Damn, it feels good to be a gangster.

It’s really strange. I’m talking about getting older. Not even that I’m very old or anything like that. I mean, I’m going to turn 29 next week. But this has been playing funny tricks on my mind. I’m feeling really… I don’t even know. Here’s something, one of the big things I’ve been thinking about.

A lot of the dead weirdo rock-n-rollers I idolized as a kid, they never lived to be as old as I am now. When I listen to The Doors now, I have to face the fact that Jim Morrison never made it as far as I did. This makes it hard for me to think of him as “tortured genius” or whatever, because the truth that I can see from this particular plateau is that Jim Morrison may have been something special but he certainly wasn’t good enough to keep living. I mean, he had problems. And he never overcame them. So he died at age 27 in a fucking bath tub.

When I bump into people I haven’t seen in forever, whether it be on the street or even on Facebook or something, the overwhelming sentiment among these old friends is, “Holy shit, Rob, you’re still alive?!” You see, we were all pretty sure I’d never make it past age 21 or 25 or that fucking ominous number… 27. But. I did. I’m almost 29. And I’m still here. Still kicking around. Still cracking jokes and still enjoying my bad decisions and still… alive. In fact, I’d venture to say that I am currently ALIVE AS FUCK.

It’s hard for me to look at someone like Morrison or even Kurt Cobain nowadays without thinking to myself, “Poor kid… never got over his demons.” Kid. The adults that I worshipped when I was a teenager are now KIDS. And the people I find myself respecting more and more are the ones who kept going. NO, I’m not talking about The Rolling Stones… they should’ve probably died when they were in their late-twenties… that would’ve been better. But, like… Sonic Youth? Those guys have been making really weird music for a VERY long time, and it seems like the years have just made them more comfortable in themselves. I find this kind of thing to be far more inspiring than a talented kid who burns himself out in a few years and dies before he even develops any wrinkles in his face.

I want wrinkles in my face. They remind me that I have lived, and I am still living. I have beaten the odds, and I continue to beat the odds with every breath I breathe.

Getting old, I’ve realised, is the same as winning. I think, in order to win at life, all you have to do is keep going. Like a video game. Usually, the further you get without dying… the better your score will be. Maybe some people play the shit out of the first few levels of life, and cram in tons of points but… still. I don’t know.

When I was 13, I knew I was going to be a famous rock-n-roller. When I was 20, I felt terrible that I wasn’t a famous rock-n-roller. When I was 24, I was starting to worry that I’d never be a famous rock-n-roller. At this point, I don’t even think about it. I mean, I’ve made a ton of music that I like. And I’ve traveled and I’ve partied and I’ve learned and I’ve loved and I’ve lost and I’ve laughed until I cried. AND. This is the best part: I am smarter than I’ve ever been, better all-around than I’ve ever been, and I am still alive to enjoy it! This is a wild concept for someone like me. I did all the drugs and the crimes and the sex and the near-death-experiences… and I’ve made it to the other side.

I feel like I’ve been in a tunnel for most of my life, just walking through it. And it feels like recently the light has appeared and I’m finally making it to the end of said tunnel and I can now go anywhere I want. This is exciting news!

Whatever. Another completely self-indulgent post here. But. I haven’t really been writing, and this is why. I’m just feeling super introspective lately. And I feel like I’m closer to “inner peace” than I’ve ever been before. But it’s weird. Because when you find this inner peace stuff, you don’t really find a need to talk about it. There’s not much reason to. Because Right Now feels Great, and that’s all there is to it.

It’s Sunday night. I worked hard all weekend. I had a little fun too. But it was all really mellow. And I feel good about the fact that I am going to now finish my weekend with some reading and maybe some leftover baked ziti and maybe a small joint later.

I will leave you all with a video that comes from a TV performance from 40 years ago. The man playing this song? He is still alive and well, and he can still play this song like he wrote it just yesterday. This is the kind of human I can love and respect, the kind of human I can strive to be, the kind of human I can enjoy becoming. So. Thanks for reading. And. Here’s the video:

(Unrelated note: I’m thinking about trying to be a little more serious about my writing, to see if I can turn it into some sort of income. So I may start a new blog somewhere, but I’ll most likely just completely change the way I do things here. Not sure yet. And there’s a great chance that I am actually a very bad writer, so I’ll go back to accepting that, and just be me. But. Yeah. In the meanwhile, things may get pretty hairy around here.)

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About R. Spacely

Bastard.
This entry was posted in Going Home, Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Damn, it feels good to be a gangster.

  1. Bret Staples says:

    I love Neil Young.

    I thought I was the only one left.

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