Perhaps surrounded by all this technology and what passes itself off as “social media” has not just made us more disparate- and as for those online dating sites and addicted to Tinder- sometimes, desperate- and, also slaves to this new “system of living” in the online world and becoming more and more far-removed from the real world.
The art of conversation has been left behind for tweets and texts, journalism is reduced to a 140 words and, gawd knows why, but so many around me are continually “tired”, which means days drift by and nothing is accomplished- other than sending out a few tweets and checking out one’s Facebook “likes”.
What does ANY of this mean? Where does this lead to other than a “lifestyle” bordering on a vegetative state, and where John Lennon was so right when he wrote that, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans”?
One has to think if the crackling levels of creativity by the Beatles, Dylan, a young Martin Scorsese and David Lynch, Roman Polanski, Jack Nicholson, Hendrix, Ray Davies, Hunter S Thompson, all the truly great writers in Rolling Stone, a promoter like Bill Graham, Cat Stevens, Joni Mitchell, James Taylor etc would have produced what they did if surrounded by today’s faked out make-believe world of “likes” and “favorites” and “retweets” that drift through every day.
Imagine: “Hey, John, what are your plans today?” “Fuck, Paul, I just woke up- had a big one last night. Hardly slept. Gonna chill for the next few days, man. Had an avalanche of ‘likes’ on my Facebook page last night. What are you up to?” “Been blogging and tweeting, man. Am knackered. Gonna grab some kip. Can I work on the rest of that new Hey, Jude song next week?” “No hurry, man. It’ll keep.”
That’s the point- nothing was allowed “to keep”- songs, movies, stories, poetry, photography, painting, creating, elating, going out, getting in, no holding back, letting go, letting her in, kicking them out, John and Yoko, Peter Max and Pop-Art, Warhol and his Polaroids, Terry meets Julie, Blowup and Jumping Jack Flash.
It was all a rush- creatively.
The music is not happening today ‘cos so many are only flirting with their god-given talent and content to just finish a song. THAT is a major accomplishment. Forget about being a storyteller or a song-and-dance man.
Gawd knows, I stayed on for four years too many with a Dane whose only saving grace was enjoying sex- but despite all the talk about architecture, plans to un-Lego Lego and being handed million dollar budgets that would have got her off her ass, she sat there looking down on everyone else while keeping the mirrors around her hidden. It’s tough facing the truth.
And so it is with many- too many- who are handed opportunities which, despite all the “I’m changing, arranging” talk, dissipates the next day into a pocketful of jumbles that are sometimes promises.
You live, you love in love, you fall outta love, you learn and what every one of us needs is that someone who can inspire you, offer you tea and sympathy and tough love as this mollycoddled generation is the human equivalent of Eighties music: Bland.
One is and not the loneliest number no matter what the brilliant Harry Nilsson wrote about.
One is as lonely and miserable as one wants it to be.
And so, leaving aside the political cliches and donation pitches how One can make a difference, it’s also what one’s personal happiness and inspiration needs to make dreams come true.
As Stephen Bishop wrote in Looking For The Right One and U2 admitted, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For You, finding that some ONE- eventually- is a long days journey into night and almost a lifetime of work.
Yes, work, and as with anything one does with a passion, making it work with that someone is a full-time job- a job some of us may have squandered- but as hackneyed as it might sound, there is always that time to truly change, grow up and be with that someone who forces you to meet your demons, confront some home truths and make every day together count as, well, The Tibetan Book Of The Dead says, Tomorrow Never Knows.
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