I’m having an identity crisis as I write this. Our site, indiemusicpeople.com has been not working right for around a week now. I’m finding that this causes me to have this feeling that I’m existing in cyberspace without several limbs or something. Like I’m walking around in public with my pajamas on or something. I don’t want to even get into the IT problems behind this current state of disarray, it’s actually supposed to be fixed sometime later today (let’s just hope), but I never realized what a big part of my identity was tied up in this indie music site thing. I’d already been having issues about feeling like my artist self was completely usurped by this other aspect of my life, now I see my utter manhood is affected as well. I feel this is a problem.

        I have lived my life feeling like a 2nd class citizen for years, seems like forever. I’m quite sure I never got my due as an artist except for a year or two in 2001 and 2002 when I was an internet star so to speak. Now I run what is I’m quite sure is (when fully operational) the best indie site on the planet, yet the obstacles I face in that realm are ridiculous – an utter lack of resources and other absurd, ugly conditions I won’t get into here most of which are downright degrading. I can say that even though IMP easily has the best features out there, we can’t even come close to competing with the other very simplistic corporate sites like the big orange megalith with their fake followers or the one with the dopey name where everybody goes to sell their music even though it takes pretty stupid logic to want to do that. I have my music there too, mainly as extra storage for my wav files. Once in awhile I sell something, like about 10 days ago I sold a copy of Father Time’s Greatest Hits. It listed for 13 dollars, yet I saw I only got 9 dollars and some cents added to my paypal account, I had no idea they take such a large chunk for commission, handling, etc. Meanwhile artists can sell their music on IMP too, we take ZERO commission and I’d add that the innovative packaging we have (the DMD ultrapage) blows away bandcamp’s digital CD set-up as well. So they can afford an email system where they with one flick of their corporate wrist shoot out to their huge roster of artists a note about donating the proceeds from one day of music sales to the ACLU and get revered from the facebook rooftops even though those pricks for all practical purposes don’t even listen to the music that comes in to their site. My friend and I would listen to their features when scouting for new artists to invite to IMP and often found listings that were utterly awful at the same time perfectly good acts were confirmed as totally ignored. Yeah music sites work like a lot of other things in society – the rich get richer and the inspired don’t rise to the top, lanquish in obscurity, end of story.

        I guess I should care that IMP has a different level of indie credibility with those who are familiar with it. After all Neil Young sings that once you’re gone, you can’t come back, when you’re out of the blue and into the black. We ain’t ever going to be in the black, so I guess we’re not gone and we don’t got anywhere to come back from really. We’re in it for all the right reasons and we continue to be. I admit that I come close to bailing out of the indie music thing occasionally and this past week this was definitely on my mind. No I don’t want more love, I want a broader kind of success. I want the kind of success that isn’t only measured by heart and soul expended. What is it about me that the gods of greater success won’t give me a look now and then? Where are the talent scouts who notice someone is a great songwriter or a great business innovator and swoop down to lift me up to a higher eschelon of existence? Why do all my pursuits seem so lonely? Why is somebody who has achieved some pretty major things relegated to always looking up, whining, pleading shamelessly for some better outcome?

        This is what my identity really is. I am a symbol for futility. Even in my income-bringing occupation, I’m the best at what I do and I’d go as far as to say I’m somewhat heroic there as well but no one will ever know it. I get by but I have to strive, daily, to get there. In the back of my mind I have this .. well .. religious theory about why my life turned out the way it has. I’m not religious at all, call myself agnostic, I don’t even think about religion as a serious thing. I only throw this theory out there in this blog because I just have no answer as to why I feel so unlucky in life. Anyway my parents were religious and I did indeed go to Sunday School for many years, had like 5 or 6 years perfect attendance in fact. My parents, perhaps because they ran the local general store, had the responsibility of preparing the bread and grape juice for communion which took place in our church maybe once every couple months. When the day of communion was over, they’d bring the server home with all the little juice glasses in it. Usually half of them still had grape juice in them as we did not have a large congregation but all were filled prior for communion service. Since my mother was not one to waste anything, she always had me drink the juice that was left in the server. It occurred to me that this was blessed juice, the blood of the lamb so to speak. and I wonder if the fact that I consumed so much of this blood and on top of that once claimed a big head picture of Jesus for my bedroom (which sat on the wall above me when I slept in my youth) caused God if there is one to have higher expectations for one of his special children? Maybe my failure to turn out to be religious or general lack of righteousness in my pursuits of sex, drugs and rock and roll somehow caused me to serve this lifelong punishment I seem to be trapped in. That’s really the only angle I can come up with as to why my outcomes are so sucky. At any rate, typing out this stupidity did result in making me feel a little better, anyway, because.. you know, how dumb. haha