"If futility had a chance, I'd be dead already."
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"If futility had a chance, I'd be dead already."
(^"pretty" formatted google doc version here^)
Welcome to Blimith's scholarship enquiry GOFundMe!
Well, more like the result of having
nothing left to lose in this day, and age.
(upload monetary currency here with complete
negligence for your need to eat for a day/s.)
Basically, I've seen, and heard of numerous folks asking for money
for no real proper reason other than to scam the populous's net-worth
with volleyed dispassionate cries of woe, and frank stupidity.
(ie. The give-me-money-because-noreason dude, etc.)
Yehs there are starving children in Africa, that really prayers would benefit more than anything keeping them alive to deal with the travesties of the current world's darkened plights.
Lest I forget the many architectural Gothic wonders which “need” rebuilding, or the fracked water supplies of towns I don't read up on enough to know the name of.
Yehs the hand of God smites the East coast on a yearly basis in a way that makes the West coast forget about the last time they heard the “Hills of Las Angeles are burnin'”.
Japan is going extinct with the teen suicide rate, and constant Chernobyl -like dabbling slowly sterilising the populous.
Oh, and I'm sure there's some penguin epidemic I haven't heard of yet.
To say the least,
I'm fully aware of where else your money is better spent,
namely to Caesar if you catch my drift.
I've seen million dollar guy get money for no reason, I've seen a brother in my church get 5k for a trailer when his literally went up in flames.
You've probably given that homeless dude on the corner a year's salary over the course of your life, (only to make yourself feel better), to only see him still standing there skinnier, and more brittle than the first day's dollar, and twenty one cents.
My idea is not unlike some, but certainly set apart from the most.
For I am the few, the meek; the weak, and weary; the burden laden.
I am you, and you are me; I am human, and have countless dreams.
When I was a boy, about three, or four years old; like most,
we're asked what we'd like to be/or do when we grow up.
For some existentially profound reason I knew not of
until I pondered until now, I wanted to paint houses.
No not like what you might be thinking,
and no again to what person B might be thinking.
For some reason either I already had heard the story of Tom, and Huck' Finn or I’m merely drawing a parallel to the idea of painting a fence in the most simplest, and literal terms.
The same fluid motions of a single paint brush against a fence, but houses, seemed peaceful; seemed fun? Seemed just like the kind of thing a 4 year old might imagine being a good time?
Unbeknownst to my future self I'm sure there was some deeper simpler meaning behind that notion.
Fast forward to my teens; video games,
and convincing grandma of the age ole
beneficial hand-eye coordination argument
to allow my brother, and I to keep playing them.
Obviously now my passions slung me into the dream of video game design,
or testing, or selling; basically anything having to do with video games.
Venerable cartridge cleaner?, whathaveyou.
Or be a psychologist, bartender, or go out in glorious battle in the military. Maan the angst was high, and the possibilities endless,
but never quite as alluring as the prolific
Tron-like city which awaited my asylum.
Now obviously easier said than done, I shortly realised the economic struggle of the game industry, and my dream was diminished. However, in highschool I was given the opportunity to go to college at the same time; so I went to Grossmont Community college to begin something in computers hoping to reignite a future in game design, or something technical;
since I guess my horizons were broadened based on what I had done throughout the years as a teen, and young adult; be that taking things apart, and putting them back together again both electronically, mechanically, and otherwise. I wanted to know how things worked to a fault, and enjoid gazing upon the components glimmering with hues of motherboard greens, and metallic solder joints that would someday flay open my foot as a boy whilst crawling around on the floor looking for toys or something.
I liked tech, as you can tell, and music; retro tech, and new, same goes for the music. (if it has sound waves, and doesn't drop an F.-Bomb every twelve seconds, or some derogatory slur for the female sex) send it my way, haha!
Not unlike Michael Crichton's thought process, life certainly uh, “found a way”. Namely human love, and my poor judgement “found a way” to extinguish every opportunity I might have had early on in my youth. Although my grandmother had instilled in me the uncanny merited life skill of hard work, or pretty much any work at all. Had us mowing that lawn, and cleaning that 30,000 gallon pool the moment we could stand, haha! That woman worked more jobs, of several varieties than you could shake a stick at.
As you can maybe tell by now, I was raised by my grandma, she was one of the most inspirational, gifted, smart, and loving people I’ll ever know.
I could go on for a few more paragraphs, and hours if given the chance.
She loved me like Jesus loves, and I’m saddened to say I only found this out well after she had passed away; before I could even have a real chance to love her back. Like I said, she passed on, and I dropped out of HighSchool both to some depressive teenage angsty degree, and to begin finding employment; since the bills won’t pay for themselves now will they.
My brother, and I were separated, he took an academic technical background garnished with the mediocrity of the wages of a security officer;
and so I took relatively the same path after/during,
(“Life finding it's way.”), and became a security officer instead of a nurse, since it was easy, and I had the whole “protect, and serve” mentality for some reason coursing through my veins.
I took pride in the badge I donned, and the responsibility, and power (however little) given to me, and basically became Robo-Cop/Judge Dredd, which was both taken kindly, and unkindly throughout my “career”.
Obviously I wanted to go into the force at this point, but was held back from a juvenile record my angsty teen self procured from bringing a TINY, and I mean three inch pocket knife to gradeschool to show my “friend” on the bus literally about to drop me off in front of my house (who told on me) because it was ”cool”. (NOT cool).
So I waited for that to go away, and made a “living” as we all do.
Or really aptly defined, a “surviving” with the wage you're given as a security officer, in San Diego, CA. No less...
$10.25 an hour is NOT worth having a shot gun put in your face
in Lakeside at 0300ish in the evening/morning, I'm just sayin'...
Ok, so I do realise by now that the intentional paragraph sized explanation of why (insert countless amounts of currency here) you should bestow upon me anything, has now turned into a dissertation of the human condition, combined with an autobiographical employment history, of sorts.
I assure you, this is why I was thrown out of many a classroom back in the day.
It's almost over, (I hope).
Swept off my feat by every wind of doctrine of man, I continued my journey through love, heartbreak, material loss, marble loss, home loss, and suicide, (insert pity here, pshh!) please don't.
I pity the living for being alive. Give me 100 reasons to breathe, and I'll show you a shallow grave for each artist, poet, and philosopher of this world who tried to figure out why it was a reason.
(Insert what will detract 95% of people reading this from caring at all,)
I just can't get by without mentioning Jesus Christ;
Whom I am convinced is Lord, and God of all, saved me along the way.
Or rather, is in the constant process of saving me,
even now from both the wages of sin, and myself.
I digress, back to the thesis!!!!!
After realising seminary costs thousands of dollars (I assure you, even I was surprised at the thought of it at the time), I went back to college with a more economical point of dreamless woe that encroaches upon us all at some point. At least I was trying for something techie, like networking, and didn't realise I should have taken the prerequisite to the introductory class I signed up for until well after the fact. So I dropped out.
(Completed the A+ class though, which turned out to be a 3 month crash course covering only 1/3 of the curriculum actually needed to take the A+ test....
Why pay you college, if you don't wanna give me, the whole class!!!!???
Anywho, Life again, “found a way”, not only to help get my driving licence back, but to simultaneously hand my passions over to something I had always wanted to do but never had the opportunity arise. Dancing; and I don't mean being 1 centimetre away on all sides from several sweaty drunk humans in a room the size of a shed, (ok maybe alittle bigger than a shed).
I mean ballroom, east coast, west coast swing,
blues fusion, Tango, salsa, tap dancing, etc.
I had never experienced anything so gratifyingly stimulating to the senses as the combination of music, rhythmic movement, and human touch before;
and I mean to say this goes beyond simple sexual aspects of life in comparison, platonically alone this was the bees knees.
As well as I seemed to be quite good at it. It's hard to find something your good at that compliments your abilities, and interests in a way that fits that niche you've longed to fill your whole life.
Spring forward a few odd years, another terrible relationship, an existential crisis, and we have the makings of a man who has nothing left, but than to go up as they say. With the last scrap of will left in me I set out to revitalise myself with the only way I apparently know how, which is with a nearly impossible task to set sail to;
namely, to become a dance instructor.
Oh believe me I sure do know how to set the bar, I had no idea how hard this actually was, until I had professionals telling me horror stories. Top that with the thousands of dollars you actually need to get good academic teaching, with or without trying to get through college which I am not the general education type. I'm not inept, yet I do see that over time I am the type who's almost crippled by self defeat unless I haven't even the slightest amount of passion for the task at hand.
You can lead a horse to water,
but you can't make him tap dance,
at least not without an apple first.
I didn't let that drag me low,
nor did I allow the residual effects of a slandered name, (via. cross ex to put it softly)
in a community (which largely is clique based) stop me from my newfound dream.
“Tonight, I will seize fate by the throat;
It shall certainly never wholly overcome me.”
-Ludwig Van Beethoven
Well at least up until it killed the dream,
when I attained the nearly impossible chance at the dream after driving countless miles to Irvine, CA. Las Angeles, and back; sleeping in car parks, and professionally networking till the wheels fell off.
I characterised the embodiment of literally working,
and fighting hard to attain the “dream”;
until I was fired my second week because of that very same slander I had fought hard to get away from to rebuild, and rekindle that tiny shred of life left within the dark God-shaped hole of a cavern in my chest..
(I mean you don’t know failure/depressing, until you’ve heard your world class dancer/boss/venue owner tell you themselves to just give up,
and to not fight for your dreams.)
So, met with the uncertainty of life, and the dreamless scape of mundane servitude we call employment, I lowered my standard even moreso.
If you don't work, you don't eat right?
It's fascinating how many of us are surviving, and not living,
more than those of us that are dead, and yet “alive”, so-to-speak.
Don't quit your day job they say;
or perhaps fear that pigeon-hole which may
actually matter more than your own opinion
of what work is supposed to actually be in this life.
I have come to a point where I have become the venerable renaissance man we humourously look upon with disdain at the many abilities attained for which none are fully honed. I, like my grandmother, like the majority of the working men, and women, have all but lived, and have nothing but survived; some not by choice.
One of my mottos is,
“You name it, I've done it, will do it;
or will teach myself how to do it, and do it.”
I've done roofing, landscaping, construction, catering, masseur, plumbing, bartending, security, carpet cleaning, fast food, bussing, dishwashing, serving, IT, marketing, sales, sub-electronics work, manufacturing, labour, hauling, gym equipment construction, ditch digging, motorcar/bike repair, telecommunications, childcare, management, tech support, liquidation, audio/video installation/repair, electro-mechanical work, customer service, “dance instruction”,
I can almost get away with putting an etc. there without it being a complete farce, or blanketed use of the phrase.
I know I'm leaving out a few stragglers here,
and there, but you get the gist.
Up until earlier this year (2019), I nabbed that last job as technical support for an adult education business, 40k salary, full benefits, the works; everything the 98% could ever “dream” of, right?
To me this was the beginning of the death by a thousand thousand countless hours in front of a screen, within a cubicle. I must say there was a moment in my life where I thought to “succeed”, you should get a job that has you wear a suit, in an office somewhere someplace.
Naivety is a cruel, and wise counsellor;
you may only know, until after he has
ferried you across the Plutonian shores.
Now I've worked hard, and have gotten my fair share of dirty,
I've worn the pristine badge-clad uniform,
the infamous polo (which does not generate voluntary compliance),
nor does anyone fear,
I've repaired sewage covered electronics, and catered posh weddings.
I do love to wear a nice suit, & I don't fear my engine's petrol, and oil.
But if it's one thing that stands out,
it's that I certainly have worked
blue, to white, and inbetween collars.
This job, although wonderful, in many ways; was anything but, “the dream”
not to be confused with the American dream,
oh that in-an-of-itself was a bigger dream
than Asimov's notion of electric sheep.
Even though I was met with existential woe, as I had thought that I had finally “made it”, as opposed to my dearest brother, which well, he's not doing so great, but I can tell you he certainly is smarter than me, just maybe not as driven as I have been pushed to be. I had been told I'd be a failure, and never amount to anything throughout my entire life by teachers, group home counsellors, ex girlfriend's parents, and ex gf's grandparents, etc. Even myself...
I was in tears questioning what now, is this it? Will this last? Can I have a home now? May I finally have some economic well “deserved” rest? Was I even looking for rest? It was unsettling each day I went to the office. Up until this point I have either always have feared losing any job or feared not finding a “good” job. Now that I had it, I was inexplicably in terror, on account that I've never had a “good” job.
By, and by I still felt uneased by the fact that at what cost was my servitude expended. Ok now I have money, but now I think I can't stand my job, more than any other job, even the shot gun in the face at 10 something an hour seemed like a better time than sitting at a desk for the next 30-50 years. (Not that there weren't times where I did enjoi helping people) But, I seemed out of my element.
King Midas,
weeping over his golden clad daughter as it were.
Or something like that.
I tried to make the best of it, bringing biscuits on Tuesdays, (I like Tuesdays), and I did my job. Alas, I was swiftly fired (right after I broke my toe mind you) for both a stupid reason, and an even more stupid reason. Basically I got a crash course in office politics that shall not be named, or mourned really. You breathe the wrong way,
or blink one too many times, and BAM; fired. Kind of.
Welp, it was a sad blessing in disguise, as I was kind of relieved I was fired. Then again, I just lost the 40k job that I felt proud of when I got the approval from my brother's father when I had told him about it, that I would now feel the need to tell him that I had lost, as if he was my actual father. I just felt like I let down a lot of people involved; from my friend who put a good word in for me, and anyone I had told about the job.
So, back to square 1 again, cue unemployment, and
yet again another existential crisis/impromptu holiday?
I guess I needed/wanted some time to just get my bearings after the past decade. Caught some waves, worked on some projects at Starbucks, played some chess, read some books, kept up with church as usual, made ribs for the first time, and nailed them for our 10 year anniversary, winning the contest for best ribs, which to me was no easy feat, and there's little I have to take pride in.
I must say when they say idle hands are the devil's play thing they mean it, as I've looked for new jobs, and pondered these last few months if I should go back to school, or find another tech job that kinda pays ok; or suicide, you know, normal everyday stuff;
(don’t lecture me, I know I know. What you don’t is, just how illogically logical it is once you’ve had a taste of pure unadulterated existentially ecclesiastical lucid boredom/misery/loneliness/hopelessness; all meshed into a fallen living dead human carcass strung along against it’s will in an almost circular Sisyphusonian futile mortality-kind a way.)
OH I almost forgot, there was one opportunity I had that seemed to come out of nowhere where I would have been employed as the regional technician for Panera, again money, but get your own truck, and you can fix things. Totally sounds like more fun than the dreaded cube right? I was so gun shy about what to do I had to actually mentally prepare myself to consider it, because it still felt like a pigeon hole.
Either way it ended up being the classic hire the working man, vs hire the rich kid who needs to show he can hold down a job to nab his inheritance, and whatdoyuhknow, it ended with them giving the job to some sandwich bloke; better him than the rich guy I say.
I don't know what it is, but it's like I'm meant for greater things than to just be the caretaker for the next half century until I die... I'm sure everyone feels this way, but I feel it swelling inside me like a Mentos in a Pepsi bottle. I just feel like I have the energy, talents, and capability to do more than what I've been thrown out to do... Or maybe I'll settle like most of us do, and work the dead end job until Jesus comes back. (which there's nothing wrong with) I'm just plagued with humanity it seems.
I digress, and to get to the point that I'm sure is only being read
by the 1's, and 0's of some server somewhere at this juncture.
I was making a mixtape a week, and a half ago, (yehs that's still a thing)
and no it's just on Spotify, still playlist, mixtape, same thing.
As opposed to my usual mixtapes I had never done a synth-wave genre one, and did so.
It came out brilliantly, and I had to tell my close friend Jesse, and his wife Aimee.
As I went on so passionately as I seem to do quite often when I rant about stuff Aimee told me I should do a podcast, to my response I was like, “who'd wanna hear me go on about random stuff?”
Apparently people, a special kind that is I'm sure.
Well with all the time on my hands, what little left that is, I figured why not; could serve as a great preoccupation, maybe even be therapeutic. So like everything I get the itch about, I delved into countless hours (ok not that many hours, it's just a podcast) of research. Nabbed a mic for my computer, and began fiddling around with ideas for content, and mainly how to get Windows 10 to utilise the darn thing;
whereupon comes the crescendo of my thesis.
This literally happened a few days ago. I was in Starbucks, fiddling around with the mic, and near closing time one of the employees asked me if I was doing a podcast, and shyly with a smile, and a laugh I told him that I was just beginning, told him how I got to this point in the past week. He began to mention how he was in college, and how he had been fiddling around with the type of music I had made the mixtape based off of. I saw an opportunity so I enquired of all he knew about synthesisers, and music production.
I guess I skipped a big part here, because even my own brain skipped it up until I had actually spoke to the dude, that deep within the recesses of my mind I've always been enthralled with music, I've dabbled in piano, drums, guitar, the harmonica as of recently, but most notably is music appreciation, notably that of anything with an orchestra-like symphonic resonance to be precise, like that of Beethoven, Pink Floyd, Giorgio Moroder, Paul Oakenfold, Dustwave, Deadmau5, Kavinsky, Nero, The Glitch Mob, Douglas Holmquist, Lazerhawk, etc, a lot of the 80's synth wave music styles.
I've never had what I deem to be much of an extravagant Christian God experience as some will have, not to say I haven't had what I think is an eye opening transformative life changing revelation, but you know not one of those, (with the stars aligned, and Jesus just smack dab pops up in front of you, and you faceplant believe,) kind of experiences.
I'm a restless, thinking, feeling sort of creature that has felt a lot of things over my life, and not to say feeling is everything, that's what's wrong with the world now, we're all so hung up on feelings that we lose sight of our immortal souls.. Nonetheless, I've never felt the way I've felt when I've sat alone, and listened to scores of some few song styles that not just I enjoi, but get transported to another place as it were, to me the closest I'll get to imagine with my tiny mind what Heaven might be like; minus the tears. No kidding, I have a goofy smile on my face, and tears streaming when I listen to some synth wave music, I can't explain it, but it's like I've been wired to feel something greater than myself in some of what I hear. If that's not a sign from God I don't know what is.
All I know is ever since I felt this way I wanted deep down to be able to give that feeling to another human being if I could, but the notion seemed fruitless, the dream seemed so far as it were, that to ponder it even seemed reckless. I either felt too inept as a musician, or as a scholar, or as a human.
I pushed it far to the back of my mind until that dude at Starbucks broke it down in an oversimplified way that for the first time brought the dream back into reality, so close that I could nearly breathe on it. It didn't seem impossible any longer, and yes to know some piano, and some chord progression would be a major help, all you'd need technically is some gear, and you could hit the ground running. (kind of).
So what turned from a podcast,
Jon Carpentered itself into Martin Luther King's,
“I have a dream!”
(If I may be so bold with my wit to even give credence
to such a poorly executed line of vivid humour.)
Alas, aliken unto many a dream,
I seem to enjoi the pattern of delving into the most difficult ones.
So as we all know you can generate for the most part most of the sounds in music production from software, (kind of), but where that falls terribly short is of both a preference, and practicality.
For as I very well know of my scholarly mishaps,
I do know thyself to a fault. Being a purest gets me no closer to the “dream” either, as the sounds you hear from those songs are in part due to analogue/digital machines used both back in the day, and reinvented now.
Also, manipulating a physical dial just makes for an overall better experience.
ie. Would you rather strum the guitar on your iphone, or the real thing?
Which brings me to the dilemma you might be able to guess by now.
To put it into perspective:
MooG = your kidney, a lung, 1/3 of your liver, or a baby.
Basically make babies so you can swap 'em for synthesiser equipment;
because there ain't much you can do to procure that stuff for less.
Again, money always seems to be a big proponent in aiding
in the convenience of the dream acquisition as it were,
or rather to even gaze upon it really.
So it hit me that night after the dream was crushed once again, that wait, no. It could never work, it's insane; perhaps so insane it might actually work. I'll just ask for it. If you need help, never hesitate to ask for it. I mean if other people can do it for no other reason than,
“because internet”, then why not someone with some semblance of an actual credible reason?
You might wonder why I have put so many 0's preceding the decimal point,
or why there is an 8 to the left of those 5 0's.
(it might serve to be the only credible comic relief
I can muster to set myself apart from 1mil dude)
Or in reality at the moment of typing this on OpenOffice,
the “thesis” has spanned about 8 pages.
Or, in a way I guess I'm now selling you a novella based on a global price point of one hundred thousand dollars per page; only difference is, you get it for “free”, and I'm paid on donations instead of a salary for the countless years it has taken to build this circumstance to put forth into script.
(Or it's just kinda funny. I'd like to think so,
I have a problem with disjointed humour expended
at the worst possible times. My greatest defence mechanism!)
I ask you not for money, (but yes actually money), but the chance to try something unimpeded by the constraints of this mortal coil which plagues both the blue, and the white collared.
I humbly request the opportunity to not do,
(for I am human, and failure is always possible);
but to be afforded the opportunity to attempt a dream;
as small, and insignificant as it may seem.
If I do fail,
I shall do it gracefully with dirt in my eye,
and a smile on my face.
If I succeed,
I do hope to bring that very same God breathed resonance
that leaves me with an even more stupid smile on my face
in tears at awe to someone.
Even if that someone is me;
even if that lone someone is God Himself.
In some minor detail as to actually why the amount is so high; synthesiser, audio and all necessary equipment costs thousands of dollars, some tens of thousands, even “cheap” stuff adds up. Also, I could go to school to learn the necessary curriculum needed for this venture. I could finally have a roof over my head, and my own shower without the impending doom that is (where's the money gonna come from, and for how long this time) looming overhead.
I'm sure taxes will take a huge chunk of it, or GoFundMe might take some percentage, I haven't really looked into this as you can see I didn't come prepared...
I would continue the podcast thing either way,
perhaps give updates as to the ongoings of the journey.
I really don't know what else to say,
I feel like I need help to even go on about this. I'll figure it out.
Well. If you made it this far. Give yourself a pat on the back,
and my gratitude for bearing with me through the countless hours
I've spent typing this up.
It's about 0442 (that's 4:42AM) in San Carlos San Diego, CA. Right now...
(Do YOU know where your children are?)
Oh bless you if you know the reference, haha!
Thank you for your time, and support, I shall spend every penny wisely.
Either way the podcast will continue!
Come join me at Blimith sometime, and
humour my disjointed wit, and folly.
Anchor.fm/Blimith
Facebook.com/Blimith
Instagram.com/Blimith21
Twitter.com/Blimith21
Patreon.com/3nJo1
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Organizer
Jim Jones
Organizer
El Cajon, CA