Knowledge: a burden

Everything I write here is personalized; every issue I complain about here is adapted to fit my own life. However, I do not feel selfish in the least bit. I am not the only one going through these shitty issues and I hope I can help someone or at least jolt them to realization.

Knowledge: a burden; and stuff. You might think I’m gonna go philosophical on this bullshit. You might think I’ll take some scholarly route, or some religious route. Fuck all that bullshit. All of that shit is secondary shit. Today I am speaking about what you want, what I want, and how the knowledge that I can do it but I can’t do it is a burden. Today I speak of how that knowledge is dangerous and mentally disturbing.

Let’s localise this; speaking generally just turns my fucking brains inside out. I listen to music; a lot. I play music; not so much, but I could. Because of my experience, I know that when I, who has musical talent, when I listen to music, I hear more than what you could ever hear. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to put you down or nothing, I’m just trying t explain the situation. I have knowledge of music, you don’t, but I have to listen to music and stand by the musical sidelines just as you have to; cus you don’t got no talent.

Annoying is not the word here; I believe tortuous is the word here. I LOVE music my people. When I’m down and everything is going wrong, and everything is just generally fucked up, and I put my fucking fingers on that beautiful piano, everything goes away. Everything. I could literally be in Iraq, with all those bombs dropping all around me and I wouldn’t give two fucks, or two bombs, because I have music with me. Doesn’t it make sense that music should be my life’s work? Doesn’t it make sense that music should be what should accompany me on my life’s journey? It does make sense, don’t it?

BUT.

That’s not what’s gonna happen; at least from the view that I have here. That’s not what’s gonna happen. And it’s tortuous. It kills me slowly every day. That’s why I don’t really give a fuck if I’m smoking cigarettes and smoking weed, drinking continuously for weeks on end, and killing myself. I don’t give a fuck because all those things put together cannot kill me faster than seeing my dream slip away steadily, continuously, and uncontrollably.

When I listen to a song, I naturally discern the bass from the treble. I can close down all other parts of the music and listen only to the drums if I want to. I can play all those parts if I wanted to. I can sing. I have the talent. I can do all that shit, but still I can’t. Because I ‘m a fucking African, and I love rock music. Because my mother feels like school is more important than anything else, and she won’t let me bring my guitar and my keyboard to school because she knows that they will distract me, and she doesn’t want no fucking wishy-washy cumulative GPA. Because she won’t buy me drums. Because there’s nobody else in this fucking country that shares my passion. Because I’m not a rich kid, and I can’t finance my dream. Because I don’t got no opportunity in this fucking place. Because of where I come from, and the people I have to provide for, and because they feel like me making music is like throwing all their eggs in one fucking musical basket which is being transported to wherever it’s going in a rickety truck on a road filled with potholes. Because I’m here. Because I don’t got no fucking time to make music so that I can solve all the immediate problems that line up at my door every fucking day. Every fucking day. Because of all these things and more, I will most likely end up wearing a fucking suit and doing math for subsistence.

Now, wouldn’t it be so much better if I didn’t have this knowledge of music? Wouldn’t it be so much better if I had no talent? Then I have no choice but to be a banker or a doctor or a lawyer, or whatever else fucking profession your parents like to hear you say you wanna be.

The knowledge is a burden.

I was talking to my older cousin a few weeks ago and he asked me “What is the most common thing that is done with talent?” My response was automatic, it seemed I had been pondering this question all my life, and it was his destiny to ask me this question. It seemed that I was The ONE. It was my destiny as a superhero to answer this question and save the world, the world symbolizing myself.

I answered “Waste it.”

It is needless to say that it was the right answer. I have never hit the nail on the head so accurately before, and I doubt that I ever will.

Some fucking Samurai dude has stuck his stupid beautiful katana in my tank of talent that I placed so high that even I can’t reach it, and I’m watching my talent waste away every day, steadily gushing out.

It is the worst thing to experience. EVER.

The lead singer of Bloc Party, Kele Okereke, said that another band, Three Days Grace, are a bunch of pretentious rockers. I like Three Days Grace; they’re aiight. They fulfil my emotional requirements. But I agree with Kele still. As a band, their musical talent is quite frankly, wack compared to the musical talent the world has seen since its existence. However, if I say this, what the fuck does it matter? It doesn’t fucking count. Even if it’s the truth, only Kele can say this because he’s a rockstar. If I say this, which I have already done by the way, what the fuck does it count? I’m nobody, musically.

Man, I’ve met some dudes who had it, who have it, but because of where they are, they can’t do it. Because of their environment, they can’t make it. But they have it in abundance, and probably more than those who are doing it do.

I met this dude in the studio over the last holidays. Skinny motherfucker, skinny motherfucker. Calls himself Slim. There is nothing Slim cannot do with the keyboard. Nothing. At least to my eyes. Nothing. Gave me a few tips too. Slim hustled his way into university, studied Mass Communication, and worked on his music in the process. He finally got out, still nothing. So the dude just hustled some money, set up a studio to make some extra cheddar on the side, works an odd Mass Communication job on weekdays, and plays at random churches every Sunday as a hobby.

You ever see a skinny motherfucker wearing a suit, sporting dreads, and playing the piano at your church, it’s Slim.

Talent like Slim’s, that’s not where he’s supposed to be. Working all day, and staying up all night so that some talentless fool can pay him three grand an hour to record his shit, and playing along to hallelujah on Sundays. Dude is not even a Christian Christian. The motherfucker smokes weed; I am so sure of it.

But what can he do? What can he do? He knows he’s better than this, and that is the knowledge that is a burden. Quite frankly, I can’t understand why Slim hasn’t run mad yet. He has his eccentricities though, so maybe they’re just signs that he’s getting there. He’s gonna be a fucked up old man.

Are you a Slim? Are you a me? It doesn’t have to be music. Writing, Math, History, Archaeology, anything you like, and you are good at, but you can’t do. Are you a Slim? Are you a me?

They say the fingers are not equal. It’s all good and fine for the middle finger to know that; he’s at the fucking top. But how do you think the thumb feels knowing that? That he’s gonna be thumb height forever and he can’t do shit about it?

That knowledge is a burden. It literally makes me mad; insane. I feel like I’m gonna lose my fucking mind very very soon.

I’m not gonna give you any advice or solutions; I can’t. But I hope it will suffice, even though nothing will suffice; I hope it will suffice for this one moment in time for you to know that you are not alone.