Screw the World

I've decided to go into hiding.

I think it'll be easier that way.

I just performed at a compulsory musical 'workshop' at uni. By workshop, I mean forcing a group of student musicians to perform in front of the most terrifying audience possible - other peer musicians and then receive feedback. On average everyone does two a semester, and yours truly was one of the first to be led by virtual gunpoint to the stage.

Needless to say, today's workshop was a massacre. I followed the unbelievably stupid theory of procrastination, allowing several other musicians to go ahead of me, all of whom performed songs that probably made God weep tears of joy. When I was forced up second last, I proceeded to vomit up a half-baked excuse for a jazz standard and was met with such inspiring feedback as 'that was nice' and 'you were smiling a lot'. Coincidentally, my 6yr old cousin received similar comments on her recent class speech, 'Why my pets are special'.

The last performer thankfully proceeded to wipe any memory of my song by performing magnificently, and at the end of the workshop I scurried out of the room as quickly as possible and retreated to a practice room. That's where I am now.

So I have a theory. I'll flee to the Himalayas and become a mountain-based monk, the kind who dwell on very simple chants, eat very simple food, and very simply stay the hell away from over-shadowing 0ver-talented sons of bitches. I won't go through with it of course. The food here is too good, and I'd miss my tv.

It's not that I'm some depressed emo or anything. I'm aware that I can perform well at times. It's just that when you put your shiny cubic zircona on the table next to a whole lot of diamonds that are so lumenescent they have their own solar systems, your rock don't seem so shiny no more. To solve the situation, I briefly considered faking a car accident and then becoming the best mentally handicapped musician ever, but I already know a guy like that who's soulful saxophone is so magical it can cure annorexia. That is, if annorexia were a disease in the first place.

Wow, if I had readers, that would sure stir up some controversy.

Yours craptastically,

Angry Music Man

P.S If you're a 6yr old emo with annorexia from the Himalayas, this was probably pretty rough for you. Not that I feel sorry or anything , I just like the idea of such a diverse character.

Play it again, Sam...

I'm not naturally an angry person.

I'm not the type to aggravate myself or others over frequently menial things. It's just that these things seem to happen to me. Apparently I irritated the big guy upstairs at some point, and hence I have been shoved into a repetitive scenario for someone's entertainment, not unlike the Truman Show, with the difference being that my scenarios often end rather badly.

Let me explain. I'm a university student studying music in Brisbane, Australia. I live the standard university life that is a general lack of money but at the same time an equally general lack of need for money. I have a generously large amount of free time (or else I wouldn't be typing this) and what most would call a good life.

"So why?" I hear you ask, "What right have you to complain whilst we work 45 hour weeks while our 3 year-olds soil themselves on our new carpets?"

Well, quite frankly, I don't. But apparently, my ramblings and rantings can, at best, be entertaining in a pedantic, melodramatic way. Also, I need somewhere to bitch about the frequent going-ons of my aforementioned evilly driven life. But those stories are for another night. I need the fragile reassurance of at least one desperately bored reader first.

Yours audaciously

Angry Music Man

P.S. I'm aware that this had nothing to do with Angry Music. The name just seemed appropriate for the two defining factors of my life. You got a problem with it, go suck a turnip.