I hate Adam Levine. Not because I loathe his music (although I do) or I think his band is overrated (again, I do), but because that sonofabitch has looked dead into the eye of an interviewer and, without so much as a hint of irony, stated, “I believe Maroon 5 is the greatest band in the world.” And instead of being laughed out of the industry, he turned around and had even more millions of fans support such a ridiculous statement that completely validated this delusion that he happily resides within and effing profits from. What a jackass.

But honestly, I kind of want that. I want to be so full of myself and so fully subscribed to this delusional myth of myself that I just hurl myself forward, so convinced of my own greatness that I just arrogantly laugh at those who would dare to question me. And I want to be able to do all this and actually be successful solely because of it.

That’s the thing. We all know those completely delusional people who believe themselves to be brilliantly talented musicians or actors or whatever who are simply audacious in their grandeur self-proclamations of greatness who, really, aren’t that good. They may be “talented” in that they can play an instrument or recite lines, but they aren’t actually creating anything new and different that would render them an “artist”. Nevertheless, they plow forward with their juvenile, inflated sense of their own self importance, brushing off those of us who think they’re insane and pompous and holding themselves with what can never be confused with simple humble confidence. It’s gross.

But the woooorst part is when those idiots go on and somehow become wildly successful and have all these legions of people who stand behind them and go “Yes! Yes you ARE the greatest artist/architect/singer/model this world has ever seen!” and, thus, they find vindication for their mentality and success. And, because art is totally subjective, who am I to argue with the bazillions of fans who are busy convincing Adam Levine or Avril Lavigne (heh, they rhyme) or Nickelback or Creed or Limp Biskit or Amy Poehler or Slipknot or Flo Rida or Scarlett Johansson or Kid Rock or Jimmy Fallon that all their arrogance wasn’t for naught? These people, in all their egomaniacal bliss, have been given exactly what they wanted, all from being delusional.

And, even though it’s really annoying to be around one of those types of pretentious douchenozzles, there’s a part of me that really really wants their ability. I want the ability to convince myself that I’m undeniably awesome and that everyone who thinks otherwise is just socially, intellectually stunted and “One day they’ll see! One day they’ll appreciate me for the great forward-thinking genius I really am!” and just plow forward in my convictions. And even if I never find success with my apparent genius, then I will live happily in the assumption that I’m a real bohemian who is before my time and will only be revered in my postmortem career.

God, wouldn’t that be nice? Just to eliminate all that doubt and fear with a genuine sense of insane arrogance? It would get rid of all that time I waste on hesitation and kicking myself when I get rejected and really just pave new paths for me. I mean, even if people effing hate being around me and my Kanye-esque mentality (not behavior) there are bound to be sheeplike people who will totally buy whatever I’m saying and believing because that’s just what people do when there’s someone out there who’s completely convinced of their own awesomeness, even if that idol has no effing idea what they’re doing. (Oprah, anyone?) And with that diva-like (HAAATE that word) egomania, I’ll become this great self-fulfilling prophesy, able to convince others that they SHOULD think I’m awesome or else they’re just a bunch of morons with no taste. What an incredible trait/ability/feat.

The problem with that is that it’d be a lie for me and I’d feel like I was playing a part. I know I’d constantly be going “Why are these people listening to me? Do they have no minds from which to draw their own conclusions?” and then I’d start resenting my fans for being sheep… but not as much as I’d hate myself for feeling like my entire professional persona is just a big lie that doesn’t represent who I really am, and what kind of life is that?

So, I’ll keep trudging along in this hyper-self-conscious/aware creative process I’ve set out for myself and I’ll continue to spend weeks talking myself into submitting work that my friends have told me is really pretty good. Because at least that’s who I am and how I feel most comfortable functioning. At least from that point I can write from some sense of genuine self-actualization without having to create some self-inflated alter ego to speak for me.

I dunno, maybe I’ll at least make an effort to not immediately assume those who give me positive feedback are just being nice or have no idea what they’re talking about…
Baby steps.

I’ve about had it with people justifying crappy art by saying that “It’s Christian!” And frankly, if I was God, I’d be a little miffed that my advocates were out there making atrocious music and writing terrible books after all the stuff I’ve given them, but I guess he really looks at it like those crappy finger-paintings kids bring to their parents…

This is not to say that everyone who publicly sings or writes or speaks about loving God is automatically awful, by the way. Matisyahu might be one of the most revolutionary musicians to emerge in the last ten years and that guy hasn’t changed a thing about his orthodox Judaism and writes songs exclusively about that. And rocks the music scene. Most of the time when people get sober their music just goes down the crapper (Aerosmith, Coltrane) but Johnny Lang is out there rocking it and putting on a better show than ever. It’s really amazing. And although I never ever would’ve picked it up, “The Shack” was surprisingly moving and thought-provoking, (even though it bordered on brain-washy once or twice.) And I think Christopher Moore’s “Lamb…” is the best book about Jesus ever written, if not one of the best books ever written. (YOU MUST READ IT. Even if you never want to have anything to do with Jesus and think his followers suck. Seriously, it’s awesome. Not preachy, not brain-washy. Just fun. Promise.) People have been moved to do great works of art in any genre in the name of God for thousands of years so don’t think I’m railing on that at all; I strive to be God-inspired in what I do, too.

HOWEVER, if I had a dollar for every person that told me “He’s a Christian musician/writer/comedian, but he’s actually really good!” I’d literally have a couple grand in savings. And I don’t get why people don’t understand that that sort of recommendation is not only ridiculous and cliche but will only result in repelling me further.

The worst thing is how people can produce genuinely terrible work and the Bible-thumping crowd will eat it up and then judge people who don’t like it as people who must be anti-Jesus. For example, I picked up a book last weekend called “90 Minutes in Heaven” that I’d heard a lot about from a few church-goers I knew. And it. Was. AWFUL. I mean, the story might’ve been okay (I couldn’t get through the whole book) but the author had a ghostwriter and even then the book read as though written by a 13-year-old. And I say “13″ specifically because all of his points were redundant, paragraphs were repeated ad nauseum without bothering to rephrase them at all and he loooooved making those melodramatic, blunt sentences that signal truth and transition at the end of every subsection. And somehow he managed to make the story drag through redundancy even though the book was 140 pages.
Bad. Badbadbad. Even the family members I talked to who had read it admitted that they couldn’t get through it because the writing was abysmal. And yet, this book has sold millions upon millions of copies while other, actually brilliant novels have sat gathering dust on shelves. It’s bullshit.

I remember a few years ago I attended a church that did those contemporary “rock” services that were just dreadful. When I told one of my acquaintences that the music made me want to take a drill to my ears she looked at me as though I’d said, “Jesus can go screw himself.” and then made it a point to never speak to me again. Yeah, I get that this makes her a loser of epic proportions but seriously? We’re judging people on what sort of music they listen to now? I guess that goes back to the whole church mentality of “YOUMUSTAGREEWITHEVERYTHINGWESAYORYOU’REDAMNEDTOHELL!!” that so many people don’t realize is optional.

But when I worship, it shouldn’t feel like a chore. I shouldn’t be made to sing boring, soulless songs that move me in no way, (this is why I think we should all sing gospel music exclusively. And not that bland, WASPel that they advertise collections of on the Weather Channel, but real, African-American written, raucous, joyful, 20-minutes-per-song gospel.) I shouldn’t be forced to listen to crappy comedians who rely on outdated cliches and the fact that they’re syndicated through churches to keep their careers alive, I shouldn’t have to read godawful literature that’s just some talentless moron’s way of making money off blind followers. I want to be moved. I want to feel God and feel life and feel joyful for all of it. (And no, Rick Warren’s “Purpose Driven Life” drivel didn’t even start to budge me, so don’t throw that crap in my face… again…)

I just don’t get why people think that you can’t have genuine, legitimate, innovative, fun art and still be considered divinely guided. And I’m tired of watching terrible artists find relative success just because they’ve learned how to manipulate the Bible Thumpers demographic. And I’m really reeeally tired of people feeling like they have to pray for me and worry for my soul because all but 4 contemporary Christian musicians suuuuuuck.

I’m not trying to brag when I say repeatedly that I have some amazing friends. Just today, in fact, I received in the mail two beautiful handmade Kermit The Frog pillowcases from the dear N.Lempart (who is busy chasing around an INFANT for Chrissakes!) and then this evening I arrived at my metaphysical meditation group meeting for the first time in a month to find that one of the healers who was part of my personal cleansing a while ago went home and painted me a picture based on messages she received from Spirit about me. (It sounds kind of dorky, but it’s really staggeringly beautiful.) Photos of both of these unbelievably touching handmade gifts are forthcoming, of course, but I felt the immediate need to share my astonishment and gratitude at such amazing unsolicited generosity toward me.

It feels nice to be randomly shown love from people who have to go out of their way to think about me. Makes me happy.

Aaanyway, a while ago I was working on developing a personal goddess/warrior who would act as an alter-ego when my Demons decide to rear their ugly heads. The Goddess Warrior Castallare would thunder in on her trusty elephant guardian (Sheba) who would roar with preemptive victory against the slimy persistent demons who call themselves Fear, Shame, Regret, Depression, and Hate. Muahahahahahaha!

Problem is, I’m not much of an artist and I work best with meditative visualization and imagery when I can, you know, see what I’m trying to mentally summon. So I called upon the creative genius of my friend Rowena Zane (not her real name) to help me make sense of my mental notes and render an image or two and loooook at what she maaade for meeee!!!

Castallare and Sheba

Goddess Warrior Castallare and her bewitching smirk

I just think they’re spectacularly beautiful and perfect in their simplicity and feminine power and emotion. Now I really have one hell of an standard to live up to if I’m going to put this personal warrior’s powers to use. (I’d be kind of afraid of the repercussions should I let her down…)

Also, I kind of hope to work on more variations of this character and see how much more I can develop her both aesthetically and literally. Could be interesting, if from a merely self-serving standpoint. I’d like to see her evolve as I grow older.

I hope to incorporate these images into the new blogface we come up with… should that ever get around to happening…

And then…

:::: ssiiiiiiiggghhh:::::

…because a few readers who may or may not have access to my Facebook profile have been bothering and pestering me to post these next few photos I’ll oblige… I just will, okay? Gah…

Greg’s been diligently learning about this awesome new camera we got for Christmas and has moved on to acquiring and learning about professional studio lighting. This, of course, results in him taking countless photos of countless things around the house, including myself. Glamorous though it may sound to be someone’s personal model there’s a lot more “Hang on a second while I set this up” and “Can you hold that pose for another 5 minutes or so? I wanna try different angles!” than the clicky-flashy “Work it! Work it!” photographer/model dynamic that usually comes to mind. And then I have to do my own makeup, of course.

Alright, fine, I’ll admit it: I freaking love it. I love when he comes in from a long hard day of work and can’t wait for the baby to go to bed so we can spend quality time together in a photo shoot. I love when he has an idea or new concept that he’s been mulling over all day and when he directs me around his “set”. I like the idea that someone sees art in me and deems me worthy of acting as a medium for his artistic visions. It’s a pretty cool compliment, especially from someone who loves me.

All my gushy blathering aside, these were my top few favorites from the shoot the other week. Greg wanted me in a wife beater, corduroys and dark eye makeup. (He started me out in an open green flannel button-down, but it just weighed the images down too much so we went without.) I was happy to comply and mostly just proud that my grunge-era obsession was finally wearing off on him.

Craned neck? Check

Now channeling Kim Deal...

One B'dass Mother

Oh, look at me. I'm a musician. I'm all brooding and complex. I must hate my parents. Waaaahh...

"I like to play" - Garth Algar

There might be more but these are the only ones he’s color-corrected and “finished”, so I told him I wouldn’t unveil any more of his work until he’s ready. Because I’m an obedient student.