Meandering Matrix Thoughts

Life can be so odd at times. Just when you think the important things are lined up for success they begin to meander like the racing thoughts in your head. Sometimes it seems necessary to un-plug from both cyber and real time and space for a while. We are constantly hit with this barrage of information from all angles, effecting all senses as the result.

I find this in my writing assignments. Since I work in and around music and the record business there is always something to listen to or write about. One of the greater skills I have to master is finding the music that is not only good (enough for me to listen to anyway) but good enough to write about. I write about things that move me; mentally, physically, and spiritually. So, when I am searching for stuff that appeals to me I am bombarded with endless information on everything having to with artists and new (and classic) tunes. This can get overwhelming at times.

I'm not trying to be a little bitch about it. I realized that I am blessed to be doing the things I do for a living (and I'm far from rich). But the truth is that this same situation affects alot of us. We end up plugging into this electro-infused gatework of telecommunications and entertainment. The sensory overload clouds the judgment, and therefore some of us end up making the wrong decisions. This is when it's time to unplug.

Remember; there was a time when we lived a life unplugged. When I was a kid (not to sound like an old man, because I'm not that, at age 33) we used to spend more time outside than anybody does today; including today's kids. The video games and movies were activities for the fall-out of playing outside all day. Our bodies were tired, but our brains kept moving in that super conductive-teenage way. The games, the virtual representations of the real world, were endeared because; either we couldn't get out, or go back to the real world for a little while. There was a sense of discovery, a love affair with the outside world which seems to be diminishing.

This concept; that mankind is moving away from the natural world, is both alarming and just Goddamn depressing. It is alarming because the line between the real and "virtual" (or computer generated) blurs frequently. This can be very dangerous, especially when we're talking about the influence of strictly, wholly, violent video games played by our kids. The games seem so real (I've played, and play now, some of them) that they sometimes (unfortunately) correlate with a particular kids situations. Translation: If the kid lives in the ghetto, is surrounded by drug dealers and wanna-be thugs, the game is an approximation of his real life!

You wonder how a kid can walk into a school and shoot other kids like he's playing a damn video game? Well, get behind the viewing angle of your childrens games for a minute and things will crystallize for you. The more a person engages himself or herself in the virtual world, the less interesting the real world becomes. This isn't the sole problem plaguing the youth, or us for that matter, but it is a component.

I've been making the outside a priority of late. I make small goals daily (go for a short drive to a local park, or a bike ride, etc.) and the notice in my attitude is apparent immediately. It's almost as if I have been re-calibrated. The feeling itself is addictive, which as great for me, and so I recommend it to anybody that spends their day staring into a computer screen.

This rant was inspired by my dear friend Mina - who once told me I needed to "defragment my mental hard-drive by doing nothing, or meditating for five minutes a day". She asked me to do ten minutes first, but soon realized that was impossible.

ROUGH THOUGHTS TO ADD LATER
----Computers have done miraculous things, and even I can not live without living plugged-in (as a journalist and a blogger, it's a necessity of course)

----I remember getting my first pager in high school (around 91'). The thing was a big blue plastic brick with a digital display that looked like fucking an old Casio calculator.

Who's Gonna Bail Me Out? Do I deserve it?

I believe this entire notion of bailing out multi-billion dollar corporations with the tax dollars of middle class citizens is criminal. I also believe the CEO's who decided to hedge their financial bets on the backs of grandmothers pensions should be awarded the death penalty for their crimes against humanity.

These poor individuals, who decided to take their retirement money, and follow the advice of their superiors by investing in the companies for which they were employed for many years, are now left with nothing. Actually; they now have less than nothing. Their houses will be taken away, their bank accounts drained to pay off debts they thought were taken care of. If the acts that caused these problems are not viewed as sheer atrocities, then we are all blinded by the big money machine.

These corporations were designed to make money! If they fail, the fault should lie on the individuals making the big decisions! Ironically, those people end up complaining about the 500 million in their bank account as opposed to the 700 million they had before the company collapsed! Shoot these guys, and actually, give the firearms to those grandmothers who paid through their blood and sweat and are left begging for the government tit. Let them rid the earth of these corporate vermin. At the very least there would be justice. Not manufactured justice, but true justice.

Everything seems geared to save those who caused the problems! Does this seem strange America? Why are we seeking band-aids as opposed to locks and keys! It makes me sick.

Who's Got The Answers

The thoughts below ramble, and yes, I think Obama can do some great things. I'm merely doubtful about the grand change he speaks of....


Stoner thoughts, they'll be with my til the day I die. This post is admittedly more of a stream of consciousness, aimed at the self sort-a thing - and now you're thinking: Why is it on the fuckin' web then smart/stoned/silly/sober/drunk boy?? You'll never know -
the answer to the obvious question, or whether or not one of the terms above encapsulates my mindset at present moment:::::::::::::

The political atmosphere has thickened with empty conversation of late, as it always has during presidential races. For half of my life (well, a third actually) it seems I've been making a choice following the "lesser of two evils" cliche in order to justify who's team I voted for or fought against.

The issues that appeal to me from a mechanical perspective, meaning the ones that seem workable to me, get tossed into the proverbial in-box as visions of the White House keep dangling like that damn carrot. The fog seems to lift in only a few months.

Surprisingly, most of the politicians look and sound of hope in the early stages of their campaigns. They look incredible because the paint has yet to dry. Their intentions are sometimes wholehearted, and their ideas fresh. Everything new presents itself with one true measure of pleasure; the unknown, and, the possibility to have an impact (shit, OK two). Once the candidates and their respective teams get a firm grasp on spin however, it becomes increasingly difficult to get an accurate read on them as individuals.

Now that the race is squared away, the true competitors emerge. Now, anybody who has competed on a serious level knows you do whatever it takes to win. Is our new whatever so bland and soulless that in order to lead the sheep you must become the phatter sheep? Yeah, I wrote it: PHATTER.

I Don't see JFK or Lincoln or any of the once great presidents (no comments about these two names appearing in the same sentence people) in ANY body running for president today in October 2008.

So: It's the lesser of two evils lever then??


To Be Continued

just need an avatar link real quick

Sorry Folks, if any see this silly little picture posted here. I merely needed an avatar that was online for my profile on Kevin Smith's message board (the View Askiew-niverse).


PLEASE SEE BELOW FOR ALL MY LEGITIMATE POSTINGS!!!!

Thinking of the Past

Sometimes I long for the past.

Unconditional friendship
and laughter.
Illusions of safety,
wrapped in our
imaginations
and our brothers arms.

Our pride,
We knew what we wanted.

Surrounded by Everything
We could ever need.

There was Love
in our eyes,
our handshakes,
and in the arms
around our shoulders.

I still remember those smiles
and childish jokes.

Our mothers were so insulted.

We could say anything
to each other.

NoFuckinbody
could say anything back.

We didn’t know discrimination.

We didn’t care.

We loved,
hated,
admired,
and loathed
Everyone.

Yet the World seemed so Hopeful
and Vast.

We wanted
to be a part of it.


But we could have stayed.

Right there.

Where we all knew
what Everything was.

and it didn’t matter,
It didn’t matter at All.

We had each other

We had more.


written by: Michael Mercer 10/08

Art For ERIC In Crooklyn!

I made this piece for my boy Eric in Brooklyn (well, now on Staten Island, ugh).

It's oil, crayon, and cuttings on heavy duty sketch paper

Was trying to capture our mutual feelings at the time of our chat months ago

Addiction

Addiction is a cliché
and Fatal.

A brutal disease.
It will take everything and everybody
you have.

No excuses.
No blame.
No faults.

It will kill your family
and all your friends
before it kills you.

Addiction lives,
It breaths
It thinks
It knows
and forgets
Everything.

But it is not human.
It is the most evil machine,
a monster.
It never stops,

Never.

It knows what you want,
what you love,
what you have,
what you need.

What you are willing
to sacrifice.

You don’t know darkness
until Addiction wraps itself
around You.

There is nothing,
Except you
and your Addiction.

Nothing.

There is No hope,
No cure
No remedy
No fix

Only You
can put it to sleep

Through death
Through loss
Through Pain.

It Never Dies,
only sleeps.

You will Never
Kill It.

It lives with You
Forever,
Once awoken

written by: michael mercer October 7, 2008

A Poem for the Daniel Pearl foundation's October Days

This is a poem I wrote for consideration by the Daniel Pearl Foundation. They are holding their October Days events next month. For more details check out their website here. I hope the poem moves you (I just decided to share it here - was originally sent only to dear friends:

"To Life"
In Memory of Daniel Pearl



Faith
Shrouded in Hatred

Attacked Humanity.

God
Was Not There.

Only this Heart,
Alone

There was Fear,
An internal Fight

There was Pride,
Spoken of the streets of Jerusalem



There was No Defeat.

Only Death,
and Heaven


and Daniel
In The Heart Of God





written by: michael mercer 2008

Legends Never Say Goodbye

As we lost the great musical architect, Mr. Jerry Wexler, last week, a significant chapter in the story of the music industry has closed. This is not to say we merely move on or carry the torch into the future with no regard for the past, rather to acknowledge the visionaries that came before us and respect their wholehearted dedication and admiration for the artist community. Early in his career, as a writer for Billboard in the late 40’s, Jerry Wexler blazed a path for a groundbreaking new genre, one that he referred to as “rhythm and blues.” This new sound not only crossed the racial barriers of this country, it destroyed them in the eyes of the record buying masses.

After teaming up with fellow music aficionados Ahmet Ertegen and his brother Nesui at Atlantic Records, Wexler began what would later be known as a masterful career, propelling talents like Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, Dusty Springfield, and Wilson Pickett to instant stardom. He found another musical/production partner in Arif Mardin, and their teamwork spawned some of the most forward thinking, soulful music this nation has ever heard (the Memphis soul sound for example, the tonality and structure behind Springfield’s Dusty in Memphis record). He treasured soul, and his ear for the music that drove his passion was unparalleled.

Mr. Wexler was a part of a team that loved music, the notes and the artist. They would spend countless hours figuring our how to get the sound “right” or whom to pair their artists with in order to make the records pop. Of course they wanted hits, to argue the opposite would be blissfully ignorant, but those hits formulated as the result of a profound respect and admiration for music. Men like Ahmet Ertegun, Jerry Wexler, and Arif Mardin lived and breathed music. They collected and tirelessly sought new records, they constantly attended shows, and were there to support and develop the artist, not just sign a contract and move on to the next client. Their work is evidence of this great love affair. They were true music men, and the fact that they ran a business, well, that happened by default. Again, not to say they did not intend to make a buck, but the motivation was not the buck, it was the note, that one magical note that would bring a smile to those people huddled around the record player.

The industry that was formed as the result of people like Mr. Wexler has morphed into something unrecognizable. There are few men left, which, at the end of the day, are there for the discovery, for the thrill. Does the art suffer? You bet it does, but that is for another essay. Here we say farewell to these great men, but these great men will never say farewell to us. Their music, their passion, their ear and their dedication will always be with us, humming through the notes that made up their lives.

America, Born?

These United States of America were conquered and colonized. This fact, seemingly simple, yet insidiously profound, may in fact dictate our foreign relations. We are at the core a nation of stolen landscapes and evangelicals. We brought alien diseases and plagues to this continent while attempting to "civilize" a people more deeply connected with their environment and spirituality than their would-be conquerors.
Our federal doctrine of law, while brilliant in theory, is based on a system of beliefs originally alien to this lands original inhabitants. Perhaps this was both the beginning and the end to true freedom. What we have, these many years later, is differing levels of freedom that has been fragmented into classifications of race, religion, and other characteristics.



Continued on 8/14/08:

The written laws are a reflection of the beliefs and values held dear by the authors. How can any such doctrine truly include and consider those whose heritage and lifestyle exist wholly separate and outside of the inherent cultural considerations of the lawmakers? Not to say that our founding fathers had no such right to dictate our laws, for their intentions were grand in scope, and mighty in reaching. We need to believe they had the greatest concern for all citizens, and this is seemingly so, according to the majority of written accounts of those times. However, and this is merely a point of consideration (something to ponder), these laws were written in accordance with the current state of the country. Has our nation not changed, and evolved (some would argue the opposite I realize) drastically since their pens met that sacred paper?

The Greatest Project

My wife and I met a Holocaust survivor; Susy, at our temple in Northern California. She and her husband Bob have been married for 50 years. He was in the army in World War II, and was the first soldier that Susy came into contact with (after surviving one of the longest death marches in Poland). She says she knew, upon making eye contact with him, that they would get married and have a family together.

Her story is almost as amazing as she is. Her radiance is wholly unmatched by ANYBODY I have ever met, at any age, and she is well into her 80’s. When I first got a chance to speak with her after Shabbat services I was so enchanted by her I asked if I could write her story for her family. I told her I was a writer, and that it would be an honor to immortalize her tale for generations of her family to come. She was hesitant but thanked me for the offer. I understood her apprehension. This was a personal story that would transport her back into a time of pure hell. I could not blame her. She did not want to re-live that horror.

A few weeks later her husband Bob approached me, and said they found some old tapes; ¼” analog tapes from 1981 that he and Susy had recorded her stories on. Susy sat down with a few drinks and Bob fired away the questions, as she kept her composure as best she could while telling these horrid tales. He asked me if I could do anything with them and I said of course, that we should do an analog to digital transfer in my studio as soon as possible, as the tapes will be corroding soon. I offered to make CDs with manually tracked ID points, mastering (noise clean up, leveling, etc.) and that Alexandra could do some wonderful artwork. They were excited to say the least. I took the tapes home to begin the process. We were told not to play the tapes for ANYBODY. Only Alexandra and I could listen. We agreed of course, and there I was: In the studio, listening, working, and just letting the magnitude of the story take hold.

That has been an experience beyond words for me. For all the music production work I’ve been involved in, this actually felt like the greatest project for which I had the honor to take on. Though I was merely trying to preserve (and improve – sonically) a story told by somebody else I know, this will live on for years in their family. Their children will be able to hear it long after Susy has left this earth. What a gift to be able to share the experience.

I have been pondering all the ridiculous things I stress about, the silliness that finds me arguing with Alexandra occasionally, and the crap that I consider important. I realize what Susy went through to have a life, and how joyful she is. What right do I have to get down on myself when times get rough? Really, look at what this woman, and MILLIONS of others lived through. I am fortunate to be strong in my faith, and it has brought my own consciousness and marriage to a wholly different level, beyond anything I could have imagined previously.

I do not preach that which serves me to others, but I wish it upon all my friends and family: Embrace your heritage, live it, and remember those who lived before you so that you may have the chance to carry the torch, and keep the flame burning. I am thankful to call her my friend.

"Addicted To Oil" Thomas L. Friedman Reporting - strong thoughts

I recently watched a documentary entitled Addicted To Oil, Thomas L. Friedman Reporting (2006). Admittedly, I am not familiar with Thomas Friedman, but some of the blatant omissions (or challenges) in the supposedly informative film left me wondering about his intentions, and his credibility.

The first issue was with a scene in which Friedman interviews a high level GM executive on the EV-1 project. For those unfamiliar with the story of the EV-1 (stood for Electronic Vehicle 1): GM manufactured a few hundred purely electronic vehicles in the 90's for the state of California. This was a sort of trial period, and even certain celebrities got on board (Mel Gibson for one, who complained about the overly bureaucratic and complex process to purchase an EV-1). The state built a basic infrastructure, with plug-in charging stations at select BART stations. The sales of the vehicle were a success. There was a waiting period as the direct result of too many orders too soon.

Shortly after the release of the vehicles the state of California passed a stringent bill that set new, seemingly unattainable manufacturing standards for GM with regard to emissions and the amount of vehicles to be built. The company decided to pull the plug on the EV-1, despite glowing reviews from owners of the cutting edge cars. Not only did the company pull the plug, but they took back ALL of the working vehicles by refusing to re-up all current leases.

The owners of the EV-1 were so dedicated to the little cars that they protested outside of a lot in which the vehicles were being kept under lock and key for over a YEAR. They watched as the cars were trucked out, and later destroyed by a car crusher deep in the desert.

Well, this executive told Thomas Friedman that the cars were a "commercial flop" and that "nobody wanted to buy them." This was far from the truth, and yet Friedman, a supposedly accredited journalist, merely accepted the answers in stride and the film continued. Now, I'm not an accomplished investigative journalist (not yet) but even I know this guy was bullshitting. Why no challenge from Friedman?

To add insult to injury, the film went on to discuss the values of Hydrogen! We all know of the obvious benefits, but what about the fact that the cost will make gas seem cheap? That is just skimming the top of the hydrogen issue - more on that at a later date.

This is the sort of thing that can turn a "documentary" into propaganda for a large corporation. Now, I am no conspiracy theorist, but the standards seem to have dropped to the point where people no longer question anything. Have we truly become sheeples, as Mike Savage (he's terrific) would call most of us?

Lets get in the big game again. No more idle speech about "change". Lets get into action.

We found this little gem of a sign on our way back from Placerville this weekend. The bait shop hugged a small canal that fed the delta - lots of restaurants and bars on this tiny strip of pavement. There were tons of motorcycles and live music kickin on a Sunday afternoon! We loved that. Luckily, my brother-in-law remembered the sign and we got some shots.

I think this would make for a great showcase on Leno.
More to report on the weekend real soon. We drove quads throughout Happy Valley, on this mountain that has been in my buddies family since 1906 (actually my brother-in-laws dear friend).

Self-Promotion

IF THIS IS YOUR FIRST VISIT TO THE BLOG PLEASE SCROLL PAST THIS RANT BELOW. The writings beneath this piece are a better looking glass into what Living In The Void is truly about.

With in-boxes saturated with useless drivel, it has become increasingly difficult to promote your art. When it comes to close family and friends you can not blame them if they don't read your articles or take the time to give you feedback. They too are inundated with junk, forwarded messages having little to do with their believes, yet some of our peers continue to forward things along without a thought.

This time around however, trying to get my own peers involved in my craft (writing, forthcoming book, poetry) has become almost impossible. I dread to picture the types of things they are spending their time reading, and admittedly, I feel dwarfed by the garbage out there. Perhaps our current political, financial, and global situation is a reflection of these daily futile distractions. We spend our time on gossip pages, social networks (I too am guilty there) and online gaming.

Still: I will not give up. This book will be published, and I will continue to fill in-boxes with my own words. It is ultimately up to the recipient whether they want to read the prose of a good friend, or the musings of a multi-millionaire gossip whore.

We may find ourselves truly blessed with great friendships and humble mentors during the zig zaggy course of our lives. I have been fortunate in having experienced both. That same blessing, my mentor, past away. The news paralyzed me. The services commemorating his life were in New York City and then Istanbul. Unfortunately I was unable to attend, and that hurt more than anything. I do however, cherish the fact that we managed to form an honest friendship in the months before he past on. When I worked for him (Arif Mardin, when I worked at Atlantic Records) I could barely build up the nerve to truly engage him in real conversation. Talk about life, the real stuff, and he liked to do that.

We were always so busy that we never got the chance then, yet this man found the time to help me during some heavy storms. He is a legend to readers of Rolling Stone or fans of Aretha Franklin and Norah Jones. But he was the best friend to me. I know I wasn't one if his closest friends, though I know he cared for me greatly. We were divided by so many years in age, and hey, he had alot of people to love and take care of! I'm saddened he wasn't there to help us through the perils of last year. But, then I thought, he was. Honestly, when things got so bad I wanted to end it I thought of him, and how he believed in my talents, and how he loved to read my stupid poems and music reviews. Then I looked at my beloved wife, and I knew I had something to offer.

We all need humility and care of that mans level.



Michael
-there's a rant bout our Independence below. I wrote it on the fourth.

Our Independence

As today is our commemoration of Independence, that is, independent of the throws of England. This is a time for both celebration and reflection. There is great irony in our domestic celebration, as we, the people who inhabited this land far later than the native Americans had initially, stole it from them. We raped and pillaged, moved many against their will, and destroyed their homes and lives. These indigenous peoples are now secluded to specific areas of the country, where poverty is the new villain and gambling is their seeming salvation.

I have no intent to defame our great nation. Many worldly nations have thrived off the deterioration of another (and usually the other being the original inhabitants, like the Canaanites). There is however a need to discuss the past as a whole, not in parts, in order to tell the complete truth. Only then may we truly celebrate with both pride and passion. This is no history lesson, merely the meandering prose of an individual who relates to alienation.

In the end we must all learn to except one another. To ask that we embrace everybody that is wholly different from ourselves is far too reaching. Excepting is the first step, and that step is far from many currently residing all over the world. If history has taught us anything it is that events repeat themselves, yet manifest in differing circumstances according to changing times. We can take from past experiences and Learn from them, or ignore them. The ladder will always come back to haunt.

So, beer and fireworks abound. Lets simply not forget the reason we are here, and the people who were here before us.


Michael

The Faithful

The faithful have become the heroes
And the murderers.


Fair, and Evil


Gods words have been distorted for an oil drum.


Mother Earth is taking her time
with his demise.


She needs the energy.


We gaze at their glory,
blinded by our own image


As both God and Earth slip away from our Consciousness




Written By: Michael Mercer