into a better school. Why you ask? Because I had been bombarded with the possibility of not being able to make any money in music. Suddenly things I had never cared about, like a family, kids, or a house, all seemed to be in the forefront of my mind. I wanted to get married, and she had said yes. But I had already felt the burden of needing to provide, instead of accomplishing what I wanted.
So instead of practicing bass 6 hours a day I began studying math. Day in and day out I studied and went to class. I was in 18 units and going to 3 different colleges 5 days a week. I thought the only way to succeed was to kill myself through hard work and effort. I still managed to practice and get some gigs on the side as well as get lessons from teachers. That time was very liberating though, I was completely on my own. I had only one purpose, and that was to serve me and survive. I honestly wasn't taking great care of myself then. I stayed up late, drank often, and ran myself ragged. All this time my left arm was literally broken. I woke up with it in pain, and I went to sleep with it in pain. I couldn't really use it anymore. It just tangled there useless. Eventually I began to wonder if there was something with the nerve as opposed to just tendonitis. I remember stretching it one day and it literally exploded. My elbow flared up and then began the worst pain I would soon know for what seemed an eternity.
Fire was the best way to explain it, but if you have never known the feeling of nerve pain than you better thank god, jesus, allah, buddha, and anyone else you could give thanks to because this is quite literally the greatest pain a person can experience. It felt like someone had shoved hot coals under my skin and set them there to burn. It tormented me day and night, never relenting. Soon the pain spread to my other arm, then my back, then my legs, and I was reduced to nothing. Just a shell of pain...
To be continued
Sunday, April 8, 2012
The long road home
I am sorry I have not updated this blog in almost a year. The past year has been quite the experience for me, nearly dying from malnourishment, attempting suicide twice, becoming addicted to painkillers and ativan, living in Cedar Sinai for weeks on end, being pumped full of IV's, weighing at only 125 lbs. and not being able to walk, to fully functional in a few months time has been extremely crazy for me. I look back and realize I should not be here. I should not be driving, playing my bass again, talking with friends, and enjoying a brand new day. Many times I had given up hope, and many times I was sure it was the end. I cannot being to explain the misery and torment that life began to become in the process of treating Lyme...
Everyday I wanted it to be over, I wanted release...It seemed like the unsolvable puzzle that no one could figure out and the only thing anyone could do would be to take a stab at it. My doctors didn't know what to do, I didn't know, my family neither.
I remember that I had major stomach problems...it always hurt. So eventually I stopped eating. Along with all the antibiotics and medication came endless heartburn. With the heartburn I could either eat and then have to sit up for hours, or sleep...eventually I chose sleep. Soon Even the smallest meals began to fill me up. I went insane from the hunger and began having crazy thoughts. But to say the least I just did not want to continue. There was a point when I was getting my IV rocephin and I had not eaten for days. I stood up to go to the bathroom and literally fainted and hit my head against the wall. I fell over and wanted death. I had given up. I was rushed to the hospital and sent to the ER. They wanted to admit it and had asked if I had ever taken an HIV test because I was so thin and frail. I assured them I had and Lyme disease was my diagnosis...
There I sat in that hospital room...night after night hooked up to bags of fluids, and never being able to sleep. It was cold and dark, lonely and painful. At that point I was determined to die...I remember my dad crying and my mom too. I didn't care anymore, but through the grace of God my heart rate went up form the 30's and I was able to go home.
I'll save you some time but in after that I ended up swallowing a bottle of ativan and sleeping pills one night because I was done....let me tell you to never do such a thing. I ended up having to choke down charcoal and have a catheter put it. After my week long stint in one of the dirtiest ICU's I had ever seen I was then sent to a mental hospital in Cerritos that was literally hell. At this point I could barely walk and was reduced to shuffling around the grounds and hoping my back would not break on me. On the plus side I got to meet Sarah Michelle Gellers cousin who was a patient there (who looked just like him) and witness people hallucinating and tweaked out of their minds. Talk about One flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Those times were scary. I was not sure I was going to make it...but I did.
I am back at normal weight, I am playing my bass, I am walking up stairs, I am living...I still feel bad sometimes, and still have neuropathy. But I don't feel like Lyme is there as strong as it was.
I say this to all the other Lyme disease patients out there...There is hope...there is an end to the suffering, the pain, the endless nights where you don't know if you will wake up, or even want to. The human body is capable of amazing healing on its own. We are incredible machines designed by God to allow ourselves to sustain even the most traumatic damage. Another thing is do not buy into the bull shit you may read. Lots of people have been sick for many years and have tried so many different crazy treatments that they no longer know what they are dealing with. There is an endless road of doctors and medications that can be pumped into your system. Do not trust everyone, there are snake charmers in the midst of chronic illness. Antibiotics are dangerous, and long term antibiotics are dangerous as well. There are great risks and complications to long term treatment, so weighing of the pros and cons is crucial.
During all this illness I experienced a great heart ache...A heart ache I have not had the time or want to deal with. I never wanted t o because every time I tried I would get emotional and the pain would get worse. I lost someone I loved and ironically this love took me to where I got Lyme. I still feel lots of abandonment and sadness and I can't seem to let it go. I am writing this for the therapeutic value of it. There is a lot of loneliness in chronic illness, lots of isolation, lots of friends and family lost, even significant others get tired. I guess I am still feeling lonely from all of this. And it's funny that I would be embarrassed to say I am lonely...Something to human that everyone experiences...Why would someone feel ashamed to say that to another person. And ask for company....is it my own insecurities or is there real judgment from others...who knows...I should stop caring so much. As the Persian girl who I met in the mental ward who I was sure had Lyme too said" I am undeadable!" At least I can look back and say I have survived. I am tough as nails...I am amazing...And really believe it.
You can beat this god awful disease and all the misinformation and ignorance that goes along with it. There is hope and someday I pray that we will be bigger than AID's patients (Although we already are) and we weill get the recognition and help we deserve.
I will continue to update this with Lyme and non Lyme stuff. I hope you are well on this Saturday night and I pray for you.
Everyday I wanted it to be over, I wanted release...It seemed like the unsolvable puzzle that no one could figure out and the only thing anyone could do would be to take a stab at it. My doctors didn't know what to do, I didn't know, my family neither.
I remember that I had major stomach problems...it always hurt. So eventually I stopped eating. Along with all the antibiotics and medication came endless heartburn. With the heartburn I could either eat and then have to sit up for hours, or sleep...eventually I chose sleep. Soon Even the smallest meals began to fill me up. I went insane from the hunger and began having crazy thoughts. But to say the least I just did not want to continue. There was a point when I was getting my IV rocephin and I had not eaten for days. I stood up to go to the bathroom and literally fainted and hit my head against the wall. I fell over and wanted death. I had given up. I was rushed to the hospital and sent to the ER. They wanted to admit it and had asked if I had ever taken an HIV test because I was so thin and frail. I assured them I had and Lyme disease was my diagnosis...
There I sat in that hospital room...night after night hooked up to bags of fluids, and never being able to sleep. It was cold and dark, lonely and painful. At that point I was determined to die...I remember my dad crying and my mom too. I didn't care anymore, but through the grace of God my heart rate went up form the 30's and I was able to go home.
I'll save you some time but in after that I ended up swallowing a bottle of ativan and sleeping pills one night because I was done....let me tell you to never do such a thing. I ended up having to choke down charcoal and have a catheter put it. After my week long stint in one of the dirtiest ICU's I had ever seen I was then sent to a mental hospital in Cerritos that was literally hell. At this point I could barely walk and was reduced to shuffling around the grounds and hoping my back would not break on me. On the plus side I got to meet Sarah Michelle Gellers cousin who was a patient there (who looked just like him) and witness people hallucinating and tweaked out of their minds. Talk about One flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. Those times were scary. I was not sure I was going to make it...but I did.
I am back at normal weight, I am playing my bass, I am walking up stairs, I am living...I still feel bad sometimes, and still have neuropathy. But I don't feel like Lyme is there as strong as it was.
I say this to all the other Lyme disease patients out there...There is hope...there is an end to the suffering, the pain, the endless nights where you don't know if you will wake up, or even want to. The human body is capable of amazing healing on its own. We are incredible machines designed by God to allow ourselves to sustain even the most traumatic damage. Another thing is do not buy into the bull shit you may read. Lots of people have been sick for many years and have tried so many different crazy treatments that they no longer know what they are dealing with. There is an endless road of doctors and medications that can be pumped into your system. Do not trust everyone, there are snake charmers in the midst of chronic illness. Antibiotics are dangerous, and long term antibiotics are dangerous as well. There are great risks and complications to long term treatment, so weighing of the pros and cons is crucial.
During all this illness I experienced a great heart ache...A heart ache I have not had the time or want to deal with. I never wanted t o because every time I tried I would get emotional and the pain would get worse. I lost someone I loved and ironically this love took me to where I got Lyme. I still feel lots of abandonment and sadness and I can't seem to let it go. I am writing this for the therapeutic value of it. There is a lot of loneliness in chronic illness, lots of isolation, lots of friends and family lost, even significant others get tired. I guess I am still feeling lonely from all of this. And it's funny that I would be embarrassed to say I am lonely...Something to human that everyone experiences...Why would someone feel ashamed to say that to another person. And ask for company....is it my own insecurities or is there real judgment from others...who knows...I should stop caring so much. As the Persian girl who I met in the mental ward who I was sure had Lyme too said" I am undeadable!" At least I can look back and say I have survived. I am tough as nails...I am amazing...And really believe it.
You can beat this god awful disease and all the misinformation and ignorance that goes along with it. There is hope and someday I pray that we will be bigger than AID's patients (Although we already are) and we weill get the recognition and help we deserve.
I will continue to update this with Lyme and non Lyme stuff. I hope you are well on this Saturday night and I pray for you.
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