#she's like a dog who _really_ wants to be put down

[frameshiftworks]

"An Audience For My Death"

Morgan? Honey? You doing good?

[jsupnorth-blog]

How To Be an Artist: Summer of ‘18

    I’m one week out ‘til school. With blueprints, models and materials sent out to my head engineer, I feel like I finally have the time to be in “summer mode”. It’s bless. I actually finished recording the week prior, but the transition to a vacation state-of-mind hasn’t been easy. I frequently find myself in a melancholy and somber mood (the usual for composing). I go through vocal warm-ups every morning in preparation for non-existent recording sessions. I’m still swinging the hammer. Even more in sleep.                                                            

• • •

    I spent the last 7 months with life revolved around music. The project, aptly titled “_Why Is There A Smile?_”, has been the sole focus of my existence – day-in and day-out since early April. Morning walks with my puppy, Rook, were spent listening to _Blonde, 808’s & Heartbreak_ and _Brown Sugar_, as well as anything else I could draw inspiration from and reference to. Grocery dates with _Gux_ were cut short in favour of tweaking the laser synth I swore finally figured out. If this were any other project, it would’ve been released 7 months ago.     I was already playing demos of “Track 4” in _Frank Dukes’_ loft studio by last December, touting the song was close to being finished... The naivety is so appalling. Although the music was already written, mostly composed and ready for recording; the project was probably ~40% done – and I can only say that in retrospect.

     I think it’s in sloth and in lust that we look to finish our work quickly. To move onto the next, exciting endeavour. But I needed this project to be meaningful. I needed to put my nature aside and truly get my hands dirty.

    I’ve never had the time (nor the patience) to sit down and refine a project to such an extent. Perhaps the most important lesson learnt in doing so is this: life comes alive at the details; developing ideas is the easy part. It’s in the quality of the weld that we secure our lasting bridges. It’s in the vulnerability of time that we architect and engineer our great skyscrapers. And it’s the heartfelt-warmth of ones candid smile that defines love as we so personally know. These were real moments of humanity that allowed me to take a step back and realize that growing pains were growing pains.     We all have jobs and relationships and health to look after – we’re only human, and I’m no exception. Luckily, I had the luxury of a loving roommate (my cousin) who would put food on the table and walk the dogs so I could stay in my zone. I had his trust in my music, and more importantly, in me. And above all, I had my partner in crime, the love of my life, and the mother of my puppy-son, Patricia-Angela.          • • •

    It was in the first year of high school, Autumn of ‘08, that we grew fond of each other. Movies with mutual friends turned quickly into after-school “cuddle dates”. Her boyfriend would try to visit as my girlfriend texted in worry, but it was simply too good to be a crime. We scoffed at the label of “love” and refused more to admit to it, but it was there, undeniably and unavoidably. And though things fell through and never really solidified til after, we were undoubtedly (and unconventionally) your high school sweethearts.

    Somehow we found ourselves at 7 years. It was in her grace and my joy that we moved from the twin bed at my parents house to an apartment to call our own. For once in her life, she had the stable home that she long deserved; and with her help, I’d finally learn to be a man. The countless doubts and personal setbacks were finally giving way.     In April, I lost my job with the _City of Toronto_ – along with any remaining faith for a “normal” career. Without question, she picked up rent, groceries and dog poop so I could focus on my dream. She always joked about the idea of being my sugar mama; and the reality of it only brought her to smile. Previously, I could never fathom a love so selfless, asking only for faith in return, but it came with no surprise. I’d always thought of Angela as the one I would find marriage with, and I was confident enough to let her know.

    By then I figured (partly out of necessity) that, if I was willing to risk the stability of a career and home, then I must _really_ be ‘bout this music thing.                                                            • • •

    I have this underlying fear of forgetting how to be myself. It may sound unusual, but imagine _Piglet_ starring in _Memento_: nagging doubt and anxiety mixed-in with some strange sort of amnesia. Though I’ve yet to develop Alzheimer's; blank mornings and an attention deficit keep me well-worried. But it’s not all lost. I credit psychedelic experimentation – most recently with 800-µg of _Lysergic acid diethylamide_ (LSD) – and prescription drugs for a large part of my mental stability (which I still doubt, from time to time). That, in combination with meditation and psychological study, have helped me find peace in my spirit. No, I haven’t reached _Nirvana_, but my memories improved and I feel I’ve dug out some real confidence from the depths of my being.

    Right alongside this finding was the realization that I needed some growth. I wanted to spend time alone. _Real_ time alone. So I woke her up on a Monday morning and I told her.

    This started an avalanche in the closet, with each skeleton piling into a massive snowball of death. The “I love your girlfriend” best friend.

The domestic violenced ex-girlfriend.

The coming out that I cheated on _her_ with said ex, 3 years prior.

The alienation that followed.

The “You don’t care about family” younger brother.

The snapping at Dad for not taking my criticism, then arguing with Mom for rushing renovations to take me in.

The 4am prayer-walk asking _God_, “did I fuck up?”

    Good times. Honestly. I believe tears are never shed twice, and I believe severed ties repair the strongest. I found faith in _God_; a new faith born outside any religion I learned growing up. A faith born in humanity. And most importantly, I let go of the weight on my spirit. Because even if we became the next _Jay_ and _Bey_, so what? So what if we build an empire, a legacy? What good would it be if our family was built on selfishness? I don’t want to amass a fortune, I want fortune for the masses. I want to help those in the pain I understand, and the many more in that which I don’t. And I know Angela does too.     Some might say my love for humanity will only lead to downfall, but truthfully, it’s my faith in humanity that keeps me going. It’s my priority, now, to focus on becoming the cunning artist, the hardy leader and the trusting friend. To serve all nature and humanity to the best of my ability. To do that is to know _God_.

    And I’m still learning how to be alone. Still trying to convince myself that it’s ok to wake up without her by my side. It’s all I’ve known for years, more if you include the nights we fell asleep on the phone. I’ve been coping, clinging to any stranger willing to hold a conversation. I’ve lost balance, vision. I’ve started smoking cigarettes and

my teeth turn yellow

but I don’t smile

so I don’t mind.

I just stay Melo

that’s hoodie drawn

and sneakers on.

• • •     These days I’m finding real kinship with internet strangers and one-off pen pals. After struggling with wanting to stay alive, I think I’ve finally found comfort and solace at my parents house. I might even be enjoying the solitude. My boy is 7 months old and is getting too heavy to carry in one arm, and Angela and I are back on good terms. As expected, it’s still a constant challenge to not crawl back to the tower of love and comfort that we built together. It’s still standing strong. It still feels like home.

    Inevitably, as always, there is new architecture to be learnt and there are "homeless" in need of direction. I’ve been watching from the balcony for so long that I’ve forgotten what depth looks like. So I’m back to walking the city corridors. I’m starting to remember that streets are paths, not divisions, as they seem from above. I’m finding that we’re _so_ connected – via hidden paths and underground subways – and I’m realizing that this is not land for ruling, but for sharing and for building. For peace.

Denver

Edit: I don’t think it’s in sloth and in lust, at least not entirely. I think it’s in having yet to realize the importance of patience while developing the details for an idea.