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subject appears to be a white male, early 50's, pathologically tall/skinny. brain patterns show evidence of a life in alcohol - first swimming in it then running from it. fingers show wear from years of guitar playing. heart presents slow repair, through writing, from being broken by rock and roll.
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GRINDING THAT CHRISTMAS AXE: THE FIRST WORD IN NOEL IS 'NO'.
OK, I've been set for weeks to write a classic anti-Christmas diatribe, I mean sharpening my verbal knives in the service of tearing apart the myth of peace on Earth and Good will to men in a world clearly on fire, etc., to savage the commercialism that we all pretend to hate but support in greater numbers year after year. I was gonna go after all the classic Chrismas tv specials and Christmas music and, in particular, the dangers of raised expectations of a life and world better than it is, perhaps better than it could ever be. All because of twisted history and the kind of mass-marketing seldom seen. Thousands of years of spin and conditioning, resulting in massive credit card debt, not to mention the death machines of Jihadists and Crusaders,
Boy I was gonna give Christmas hell. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt that any kind of response to this manufactured holiday, whether passive or aggressively for or against, gave the day too much power in my life. Kinda like how I feel that being an Atheist w/a capital 'A', you know - going to meetings and debating on websites, was just as futile as being a card carrying Believer.
Not that I don't still resent the charades being played out constantly in the 'spirit of the season', it's just more like 'who cares'? Nobody's gonna cut down their Christmas tree 'cause Byrnes hates Christmas, but that's not the point. I've gone on record time and time again stating that I wish I could feel the comfort other folks find in family, religion and, yes, Christmas. But I don't. Full stop. I've always felt that Christmas, like religion, was, if not a pure invention, then certainly a contrived combination of cultural assimiltaions, performed at the sword, developed over time to tranquilize the masses while the State and Church did what they wanted to anyway. Much like today! And I eventually decided I wanted no part of it.
But, again, who cares?
On December 25th I will have dinner w/friends because they invited me. I'm working the day before and the day after, so to me it's just another day off. But December 28th!! Now that's different. On that night I will be playing guitar w/friends at a 'Pre-New Years Dance' at a local meeting hall. We'll be playing mainly old school country music. We're not real good, but we're a lot of fun and especially enjoy playing together. We rehearsed last Saturday night at another local hall and it was a wondrous night. The snow was falling lightly, me and Kenny ran across the street on break to the convenience store for coffee where Amanda gave us all the donuts that were being 'written off'. So the rehearsal turned into a very small feast and we laughed like fools and made music like the amateurs we are.
The 'leader' of the group, Mr Jay Fosdick had recently lent me the cash to get a guitar and small amp (Squier '51, Vox AD30 VT, for those who know) and this night was the first time I got to 'take them for a walk', so to speak. After about 1 1/2 hrs of old school country, Jay called for 'Down in Weezeanna', or as most of us know it, 'Johnny B. Goode'. Kenny kicked it off on bass, Dennis slammed the drums and I banged out the famous intro, and just for a few seconds, there was no Christmas doubt, no fallen idols, no criminal presidents, no unjust war, no massive starvation, no hate, no pain, no shame, no regret, just the wings of that song taking off and away, taking us with it.
I know that's just as futile as believing in Christmas, but, damn, it felt good.
Posted by: timbyrnes at 18:47 |
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