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A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter Three

1/23/2020

Continued from Chapter Two...

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3) One Hundred Percent

We start rehearsals.

Okay. This seems like a good place to go back to the point about there not being a show, because we do keep landing on there, thus far with very little sign of finding any resolution. As mentioned, it wasn’t as though the show lacked content. We had songs. We had characters. We had scenes. We even had set pieces. What was it lacking?

There are two aspects to this question. The first one is fairly straight-forward, and, being so, was relatively straightforward to solve: the show lacked cohesion. The numbers it was missing were those that, somehow, turn rag-tag lists of songs into a show, or at the very least a song cycle or revue. As we began rehearsals, it soon became apparent that some sort of main through-line, and the basis of a main character, were being called for to help this happen. This led to the development of some of the more dramatically involved numbers in the show, including the You Can Make Me Smile/Departures sequence, the romantic duet What Would You Do, and the psychological nightmare Nocturne. It also became clear that, while not, strictly speaking, the story’s protagonist (this is one spoiler I’m not giving away today), Soul was indeed the main character of the show—the one through whose eyes we and the audience were to traverse the proceedings—and needed to be treated accordingly. It is at this point when I cannot help but recall, somewhere between rehearsal and rehearsal, in a half-hour flash of white fury, that the epiphany song When Tomorrow Comes came into being, and solidified the character’s role as group conscience, albeit at times a reluctant one.

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The second aspect of this question, or rather, how it was solved, has remained something of a marvel to me, since SOM went into its final week of rehearsals, even though I lived through it, second by hyper-aware second. Now, as mentioned, I had written the show as a revue, meaning it would be a collection of thematically-linked songs, scenes, and sequences, in the musical theater style. It was balanced in terms of where the peaks and troughs were, and the resolution at its conclusion was clearly delineated. We had added elements of theatrical flair, such as an airplane, built out of four stools, for the number With Wings to Fly, as well as moments to showcase the vocal virtuosity of the cast members, not to mention their dancing chops (Find the Sun, and Swing!) But on the night before performance, something about the show just wasn’t working. Fiona, our tireless director, called an emergency meeting at her house. The show’s ending, she was convinced, needed an overhaul. I was exhausted—we all were. We bundled up into enough vehicles as were needed to fit us, and headed downtown, ostensibly to save the show.

For my part, I had no idea what was wrong, nor what the solution was for it. I would imagine the same could be said for the cast. However, we’d come to trust Fiona implicitly over the course of rehearsals—she had never led us astray before, why would she now?

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We began to plunk out different combinations and permutations of how the ending three numbers would play out together, until at some point probably close to midnight, the idea appeared out of nowhere. Fiona instructed me to find a segue directly linking the fourth last (preantipenultimate, I suppose?) song to the closer, effectively erasing two songs from the show’s ending. I’ll admit, I was a little skeptical—it was a lot of music to leave out of a show that was already struggling to find its length quota. But, and this was the most significant moment that I would come to experience over the course of putting on this production—this wonderful, shoestring production—possibly one of the more remarkable collaborative moments I have experienced in my life: I simply trusted her judgment, knowing that this cut was going to make the show work, and, in turn, at least so I imagine, she trusted me, that I would be able to make that vision happen in a way that was authentic and satisfying. By then, folks had started to conk out in front of a silent TV screen with half-eaten packets of Doritos strewn across the coffee table. I put the finishing touches on the new arrangement, woke up the cast, and we ran it, once more, with feeling.

It was magical.

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As for the first—and only—performance, it went well, with hardly any hitch, which was a nice way for things to befall, given how much effort we had put into putting together a show, almost from scratch, with hardly a soul noticing, in under five weeks. The airplane flew, the tap number came together, the “blind” waltz elicited tears, the reworked ending even more so. What’s interesting to me, to this day, is what that “cut” (i.e. the omission of the 2nd and 3rd last numbers from the show) ended up doing. Rather than serve the audience a perfectly balanced meal on a silver platter, it made them jump a little bit, with a jarring switch of gears that, by rights, shouldn’t work, but, I’m finding out as I continue to grow as a creator, almost always does. The song Rain (the show’s closer) in light of this becomes less of a conclusion and more of a catharsis, as the audience struggles to catch up with the emotional roller coaster created by the sudden acceleration of the characters’ collective journey.

4) Live to Tell

Flashforward twenty years. I had plans for States of Matter. In the early aughts, I remember that I was hoping to workshop it, apprentice with preeminent theatricians in various places, exotic (well, places like Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, which, to me, would be considered less “exotic” and more “home”), and turn it into a “real show,” something that might be relevant beyond its years, a piece of immortality in a fleeting world. As the years passed, I was faced with disappointing reactions to the work. The Malaysians didn’t think it was Malay enough. The Singaporeans weren’t convinced it had relevance in Singapore. I started to wonder when it became acceptable for the identity of art to become so provincial—it would have been one thing, and possibly easier to accept, if consensus had simply been that my music was terrible. Eventually, I shut the project down, in favor of more commercially viable ventures.

Yet, every so often, I would take it out of mothballs, and look it over, maybe do some rewrites, sketch out a new song. In those times, I find myself having this ongoing conversation with myself, wherein I’d pose the question: isn’t it about time to say goodbye to States of Matter? To let go of this ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen-year-old show once and for all?

I think of Fiona’s revisions. I consider them deeply. I’ve become very clear on the fact that they were not only necessary, not only ingenious, but likely integral to the success of what I like to refer to now as “SOM 2000.” Without them, I imagine, that, while audience members would likely have still been supportive, I don’t think we would have seen the droves of moistened-eyed pundits urging their way into the green room to say hello to the cast and crew, who had worked so hard to create something so out of the ordinary that night. It was an incredibly emotional set of moments, put together by an incredibly rare combination of energies. I certainly was blind-sided, and I don’t imagine we’d be able to create this catharsis again.

source: www.shutterstock.com

But maybe that’s just the point. We cannot recreate the magic that was SOM 2000, and perhaps nor should we. It will always have had its place in history. We have the memories, but the energy is long passed. We have all since been influenced by the ebbs and flows of time and the world song. We are different beings than we were then. What remains, if anything, of that SOM, are that which was written down, audio and video recordings of the performance, yes, but moreso, notated scores of songs, that can be read and learned by musicians, actors, and produced, and mounted on a stage. But to try and find our way back to that which was, in my opinion, would be folly. And maybe that’s all well and good.

Think of the experience of living history. I have friends who participate in this, and I have a passing interest in it myself. The idea of cooking a meal from scratch upon an open hearth to me holds in it an incredible sense of romance and adventure. So, one day I hope to create circumstances that will allow me to do such a feat, and, once done, have myself and my loved ones enjoy the fruits of our labors. But that doesn’t mean I have a wish to live in, say, the 18th century. I’m happy, in this case, to let the past be the past, while allowing, even chasing, for certain experiential aspects of this past to exist in the present. This is what’s called a dialectic, two contradictory poses that exist as one; life is full of them, and, I’m learning, the more of these apparent paradoxes I can come to understand, the more of them I can accept in life. And the more I can accept in life, the more opportunities there are, and the more options open up. At least, that’s what seems to make logical sense to me.

What is States of Matter, and what is its relevance in my life? On one hand, it’s a twenty-year-old piece of music theater that doesn’t particularly represent who I am now as a writer. Yet, and on the other hand, I have a great deal of love for it. And I do believe that, in all its sentimentality and generic inspirationalism, it still has things to offer in the marketplace of ideas, especially to young people or anyone who might be undergoing a process of loss of innocence, and a re-deciding of who they are, and, more importantly, who they would like to be. We are all the fearless explorer. We are all the shrewd pragmatist. We are all the turbulent psyche. And we are all the wise sage. We all wander through the rain, and we all long for home. This year we mark the 20th Anniversary of States of Matter’s first, and only, performance. In honor of it, we will be presenting, “States of Matter: In Concert”—an abridged version of the original show, in concert form, with select new material, and brand new orchestrations. Details to follow at bluedorian.com. We look forward to joining with you, in heart, music, rhythm, and soul.

States of Matter, The Company, from left to right: Jennifer McDonald (Music), Steven J. Engelbrecht (Rhythm), Elizabeth Geuss (Soul), Adam Farouk, and Bill Meakem (Heart); image courtesy JM.

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A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter Two

1/22/2020

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Continued from Chapter One...

source: www.glassdoor.co.in

1) Sail Away

Flashback to the fall of 1999. I’m a newly reinstated junior at Cornell University, Ithaca, New York, having spent the previous semester on academic leave of absence, in order to, ostensibly, decide whether or not tertiary education was indeed the thing for me. In truth, a lot of me was still unsure, but for the most part it seemed like the thing to do, to keep me out of trouble, so to speak, and, in retrospect, given the influence my being-there has had upon so many factors of my current existence, it’s hard to imagine what my life would have been without my having returned as I did. By then, I had had several bouts of musical theater fever, and was firmly ensconced in its grasp. I found myself spending time with its practitioners, including dating, on, then off, then on again, then off again, a woman of rare talent in the field. Through osmosis and exposure alone, I found myself lucky enough to glean no small amount of education in what for me continues to be a noble and fascinating subject.

source: nystagereview.com

“States of Matter” had come a long way. Over the summer of 1999, I found myself in something of a writing glut, scratch-crafting songs that would go on to become some of the cornerstones of SOM, songs such as: Walking Away; With Wings to Fly; and Call of My Life—these titles may not be familiar to many of you, which, I’m realizing, is one of the reasons why I am writing this blog. But more on that to come. Over the fall, I took on my first major writing challenge, which was a mini-musical story that would eventually serve as the basis for SOM’s Memory and Visitations, Part One. I had long been a fan of R.C. Sherrif’s “Journey’s End,” and with more than a passing interest in World War One history, it felt natural, for me at least, to draw from both to create the backdrop for the Sail Away segment of the show. Unaccustomed, at the time, to writing music that served either characters or a story, writing the plucky young soldier, around whom the plot was centered, was fiercely uncharted territory, and brought with it no small complement of fears and concerns.

source: www.irishnews.com

Fortunately, I had not arrived at the gates of this endeavor empty handed. Over the years, I had been fortunate enough to work with some incredibly talented individuals in the arenas of choral singing and a cappella. Even more a blessing, however, was that, among this community, there were individuals who were as rapt by musical theater as I was. In this way, three of the four cast members of States of Matter were found: Bill Meakem, who brought a stunning, lilting tenor, and an irrepressible energy to the role of the idealistic conscript; Steven J. Engelbrecht, whose commanding and charismatic baritone, not to mention his dance prowess, perfectly suited the roles he was to inhabit, and Elizabeth Geuss, whose sassy and sagacious coloratura infused her part with all the wit and wisdom it was calling for. Fortuitous, and fortunate, it would turn out. To this day, I remember nervously bringing sketches of Sail Away to Bill’s apartment, and playing them in so tentative a fashion as to border on contriteness. Thankfully not only were the eyes and ears supportive, but yearning, as I was, for involvement in an original work.

Sail Away was originally intended to be part of First Edition’s introductory showcase, to be held in December 1999, but for whatever reason, it never happened, which was probably all well and good, as it allowed the mini musical to be workshopped without the pressure of a looming deadline. In the meantime, songs continued to be written and workshopped, such that by the time winter break rolled around, myself, our producers Edmund Quirin and Rice Majors, and the three-quarter cast we had assembled had just about half a show under its belt. Of course, it was around this time when I also learned a very important lesson when it comes to production: better to have one thing done one hundred percent, than to have ten things done ten percent.

source: sg.news.yahoo.com

Why, you ask? Fast-forward to 2000. It’s five weeks to curtain up, and, yup, you guessed it: we have no show.

2) Music

Now, by this point it should be clear, that when I say we “had no show,” rather than the total, complete absence of anything resembling a work of theater, what I actually mean is something a little bit different, linked—perhaps unsurprisingly—to the “very important lesson” mentioned above. Indeed, we had added to the inventory of working songs, including both the opener and closer, respectively: Just One Look, and Rain, the latter of which was based on the very original chord structure I had come up with, all those years ago, at Interlochen Arts Camp. We had found ourselves, in Fiona Santos and Jason Brantman, a director and stage manager with unquestionable bona fides, who were both, for some reason, willing to step onboard for the cause and take the helm of a novice production of a half-written show by a first-time composer. (When put that way, it seems almost foolhardy, like some sort of theatrician’s fear-factor challenge, the kind of thing that isn’t considered complete until someone’s devoured a whole raw fish.)

The most glaring omission at this point was the role of “Music,” one of the show’s four principal characters. We had already gone through two performers for the role, one of whom was a one-time stand-in for the ill-fated First Edition showcase, and the other of whom passed on the role in favor of a part in a concurrent student organization’s production of “The Lion in Winter”: understandable, even if I was a little incensed at the time. Backing up—over winter break I had put significant effort into the show’s opener: Just One Look, and it was then when one key component of the show was solidified: there were to be four cast members, two men, two women, and each character was represent one of four “states,” namely: Heart, Music, Rhythm, and Soul. Don’t worry too much about what this all means—it’s a bit like the characters from the movie “Inside Out,” except derived from metaphysics rather than from emotions. This becomes one of the key precepts of States of Matter, in addition to which is the idea that all of these characters are created equal. Among them there is no top billing, and the casting of the show must reflect that, which, at present, it did.

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Flash forward to the spring. We’re starting to panic. We’re going through a comprehensive list of candidates the likes of which would make an election year blush. Fiona, our fearless director, has stepped in at times to play the role, and while she’s convincing, we all know it’s no long-term deal. The idea is even floated to me that my girlfriend at the time might step in and play the part. Now, she’s a professional actress, with years of training under her belt, while the current members of the cast, talented and dedicated as they are, are ultimately student amateurs. Such a disparity in experience and practical knowledge of the craft would only serve to highlight any inequality that may exist between them, in addition to going against one of SOM’s core precepts (see above). It’s a glaringly obvious fact, one for which I gain no points whatsoever in pointing out to her. No big deal, I’m told, by everyone; the fact that I find myself newly single by midsummer is surely just coincidence.

We finish going through the list, and no one is particularly suitable. The actors won’t handle the intricate musical numbers. The singers are lacking in character. I’m about to lose hope, when who do I run into in the university chapel’s basement (a common hangout for choral singers—trust me, it’s not as weird as it sounds) other than one of my oldest of college friends, who quite literally walked up the slope with me on the first day of class: Jennifer McDonald, who, I’d often thought, would have been a shoe-in for the part of “Music,” with her clean belt and natural sense of introspection, but for the fact that this was, ultimately, a student production, meaning cast members would have to balance academics, social lives, and other competing extracurriculars. Aware of her full schedule, I simply didn’t think to ask, until the date of the production started to loom, ever closer, and politeness was swiftly trumped by practicality. We needed a full cast; the worst that could happen was that she said no. Once again, whatever the driving force behind her taking on well more than a student ought to in a single semester, the production was blessed by her decision to participate, as it was too with now SOM veterans Bill, Steve, and Elizabeth, who were playing Heart, Rhythm, and Soul, respectively.

Continued in Chapter Three...

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A Memory in Three Parts, Chapter One

1/21/2020

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It was late January, the year 2000, and who could have ever predicted that such a rag-tag crew of haphazardly-organized, multi-passionate but painfully-inexperienced wannabe producers would have grown into a steadfast company of creative entrepreneurs, bound and determined to bring to life a theatrical production, whose success, be it artistic, financial, or otherwise, was far from assured. The presentation in question was an experimental musical revue I’d been writing on and off for the past three, or six, years, depending on to whom you spoke. By winter’s end, still 2000, the fledgling student organization “First Edition Productions”—who was mounting the production—had found itself a director, a stage manager, a good three quarters of the cast, the band (such as it was—one single pianist), a producer, and a venue. The other components, it seemed, could still be picked up along the way, with ample time for rehearsal before curtain up. There was, however, one small problem.

There was no show.

Flashforward twelve years. The Mayan apocalypse approaches, and I’m inventorying my body of work as part of a comprehensive website redevelopment effort. The lead designer, going through the list of current BlueDorian projects, arrives at a collection of documents grouped together under the three-lettered acronym: SOM. I’m asked about it, and I clarify that SOM stands for “States of Matter,” which is a show I wrote, back in college. A follow-up question is posed—nothing pointed, just to gather more info on the subject; I’m asked: That’s a twelve-year-old project. Does it still have relevance in your life?

www.mynorth.com

Flashback to the summer of 1995. I’m attending Interlochen Arts Camp, a jumbled mess of emotions (me, not the camp—I take that back: also, at times, the camp), playing piano for one of the institution’s jazz bands, alongside a charming, kind, self-possessed young lady named Norah, who, unbeknownst to all of us at the time, was slowly preparing herself for when she would eventually go on to become a worldwide superstar and leading expert in the field of a mellow, mellow, oh so mellow, jazz. Meanwhile, I’m spending most of my time trying to figure out life, without ever pausing to think about whether life ever took the time to try and figure out me. My closest friend at the time is a consummate New Yorker, with an ascerbic tongue and offbeat sense of humor. We bond over the original score of the musical “City of Angels;” he introduces me to the William Finn masterpiece “Falsettos,” and a firm friendship is forged.

We decide per breakfast one day that he and I should collaborate together and write a musical. Naturally, we decide on coming up with the title for this magnum opus first (priorities, priorities). Unable to conceive of any better means for such a vital task, the method we settle on ends up being a game of word association. Somehow, from goodness knows where, we stumble our way to the phrase “States of Matter” and decide that it is fitting, which is saying very little given that we’d yet to decide on subject matter. But with the grand excitement of a new project to sink one’s teeth into, by the end of the next week, I had put down the basic chord structure to a song. My thinking was that my collaborator would finish it, by writing its lyrics. This was not to be. By then, he had made plans to withdraw from the wooded cabins of northwestern Michigan, and return to the pulse and fervor of the Big Apple. I shelved my new creation, not thinking it likely I would ever see it again.

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I remember the question as though I were being asked it today: Does States of Matter have relevance in my life? It—the question—tingles up, in, and around my brain, like a hyperactive triangle player, filling me with dread and incertitude. Earlier that year I’d brushed it off as a possible put-forth for some theater festival or other. A colleague of mine, whom I was speaking to on the phone at the time, validated this decision, responding with something along the lines of: Yeah, you don’t want to submit something you wrote in college. I was quick to agree back then. Now, as I find myself on the precipice of what will be States of Matter’s 20th Anniversary year, I discover that I am less assured of my convictions, wondering instead if there is a place, not merely in memory, but perennial, for this piece of barely pre-twenty-first-century art, in all its heartfelt theatrical naiveté, a place in the world dialogue, as we all stumble along together through the beginnings of a new millennium, a place in our hearts as we each take one step closer to finding the sun.

Continued in Chapter Two...

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Watershed 2019

12/31/2019

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The year draws to a close, and I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure I have the energy to go twelve rounds with another one. Between the mental health diagnoses and their ongoing, and in many cases worsening, symptoms, and several emerging physiological issues as well, next year I would hardly be surprised if I were to find myself on the receiving end of something fatal, and, I have to say, some days I’m not sure I wouldn’t welcome it.

I’ve always been honest with these watershed posts. I’ve never sugar-coated my feelings. I’m really thankful for all the support I received upon reentry to the world after my hospital stabilizations this year. I can say for certain that I would not have made it through with quite as much of what little remains of my sanity intact without the calm, kind, and caring strength shown to me by friends and family, who in the face of these circumstances rallied to become the support network I never knew I had. I am deeply touched by this collective gesture, and will hold it near and dear to my heart for always.

The weeks and months following reentry were a difficult period, and continue to be so, with symptoms showing no sign of abating—in fact, they seem only to strengthen with time. No one seems to know exactly what’s going on with me, exactly what is the matter with me, let alone how to present any coherent plan to try and heal me. I am told that the work takes time; what I experience is that with each day the symptoms become further entrenched, and increasingly more difficult to face. I spend most of my time—I may have mentioned this before—with my eyes closed, to try and escape the symptoms and the turmoil they convey.

I’ll keep this short, meaning to say that I’m winding up. I’m often loathe to make life-suggestions, believing a person’s right to choose the content of their experience to be paramount. But in going through what has been beyond the hardest year of my humble existense, I feel, for once, a sense of responsibility: that to hold my tongue in this instance might be to miss out on an opportunity to do some good, or at the very least to share some perspective that, who knows, might be worthwhile to someone out there.

So, to any and all who might find this relevant: a recommendation. Look around you, and admire all the beauty that you see, including, perhaps especially, the beauty that is yourself. Devour all there is that brings you joy to see. Watch the world. Observe it, mindfully, with curiosity, and wonder. Speaking as a person who may never be able to take the simple act of looking at the world for granted ever again, I cannot emphasize this more. The world is a beautiful place, absolutely stunning, and I miss it so much. Take in the best of the world, and leave the rest. Allow its beauty to bring you satisfaction, happiness, and joy.

You deserve it.

source: https://resize-parismatch.lanmedia.fr

Travel safe, and talk soon. -AF

Title Inspiration:
Song: WATERSHED (Saliers)
Artist: INDIGO GIRLS

Enjoy! -AF

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Where Troubles Melt Like Lemon Drops

11/19/2019

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My Dearest Mack and Tosh,

I hope this finds you well. I’m writing to catch you up in more detail on some of what has been going on here with me over the past few months. I’m going to dive right in. There’s some candid content here, be forewarned.

As you know, this past April I had a major mental health emergency, and was hospitalized in a voluntary inpatient unit for several days. I was discharged quickly, with a new meds regimen, which everyone, including me, thought would solve the issues recurrent prior to my admission. Unfortunately it did the opposite, amplifying my symptoms to the point where I was basically existing in what I might describe as high-crazy mode most of the time. Long story short, the situation culminated with my readmitting myself into hospital, and spending another stint in a mental health inpatient unit.

I was, eventually, discharged again, with a different meds regimen, a different therapeutic model, and a different, more fitting, diagnosis. I am, clinically speaking, more or less stable, but the combination of symptoms make it difficult to take anything for granted. Along with the bipolar disorder, which I still have, I meet sufficient criteria to be diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, which, as we know, is simply delightful—in addition to which, I have a combination of anxiety symptoms, which express themselves most frequently in the form of panic attacks, which are severe and can strike at any time, as well as something residing in a ballpark very nearby to obsessive compulsive disorder. Together, it’s a tricky situation to manage, to say the least.

Even as I’ve recovered considerably over the past two and a half months, I still experience my symptoms considerably, especially those related to OCD. I’ll be going about my business, when suddenly I start noticing something, for example, a spot on the wall. Then, I cannot stop noticing it. I t takes up all my attention. If I try to fight—in order to stop noticing it—the symptom (i.e. the obsession about the spot) only gets worse. The only way to stop noticing it is to somehow “accept” that my mind is obsession about the spot, but this is not always easy, or possible, to do.

In these moments it’s very easy to be overwhelmed be feelings of hopelessness and darkness. The other day I had some intense dark thoughts, as a bi-product of unprocessed symptomatology. Before long I found myself questioning why I was alive, and wondering if the alternative might not be a more preferable state of affairs: a chilling place, indeed. Thankfully, with even my meager practice of coping skills, plus some help from the new meds regimen, I was able to get through these thoughts, and make it safely to the other side.

I’m realizing how important it is for me to find a way to stay connect to people, and avoid isolatory situations as far as is possible (barring writing, which, for better or worse, is typically done alone). Feelings of hopelessness can metastasize in isolation (for me, anyway). I’m looking to stay on the side of light and lightness.

If you’ve read this far, thank you, and I appreciate it. Will look forward to when our paths next cross.

Travel safe. Talk soon.

-AF

source: http://www.thewizardofozmovie.com

Title Inspiration:
Song: OVER THE RAINBOW
Artist: ISRAEL "IZ" KAMAKAWIWO'OLE

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Fear No More the Lightning Flash

11/5/2019

source: http://www.themindvoyager.com

This year, on April 30th, I had what’s commonly referred to nowadays as a mental health crisis. This sterilized, sanitary term has—in true Carlin-esque fashion—sounded at once more dramatic and more serious in days past, with the phrase “nervous breakdown” warranting (and justifiably so, I can now attest, have been through one) the terrifying vision of a mental *snap*, followed by a period of complete inability to keep up with normal day-to-day activities: work, family care, relationships, and so forth. The brain is fried, or deep-friend, rather, and no amount of coaxing can get it to see itself as otherwise, at least at first.

(This first paragraph took me two weeks to write, thirteen days of which were preparation, and failed attempts.)

source: https://images.freeimages.com

Because I am human and prone to distorted thinking (not saying those are necessarily linked… necessarily) my initial thought was that of: Why? (Truthfully there are days when I still think this.) Why did this happen? Was I being punished for something? Was there something I had forgotten that I had done wrong, that I still needed to atone for? And for that matter, did my life still work that way—pinned, inexorable, to the wheel of karma? Where were grace and compassion? Where was enlightened equanimity?

Thankfully this “control fallacy,” when it lasts, doesn’t last long. *Phew*—as it were. The bottom line is that it happened because, well, it happened. At least, so far as goes the philosophy of it all. As for the logistics, bridgestorecovery.com speaks of a nervous breakdown occuring: “when a person is no longer able to cope with stress or pressure. Stressful like events may trigger a breakdown, but underlying mental illness may also cause it.”

(Again, I can attest to this. I’ll spare you in detail as to all of what the stress was; notwithstanding, it was a combination of work and personal factors.)

source: https://media.baselineresearch.com

I spent a little over a week in an inpatient unit, under close watch for safety as well as diagnosis. I graduated to what is known as a “partial program,” living out in the “real world” while attending a bevvy of a groups and classes, on tools and information generally designed to help the subject remain both in the real world and living. Now, it’s more or less back to reality.

source: https://singularityhub.com

Except, the way I remember it, reality was once a collaborative adventure, not a cruel exercise in smackdown economics, featuring humiliating defeat after humiliating defeat, as I struggle merely to remember vocabulary and simple items on a to-do list. I’ve been told that the real recovery, the one that begins well after the groups, well after the classes, can take months, if not months upon months, a grueling Everestian climb, which, if these first weeks are to be judged by, I can once again attest to.

But enough about that. What concerns me now is recovery. How do I get better, so that I can cease being a burden on my lovely wife, a true dedicated superhero if ever there was one, and start getting out there back to the world of creative badassery and cosmic avenging that so much more suits me than passive victimhood ever could.

source: http://www.8-bitcentral.com

I am forcing myself to write this blog. The mental strain is near unbearable. With each word search the side of my brain feels like it’s being seared on a skillet. But I will persevere, and I will complete it. Because if there is any sense of give-uppery in me, lingering, lurking, what better way to find it, and show it exactly how it can go fuck itself, whenceforth will I move myself into a space—bulldozing my way there if I have to—where things are the way they should be: where my creativity is back in charge.

Title Inspiration:
Song: DIRGE FROM CYMBELINE (poem) (Shakespeare)
Artist: JOHN GIELGUD

Enjoy! -AF

I've Never Been Too Good With Names

10/15/2019

AF Thoughts from May 5th 2019.

We discuss guilt and shame. Rich, the facilitator (real name altered), wears casual jeans and an open flannel shirt, wearing his grey head of hardly receding hair neither short nor unkempt. He has one of those faces where when he is gone you are unsure whether or not he has a mustache and beard, or rather, you are absolutely certain he does, but would hate to have to stake your life on it. He is friendly, but more to the point in this case he embodies a state of gentle authority: knowledgable, and firm in his understanding of how to convey said knowledge. We begin:

source: http://www.citypointchurch.com

Guilt and shame are established as two forms of conscience, developed specifically to determine scope of behavior, or, in other words, to limit it. Don’t go outside the cave after dark! is the rule and you are to follow it. Whereas in reality, the reason for this rule is both sound and based in logic i.e. you will in all likelihood be eaten by a large, long-toothed prehistoric feline if you do (go outside the cave), the forces of peril employed in teaching this lesson are far more immediate, and, in many respects, far more threatening i.e. because I, your parent, told you so, and if you disobey me I will become angry!

1) Shame

source: https://www.rover.com

Shame can be understood as the fear of disconnection. It develops at a relatively young age. Children are conditioned to join the herd, and to do so no matter what it takes—it is often said that children will take bad attention over no attention at all, such is the pull of the herd. Shame intersects with a fear of abandonment, or exile, two of the most basic disconnection-based consequences a tribe can put on individuals.

2) Guilt

source: http://i.ytimg.com

Guilt is slightly different. Guilt develops at a later stage, when the mind can abstract, particularly when it can create for itself its own set of personal rules—its personal code. When an individual violates their own personal code, a feeling of guilt may be the result.

3) The Brain(s)

We can consider the various “brains” i.e. the various stages of human cognitive development, and how they relate to guilt and shame.

First, the “reptile” brain. This part of the human brain deal with the basic functions: eating, sleeping, defacating, etc.

Next, we can observe the “mammal” brain. Via the mammal brain, babies learn to label their emotions. They learn how to express, and how to connect. Also, it is worth noting, shame lives here.

FInally, there is the “human” brain. The human brain begins to come into play at around 3 years of age, developing from 3 years until about 6 years old. The human brain, a marvel, can share information, thoughts, ideas, and opinions. It can read Aristotle and Shakespeare. It is worth noting that most herd animals will, at most, join three (3) herds, whereas humans will join hundreds of "herds" in one lifetime (i.e. social circles, professional circles, and so forth).

It is this—the human—part of the brain that learns to navigate all of these different rules. Often times, rules which apply in one place, do not apply in another. Humans can navigate this, humans can modify the rules at will. Rules, for humans, are what we create, and rules are negotiable.

source: https://www.taringa.net

Rich now leans back in his chair. We are given space to wander and explore.

It is easy to see in the world how children who are treated differently can become children who are wired differently. The question is asked: why do some children have such a large shame conscience? We ponder. Nature? Nurture? Excess punishment... child neglect... bad treatment? If a child is aggressively punished every time they are taught a "lesson," do they learn the underlying lesson, or is the lesson they learn that their parents will get mad and will yell at them?

To the group, it stands to reason that any and all of these factors would have an impact on the developing mind, teaching it how to move through the world.

The discussion segues briefly onto the subject of depression. Depression: it is different from sadness, it is a pane of glass between you and your life, that get thicker and darker as its power grows. You know they're out there (your supports, your *tribe*) but you just don't feel them.

After a few more minutes of discussion, Rich interjects, with some grist for the mill. A too-high shame-o-meter can, he proposed, can elicit the feeling of “I am pretending” in children: “I feel like I am pretending all the time.”

He goes on to say: We accept the love we think we deserve.

For those with too high shame-o-meter, the beliefs are often:

If you like/love me, I’m fooling you
If you tell me I did a good job, I’m obviously faking it

They WILL remember the criticisms.

And they will disconnect from the good things.

source: https://static.timesofisrael.com

Closing Thoughts

As the session winds down, Rich offers us some some final impressions to mull over.

There is a watchtower, he says, in the upper mind, whose purpose is to ask: “What do I think about my feelings?” Guilt lives up here. It's a rational place.

As for shame? Just because a feeling is real, he says, doesn't mean it is true.

He leaves us, as the minute-hand on the clock passes ten signifying the end of the period, with the following, on the off chance, he says, that it is useful. It is a set of questions that one might ask oneself during the guilt/shame response process, as follows:

Did I break a rule?
If so, what rule was it?
And, furthermore, whose rule was it?
And, finally, what do I think of that rule?

We all carry around guilt, as well as shame, he concludes. Hopefully this mode of inquiry during periods of distress might free us from some of the toxic effects of our unprocessed shame, and allow us a greater sense freedom, to know that we are writing our own rules, and charting our own course.

source: https://pngtree.com

Travel safe. Talk soon. -AF

Title Inspiration
Song: IT'S A SHAME ABOUT RAY (Dando, Morgan)
Artist: LEMONHEADS

Enjoy! -AF

You May Ask Yourself...

9/25/2019

AF Thoughts from April 8th 2019.

source: https://www.fool.com

My Dearest Mack and Tosh,

Thought it would do to be back in touch. These are in all likelihood going to look a little different moving forward. How? No clue. Just a hunch. In any case, the end (i.e. the entirety) of last year was quite hectic, what with the worsening health issues, and also the move. We’re settled now, here in Concord MA, where, fingers crossed, we’ve found ourselves in a situation with a little more stability. (*spoiler alert*: We did not.)

BlueDorian continues its step-by-step march to bringing new and awesome things into the world, its current focus being steeled on the Daughters of Time story project, which mostly involves a lot of typing. I never thought the notion of tens-of-thousands of words would be appealing as an aspect of professional practice, but the reality of it has very much grown on me, and, until we find adequate means of creating anything more complex, say an illustrated novel, comic book, or animated series, it seems that eBooks are an honest and smart bed for successful project completion, at least in a way that is manageable and satisfying, in addition to feasible, for the team.

- Daughters of Time -

Cameron

Gwen

Roya

Anneka

I do miss the creative jamming that comes with ensemble work (AFO went on medical leave (mine, not theirs) starting September of last year. To that end, one of our goals is to reform one or more version of a “new” AFO, later this year. Last year the ensemble repertoire diverged into two distinct sets: a more “traditional” rock-pop set, and an experimental electro-pop one, which was very exciting, but also tricky to sustain, as, being an entirely new type of beast, no one knew exactly how to communicate with it—with only a handful of songs (pieces, really) in the repertoire, and no scores per se, there was scarce material with which to populate rehearsals, leading to feelings of positivity, but, when it came down to it, very little productivity.

Still, I in many ways preferred performing in such an ensemble, as it side-stepped the aspect(s) of performance that give me greatest pause, which is lead vocal work—which has always been a source of great anxiety and ongoing trauma, and to which I find great peace and satisfaction in my recent decision to adopt of a stance of acceptance towards it, rather than continuing to spend the rest of my life trying to fight through. Also, the AFO, being a “rock band” in the more traditional sense, requires of it a “front-man” approach, to which I find myself more and more ill-suited (as can be judged by the style of this writing, which, frankly, is much more “me” than, to wit, “Hellooo Cincinatti!!!”).

As a point of nostalgia—if you can call it that—I was made to give a lot of speeches when I was younger, suffice it to say I grew accustomed to the “talkie-talkie” that being a singer-songwriter, and then, later, front a band, necessitated. But I’ve always hated it lol; I much prefer the role of playmaker and occasional featured soloist—preferably keyboards, my first love—to anything else.

Anyway, the thing that holds me/us back is the fact that we will not realistically be able to embark on any such project without at least two additional members of personnel, one to be the project’s manager (coordination of various aspects and logistics), and the other to be its artistic director (facilitating rehearsals and coordinating audio/visuals). Not having these roles filled while trying to produce the scope of project worthy of the time it would take to do it (might be a bit circular there—getting up earlier and, while perfectly alert, still not entirely used to it) will without a doubt result in major burnout for all parties in the current team; none of us are willing to put both health or the quality and success of any at such risk ever again.

So, we’ll be keeping a sharp eye out for people who are able and willing to do this sort of project in those capacities. And I suppose, my dear friends, if any one you know might fit the bill, or if you yourself are motivated by life and ready to be part of something awesome, I believe there’s probably a contact form somewhere around this site—you are most welcome to employ it to that and any other worthwhile purpose: you never know what conversations can lead to what.

In the meantime, our to-do list remains full and fulfilling, with a happy dose of self-competitive pressure as we intensify and accelerate towards our first eBook release for Daughters of Time (DoT). Yes, did I forget to mention that earlier? I probably intended to ;) I am so, so excited about sharing these characters, this universe, and the opening steps of this story, with you; after four years of development (granted, not just of this story, but pretty much the entire universe and cadre of easily a dozen stories that go with it—see, I’m tantalizing, sorry, marketing) and what has felt like eons of chasing away demons, it finds fixed form in the magic of .epub. This is the culmination of years of people telling me I would never achieve anything in this field, that, as a musician, I should know my place and leave the writing to the writers, and me, somehow, finding either the will or sheer bolshery to summon the words of everyone’s favorite “Dude” and say:

source: https://www.gamespace.com

From the twisted weirdness of my warped mind, to you lovely people. Enjoy.

And a final shout-out to the fine musicians, artists, and practitioners who made up last year’s AFO. Please check out their links and show them some love; they are just brilliant people and fantastic musicians to boot: Tom Appleman (bass, vocals); Renée Dupuis (keys, vocals); Andrew Jones (drums); Dave Lieb (guitars, vocals); Elizabeth Lorrey (management & coordination); Elizabeth Geuss (producer).

Travel safe and talk soon.

-AF

source: https://www.liquor.com

Title Inspiration:
Song: ONCE IN A LIFETIME
Artist: TALKING HEADS

Enjoy! -AF

Watershed 2017

12/31/2017

source: theaquino.com

This was a tricky year for me, I’ll be the first to admit; attacks of both the blues and the reds began with unprecedented frequency, then accelerated, in such heedless fashion as to imply a sense of vengeful purpose, to the point where the potential for full emotional meltdown became threateningly present on a daily basis, no matter what discipline, regime, or medication I was applying at the time.

On the upside, this has given me a great sense of empathy for the world in its current state. #topical

But seriously, it got to the point where I even began to feel a sense of envy for people whose moody “bad days” are as turbulent as it gets. Now, this is something I avoid doing at all costs: I’ve been on the receiving end of the “oh, it can’t be that bad for you” game, and the whole situation is both awful as well as fallacious. So I really hate that this is where my mind went at times this year, however, and unfortunately, it was probably the clearest, if least optimal, indicator of the nature and scope of obstacle that I was—that we were—facing.

Still, as the song goes (per image above):

There are so many fabulous faraway places to see...

The question is: Will we get there?

#WeWill

I was told this year was to be a year both of and for innovation and new directions; for better or for worse both of these things would have to, and were going to, happen. I can vouch for this having been accurate (I think we all can!), in a year that appears to have tested the limits of our collective souls.

Some similar things can be said for the adventures of TeamPeh Enterprises in 2017. We’ve said hello and welcome not only to new life experiences, but new paradigms. We’ve said goodbye to an entire wing of our business, and have drastically altered, repurposed, and/or reconfigured several others. I personally have said goodbye to friends, in some cases entire groups, and have expressed tacit farewells to yet more family, in a continuing and thus far successful effort to release old relationships that are no longer working, and initiate, cultivate, or revive ones more aligned with who I am and what I value now.

source: fartoonsblog.blogspot.com

Without further ado, here’s the summary:

TeamPeh Enterprises

The bulk of the operations of TeamPeh Enterprises for the past five years was taken up by TeamPeh Properties. This was a company involved in the purchase, sale, and leasing, as well as administration, of real estate. It was an exciting venture that we began in 2012, by purchasing a mixed-use property in Harwich Port, on Cape Cod. Another property on Cape was added soon after, and eventually the company grew to a burgeoning (for us, anyway!) four and a half properties: the mixed-use; a vacation rental and an office building condo, both on Cape; and an apartment building in Boston Metro—the half was a 50% interest we had in an another apartment building, also in Boston Metro.

Robert Kiyosaki would have been proud. And it was fun for us, in a way. We were learning a lot about real estate, about property management, in some cases even about law, specifically agreements. But after a few years the interest just wore off. Here’s some humble advice from us. A lot of people will tell you you have to go into real estate: You don’t. Go into real estate if you want to, if it really excites you. We have friends who are in the real estate game, and you can tell it suits them. They’re just really into it. And that’s awesome. But real estate is no panacea. It’s like anything else. If you like it, you will love doing it. If you’re not into it, well, like anything, there might still be reasons for checking it out, but in my humble opinion it’s really more important to know what it is you love to do and go and do that.

I’ve read the books. You know, the ones that say real estate will help you get rich for reasons a, b, c? It might. But it will also take up a LOT of your time. So, if you literally have no other passions or interests in life, then, sure, give it a whirl. Maybe that’s the dealio with all these “get rich quick” type authors: they’re not really interested in anything and all they want to do is play gorf.

source: thedoteaters.com

Oh wait, I meant golf. Pity.

source: nintendolife.com

Anyway. All good. No harm no foul. For us, there is a LOT that we are passionate about, and I think I speak for the whole family when I say we might rather take our chances doing what really drives us and gets us going than, well, than just about anything else. So, after five years of walking this path, TeamPeh Properties is winding down. We’ve divested our interests from the Boston Metro area, and will likely be rationalizing all but one property on Cape (more to follow). Despite my little kvetch-fest there, parts of it were a lot of fun. I enjoyed learning various things, mostly on the subject of law, for example how to construct a lease agreement from scratch, random things that actually have had some applicability in other arenas (like I said, there are still reasons for trying this kind of stuff out, if it piques your curiosity). We’ve met some cool people as well, some of whom we continue to work with. So, much gratitude for all who came into contact with TeamPeh Properties; it has been an engaging and illuminative ride.

BlueDorian Media Entertainment

BlueDorian began the year with two goals: one, to solidify the AFO as an entity more integrated and aligned with the BlueDorian curriculum; and two, to take substantive steps to move the “Daughters of Time” line further to the forefront of its operations, both of which were achieved, though, as usual, not in the way that was at first predicted. The AFO’s uneasy relationship with the rest of BlueDorian stemmed from its reliance on me as both facilitator and frontperson, thus pulling a chief creative resource away from other areas, such as “Faerworld” or sound recording. This year, this was examined and reconfigured so that the AFO’s repertoire supported BlueDorian’s exhibit at the 2017 TeamPeh Expo (more to follow); rather than exclusively playing “AFO” material, it presented a varied selection, with tracks from other BlueDorian work in development, including: Open Mic; Continuity; and even Daughters of Time, with an original theme based on one of the story’s main characters.

All images @2017 TPE

AFO 2017 (from left to right): Andrew Jones, Joe Cardoza, Renée Dupuis, Elizabeth Lorrey, Adam Farouk

As for Daughters of Time, the illustration work planned this time last year was completed in full, with a round of immaculately drawn and rendered sketches of the four main characters: Gwen; Cameron; Roya; and Anneka, which were presented in a DoT featured exhibit at the TeamPeh Expo. The original designs were created by BlueDorian, and artwork was generated and rendered by the able hands of: the Limetown Studios; and independent artist Kurt Chang. Also presented was costume design work, again developed in-house at BlueDorian, with sketches rendered and executed by Laurie Bramhall. The artwork will be curated properly over the first quarter of this year, and final selections will be displayed on the BlueDorian website.

source (background): deviantart.com

Artwork credit: JSherman Studio (logos); Kurt Chang (characters)

Artisanal Innovations

Artisanal began its year with an cosmetic restructuring, changing the name of its primary legal entity, the effect of which being to clarify its two major brands (Artisanal Being, and Artisanal Healing) as existing under one administrative roof: Artisanal Innovations. The summer season was a banner period for Artisanal Being (AB); featured events included: an artist trunk-show featuring MKC Photography; and the much anticipated and highly successful “Christmas in July” extravaganza, as well as their annual BlueDorian artist-in-residence partnership, and presence and collaborations with local businesses Cake & Islands and the Chatham Candy Manor, during the Harwich Port Summer Music Strolls.

All images @2017 AILLC

Artisanal Being ends the year with a larger restructuring, moving its principal operations away from the Cape in order to focus more acutely on other areas of the business, including the online store, educational program development, and potential brick-and-mortar expansion on the mainland. The Harwich Port AB store may, pending analysis, may return next year, in limited fashion, but in its original location (hence keeping the one building.)

the Haven III Farmstead

By far the most unexpected development of 2017 was the purchase of what is tentatively being referred to as the “Haven III Farmstead,” a 57-acre “gentleman’s” farm and surrounded woodland, in Ashburnham, MA (a by-product, in part, of rationalizing our Boston Metro properties). The word “gentleman” here seems to mean that the farm was previously used for recreation, as opposed to actual farming activities. And while that particular source of value, as a kind of rural vacation guest house, is evident from first glance, well, as mentioned, we simply aren’t in the property game anymore, at least not right now.

We saw ourselves heading farm-wards as early as the late-aughts, we just never knew how to really make it happen. As such, February was a leap-of-faith sort of month, wherein we found ourselves gaining a real admiration for people who keep horses. We came across the “H3F” on our second viewing adventure, and it more or less had us at hello, even though we were probably a little overwhelmed by the acreage, and filled with no small amount of trepidation over what we would do with such a space this extensive (we have a bit of a thing about responsible use; it’s not just about the having). Within about a day, however, we had ideas, ideas that have gone on a mental (and, at some point, probably by necessity, an actual) list of maybe-do’s. The idea for now is to get to know the place—for starters, perhaps, where the effing boundaries are—and learn some of what makes it tick and what it might need from a steward and responsible owner.

Oh, and also, the dogs go literally apeshit when they are there. It’s hilarious.

But, just for kicks, here are some of the thoughts we’ve had. First, upon the northern hillock (yup, there’s a northern hillock), there are a mass of wild (heirloom, it’s suggested?) blueberry bushes. Yes, you heard me. There is, indeed, on this farm, a Blueberry Hill. We tested the blueberries from the bushes from this season’s harvest and they’re pretty decent, typically as per wild: small, and relatively strong flavored, though not too sweet. One thing we noticed is they keep their shape really well, which can be a good or bad thing depending on what the goal is; it will be interesting to see how, or if, they jam. Numbers were small; we might consider populating the entire hill with bushes, if we can get a interesting variety, to up the quantity of production. Either way, we’re likely looking at secondary application, as opposed to raw blueberry production.

Secondly, on the south pasture (uh huh) there is a dale with a large field. In this field there are a number of mixed grasses, but also, wild strawberries. Indeed, once again, you heard me. There is, on this farm, a collection of Strawberry Fields. We’re not thinking about anything here; just thought I’d mention :) Next to it, however, is a little apple orchard that’s been untended to since at least the Nixon administration. Thirteen trees (one per... original colony?) but with room for the same number again, this was a feature that really caught our eye. I have been a massive “apple” fan ever since I was told on good authority (Grover, from Sesame St.) that they would ward off unecessary medical visits. Since then, I have taken to cider (from what I have no idea), which I’m sure counteracts any benefits I derive from my once-daily regimen of the fruit unprocessed. Ah well. Still, even with a lot of help the crop was meager both in size and aesthetic. We are told by our apple-man (not to be confused by AFO’s Appleman) that the time-frame for getting these “not-a-crook” specimens back to any kind of shape could be three or so years. This sounds like a worthwhile process, so we’re committed to seeing how to mend the orchard, so to speak. Should be fun.

All images @2017 TPE

Finally, a melange of different projects. North of the barn there is a plot of land with seemingly no purpose whatsover; one that appears as though it might do well supporting crops of some sort, of which our interest, in this case, might lie in herbs. For both AB and AH there is a call for such light farming, with in-house herbs creating the potential for a variety of different secondary applications, from infused oils, to soaps, to teas, to various tinctures, balms, and unguents (which is basically the same as a balm, I’ve just always wanted to use the word unguent in practice). Birch trees abound about the property. That’s all I am qualified to say on the subject, but I am so told that birch trees contain a veritable cornucopia of natural remedies, so check out the Artisanal Being and Healing websites, as I’m sure they will have more to say on the subject, if not now then in the future!

So, indeed, a big year of moving forward, shifting around, and shaking up. One thing I haven’t mentioned, rather conspicuously I might add, is a project upon which our focus was trained for the better part of the year; in fact, it is what motivated us, determined much of our decision-making on which initiatives we would focus on, and finally, drove us forward as we redoubled our efforts to complete each one of them in necessary sequence from day one. I’m, of course, talking about the TeamPeh Expo. The reason I’m speaking scantily about this rather major happening is that there will be a comprehensive overview and report on the event, on the TeamPeh website next year. We are currently in the process of gathering all the materials generated (images, sound files, screencaps etc.) from the evening, and will be putting together something that represents fully the event that took place on November 18th. We’ll do the rounds on social media as well, so there’s be coverage, for anyone who’s interested in hearing more about TeamPeh’s inaugural expo event: watch this space!

@2017 TPE

TPE Expo 2017 Production Team (full company listing @ teampeh.com)

source: mandypatinkin.net

What a circus, what a show, indeed.

You know, with this new theory that aliens, if out there, might well be viewing from a distance, observing humanity as a gamekeeper would an animal in the wild (or, as has been suggested, a mollusk in the ocean!) I personally find myself experiencing the following: Firstly, I’m relieved. It’s easy for me to feel an inflated sense of responsibility, as though I “should” be doing something super important, at all times, and if I’m not, my life is abject failure. If I am an oyster in the ocean, then I’m somehow absolved on that, aren’t I? And yet, at the same time, I’m creating a pearl, a thing of beauty, singular beauty some might say. So, I am grateful for that notion. I’m just an oyster. I don’t have to invent a means to sustainable energy single-handedly in my lifetime. Instead, I can create my pearl, so I fully intend to do that.

source: emptymiddleseat.blogspot.com

#molluscs

Secondly, and speaking of empathy, there’s a sense of forgiveness. The image of us, with all our perceived grandeur and sense of achievement, as seven-point-six billion, or so, adorably tiny aquatic gastropods, crawling around, just trying to find enough to consume until we reproduce and then die, really gives a sense of context, and puts into perspective just how “big” any of us, including the latest misinformed, bloated political provocateur, is, whoever it happens to be at the time. Tiny snails. We’re just tiny snails. Or clams. Or squids. And we’re just trying to figure out how to be alive. I can no more judge a process as fundamental as that as I can the exploding stars and colliding galaxies that made up this world in the first place.

I can, however, create a life that's as beautiful an adventure as I can possibly envision.

I can, and will, create my pearl.

source: justrandomatheart.tumblr.com

Travel safe. Talk soon. -AF

Title Inspiration:
Song: WATERSHED (Saliers)
Artist: INDIGO GIRLS

Enjoy! -AF

It's Got What It Takes, Part 2

12/27/2017

0 Comments

PREVIOUSLY ON THE ADAMFAROUK BLOG:

Asparagus Water!

Crooning Haircuts!

Temporary Obstacles!

... but, above all...

source: gianthamster.com

CAPYBARA!!!

WE RETURN TO THE ADAMFAROUK BLOG...

I started BlueDorian almost thirteen years ago. At present, my work has yet to truly capture the attention of even my own local community, let alone stand a chance with the zeitgeist.

YOU!

source: dailymail.co.uk

...ARE AT A TEN. I'M GONNA NEED YOU AT SOMEWHERE BETWEEN FOUR AND SEVEN.

I have gone from being a young upstart in my mid-twenties,

source: vectorlogo4u.com

to a struggling "responsible" adult in his early thirties,

source: ridvanozturk.deviantart.com

to a man pushing forty with Reed Richards-style sides of grey.

source: dkscooks.wordpress.com

#SwissChardGO!

I can think of a handful of people who would either brand me a failure (sadly, these include some of my family), or else who’d offer some sort of condolence for the fact that I haven’t “made it” yet, or (the implication would be) that I’m unlikely to make it at all. In fact, I chuckle as I write this, as I remember distinctly once being told by a musical “big wig” that it was “ok” that I was thirty three, because I “looked” “twenty three”, which was a more respectable age in the world of entertainment, and it was a boon that I could pull that off rather than actually appear my age.

I remember at the time I sat quietly, as I tend to do, at least at first, when I’m in such a situation, listening to a person who has more experience than I do, holding my tongue no matter what I might be thinking, and being willing to do my best to really see their point of view; after all, a full cup never did any good to anyone wanting to learning anything. But I’ve had a few years to consider this attitude that I encountered, and I’ve come to the distinct conclusion that the thoughts I remember myself thinking at the time, but suppressing, were a relevant, if not appropriate, rejoinder to the situation I was experiencing: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for that backhanded compliment, and while I’m at it, I am thirty-three, and proudly so, so go eat a dick.

*ahem*

I’d call this person a douchebag, but it seems insulting to such a useful and medically beneficial device.

I will thus have to reach back through time, into the recesses of my teenage mind (the ones that weren’t saturated with nudity) during my days in the United Kingdom—land of the origin of some of the greatest and most colorful (or is it colourful?) insults—to find the perfect term for this occasion; ah, yes, there it is:

source: zazzle.com

Recommendation to readers: DON'T BE A TOSSER.

Note to self: SEE RECOMMENDATION TO READERS.

I admit, though, there are times when I believe the tossers of the world, when I would look upon where I stand and call myself a failure. Why haven’t I built my house yet? Why am I having a hard time with this corner of the foundation? More practically, why did that artist bail on me, or that director? What could I have done better?

The reason I do this is precisely because I was directed, in my youth, that Adam not only “has” a problem, but “is” a problem. So I, very easily, internalize anything negative that might happen to BlueDorian or anything I do. Sadly, I’m sure I’m not the only one in the world who does this.

My “friends” in the past (remember them?) would corroborate that:

The problem with you, Adam, is you don’t have enough self-esteem...
The problem with you, Adam, is you worry too much...
The problem with you, Adam, is you take things too seriously...

If it weren’t for that, I bet you’d have won a <insert award here> by now, I mean, you’re so #talented!

But the problem with you is that you should just go to <insert big city e.g. New York City/Los Angeles> and get serious about having your #talent recognized!

And I would think to myself: the problem with you, arsehole, is my foot has yet to make contact with your throat.

source: robotbutt.com

For the record, that particular solution (#kickinthethroat) has never been administered.

And also for the record, I’m not saying that there’s an inevitable correlation between “anything,” and “anything else,” if you get my drift (if you don’t, it really doesn’t matter; I’m not entirely sure I do either). What I AM saying is that I’ve experienced in too many friends and colleagues a strange obsession with “gatekeepers,” whether people, places, or organizations, and this obsession has, frankly, been kind of a dick to my personal choices, values, and interest in cultivating integrity and positive connectivity, in life, as well as through art and business. Whether or not I needed anything external to make me stand by my values and choices any more than I already have been: I certainly stand by them now.

source: laziqacaz.sylaz.fr

I’m finishing up, I promise. The bottom line is, yeah, they’re probably right, these tossers, at least about some of these things. Because of my programming as child, I do indeed have incredibly low self esteem, crippling anxiety, and to boot, though unlikely related, I also live in a tenuous state where uncontrollable inner turmoil is just one trigger away, a state that, while treatable, will likely stick with me like luggage.

What I acknowledge is that these things may never change.

What I also acknowledge is that these things are not failures. They are not problems.

I am not a problem.

And so aren’t you.

All of these are things I can find solutions for, or else find teams to help me find solutions for. I have low self-esteem? How does that manifest? Obviously not in expressing myself in blog form #circumlocutory, but perhaps in certain kinds of face-to-face negotiations or even just conversations. It’s known at this point that I would rather stick a fork in my eye than attend a formal social gathering. I would in fact probably rather eat raw suet than even have a one-on-one social conversation on any given occasion with anyone, that’s how anxious I feel before them and how drained I feel after (the exception is anything to do with work i.e. creative projects). So how do I deal? Well, create a team. That’s not easy to do, but there are people out there who revel in dialogue, conversation, sharing information in that way—I’m just not one of them. And the same things applies in all aspects and arenas. Find the people.

You are not the problem. Thinking that you are is.

* * *

Whew. Alright, I’m done. And all this from “one day I went jogging.” As always, I mean what I say, and I believe this principle applies to others as much as to myself: any and all problems are temporary obstacles for which solutions are either available or somewhere out there, and so far as is implied to mean inherent, immutable, and inextricable, the problem is not you.

You know, for years I’ve rambled on and written these end-of-year sum ups; I’m still clueless as to whether anyone benefits from them.

#postlude

The truth is: the mission needs help. We--I--need help. I’ll dig into this a little more, probably, in a later blog, but just so you know it’s coming. I also meant what I said when I said I felt tired, frayed, jaded, by this decades-long process of assembling this organization and this mission from scratch—all the while seeing the idiocy of gatekeeper culture flourish and, in spectacular fashion, fall, while onlookers stood questioning why there wasn’t something different, something better even, that might exist in its stead. So consider this the preamble to a call to action. Without action, without participation, we, the mission, will likely stall. And if we do, quite frankly, I will probably have few choices available to me (in terms of what I can mentally stomach) than to return to Greenbow, AL, and settle down in Mama’s house: those lawns won’t mow themselves after all, y’know...

The mission needs help. And while I may feel that I am nearing the end of my rope, so much so at the close of this year that I am explicitly, and repeatedly, bringing it up, I’m not willing to throw in the towel just yet. BlueDorian just soft-launched its new website (#BDW3), and over the next quarter we’ll be working step-by-step to begin populating and curating its basic framework with awesome content in a way that feels both authentic and experientially satisfying. If you believe in this organization, if you believe in what we are doing: check in, visit, reach out, communicate with us—let’s explore how we can work together, to forward this mission, to create and develop conscious art that is as illuminating and empowering as it is entertaining, to participate in the transformation of the world into a more luminous, more enlivened place.

In time: light, and the magic will follow. For now, it’s just this:

source: pinterest.com/source/weheartit.com

I'm ready to find solutions.

Who's with me?

#IAm

Travel safe. Talk soon. -AF

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Adam Farouk's Official Blog

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Watershed 2019

Where Troubles Melt Like Lemon Drops

Fear No More the Lightning Flash

I've Never Been Too Good With Names

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