therapy

Why do I write? Why do I keep going at it, day after day, year after year? I know I might not reach the point of success I desire - it's called being in touch with reality. Even though I have never let foolish ideas of stalemate discourage me, why bother to keep writing? Why not throw down the pen, delete a few dozen documents on the computer to free up space, and go find something sensible to do?

Because I can't.

Writing is release. It's eclectic, electric, absorbing, and therapeutic.

Eclectic because of what I learn from research. From what I learn about myself when I delve into the personal reservoir and dredge up experience and memory. I've surprised myself at the personal revelations I have put on the page.

Electric because it provides a charge. There is a thrill to craft sentences and paragraphs from thought into a cohesive whole.

Absorbing because my full concentration is directed into my mindset and onto the keyboard and screen with a singular focus. Distraction is rare. I force myself to break. The rest of the world diminishes and falls away for a short span of time.

Therapeutic because something visceral in the process repairs and restores. For me, writing is rehabilitative. It counteracts and alleviates daily concerns, stress, and unease. The world beyond the desk and the keyboard and this room become an echo of reality - a reality to which I know I must return, but with a quiescent attitude and an enhanced tolerance for what I feel is unjust, exigent, and frustrating about society and the world. Yes, exposing personal thoughts and ideas - morbid as they often are - helps to assuage the mundane and troublesome.

That is why I write. I first put pencil to paper in early childhood to create preposterous monster stories, and now in the world of adulthood the words in my mind are transferred through wires and circuitry and onto a CRT monitor. Though I do still use a pen and notebook from time-to-time.

No, the words never left me. They've taken a furlough at times throughout my life, but they have always returned. Yes, I actively seek broader success than the ephemeral freelance niche I've carved for myself, but that notwithstanding, I am also thankful that the word lives inside me.

The word is innate. It's salvage and reconstruction. I cannot live without it.

And it is eminently preferable to a straitjacket.

disarm

After all these years and places I've lived, I still have my ticket stub for the Smashing Pumpkins at the BSC Sports Arena, Buffalo State College, Sunday, April 17, 1994 at 7:00 p.m. They were on their North American "Rock Invasion" tour '93-94 (and that's what it states on the reverse of the concert t-shirt I bought) in support of their second album, the classic Siamese Dream. The show cost only $10.00 (that's right - ten dollars).

The opening band was Red Red Meat (their album at the time was Jimmywine Majestic, a CD I once owned but is now long-lost). They received a lukewarm reception after their set, but then again, the only opening act I have ever seen elicit as much - or more - applause and cheers than the headliner was Metallica opening for Ozzy Osbourne in Rochester, New York way back in 1986.

I digress. The Pumpkins in Buffalo was one of the finest live shows I have ever seen. The atmosphere possessed a mood of intimacy despite the crowd of a few thousand. The band was super-charged that evening - completely caught up in the vibe between audience and performer. Cherub Rock, Disarm, Today, Rocket, Mayonaise, Spaceboy - they performed every song from Siamese Dream (including the lovely madrigal Luna), and nearly every number from their previous debut album Gish. There were several encores, one of which consisted of Billy Corgan spewing a desultory rap while second guitarist James Iha performed on his back. They also sang "Happy Birthday" to a gal in the crowd.

Yes, the Pumpkins show was nonpareil. There have been other concerts that come close to the perfection of the Pumpkins, such as Luna at the Knitting Factory (here in New York City) in February of 2001, or Catherine Wheel and Belly at the Fillmore, San Francisco, in November 1995. The outdoor concert-festival BFD II at the Shoreline Ampitheatre in Mountain View (organized by San Francisco radio station Live 105) on June 9, 1995 was memorable, as well. On stage that day were such diverse performers as Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Elastica, Chris Isaak, General Public, Catherine Wheel, Bush, and headliner Duran Duran (remember their 1993 self-titled album - also known as "The Wedding Album"? It featured the "smash hit" Ordinary World). Yes, it was a remarkable show, but by the end of the night I remember I felt queasy from lounging under the sun all day and eating junk food. And then I had to drive the rental car (a cherry red Mustang convertible) back to San Francisco.

These fond musical memories are incited by two current circumstances - one, I am wearing my Smashing Pumpkins tour shirt, and two, I was cleaning out a drawer profuse with assorted paraphernalia from my personal history. Among these items is a stack of business cards I've collected over the years. Let's peruse them...

• My Film Arts Foundation (346 Ninth Street, San Francisco) membership card that expired in March of '98.
• The Saratoga Apartments at 1008 Larkin Street, San Francisco, where I lived in the summer of 1994 before moving into the Pacific Bay Inn on Jones at O'Farrell.
• The card for a Sergeant/Inspector with the "Special Investigations Bureau Gang Task Force" in San Francisco. This gent showed up to question us when a gang of young Korean gun-runners briefly stayed at the Pacific Bay Inn in '95.
• George E. Bunnell, D.D.S, my dentist in San Francisco.
• Ristorante Fior d'Italia, one of my favorite eateries in San Francisco.
• My Wherehouse video rental card.
• Slat Lake City Center Travelodge, where I acted as interim manager in February 1996.
• Zee Continental, a funky jewelry store on Polk Street in San Francisco.
• Telecom, Inc., the hellish job I held for eight days (a total of 32 hours) as a telemarketer for the San Francisco Chronicle and Examiner in early summer 1994.
• "Heart of Europe" restaurant and club at 685 Sutter Street, San Francisco - a frequent watering hole that later became "The Beer Cellar."
• My old SUNY Buffalo student ID card.
• The band Static Cling - "psychedelic rock & roll music for the mind & body" (www.geocities.com/staticclingband)
• "Book Value" - a bookstore on Broadway in Astoria I frequented until they changed ownership and went downhill.
• The Cowpök, 168 Elmwood, Buffalo, NY - body piercings, body jewelry, t-shirts, etc. A business co-founded by my friend Reid.
• WSFW FM 99.3, AM 1110 - the Adult Contemporary radio station where I worked in my late teen years before heading off to school in Buffalo.

Nostalgia derived from a rectangle of sturdy paper. I don't have the heart to dump them into the recycling bag. They still serve a purpose even now, and this blog entry is proof.