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MP3 Duenow - if you could only see what they are doing to you
18 MP3 Songs
ROCK: Folk Rock, HIP HOP/RAP: White-Boy Rap
Details:
On paper...I''m just another number.
You can mix make with honey...but it still tastes like make.
I''ve tumbled through this surreal system the same way every other American reject has. In high school I graduated 17th from the bottom of my class, got beat up by football players, collected scabs, wore the obligatory black Goth outfit (with white gym shoes), shaved a Mohawk with a Bic razor, dropped acid, smoked catnip, sold my soul to the devil, listened to Christian Death, and donned a black leather jacket that read, "I''m gonna kill myself today" on the back...no one ever stopped me to ask.
My suburb was home to kids whose parents collected antique cars, built tennis courts in their backyards, and birthed ulcers when the stock market farted. But my dad''s house was filled with the largest skull collection in the country, and our backyard didn''t have a tennis court...it had a sparse arrangement of unmarked gravestones and a junked Airstream Trailer that slowly sank into the mud a bit more every year. Strangely, the impermanent permanence of the trailer felt like a daily reminder of my new age mother who lived in a tent in India and sent me annual postcards updating me as to the status of her enlightenment.
Like many high school seniors, I chose my college based on the quality of the "scene" (read: the quality of the "pot") that was rumored to be there...but as soon as I got to school I realized that the same kids from my home with tennis courts and millionaire parents, had just traded their Nikes for Birkenstocks and picked up a "best of" Grateful Dead album. I chained myself to a few Redwood trees, dropped more acid, and caught scabies to get into the spirit of things. But soon I started to wear a suit and tie, and found myself preferring the Wall Street Journal to my baked roommates planning their next bungee jump. By the time I graduated, I felt a bit smothered by my university''s rigidly liberal disposition on everything, and I convinced myself that working at an advertising agency would be my final calling.
Ahhh Advertising: Art You Can Win At
After five years of being trained to see the world only in terms of what you can sell to it, I had a moment of psychosis during a focus group in which we were testing a new dessert macaroni and cheese; I was probing to find the pivotal insight underlying consumers'' resistance to a salty dessert. I snapped; I couldn''t stand another second studying "consumers" like a chemical reaction and watching my half-witted clients berate them from behind a one-way mirror. I wanted to run into the room and throw handfuls of sticky sweet macaroni all over the "40-something-quality-craving-moms," but I instead left quietly and vomited in the back alley.
The next night I placed a career suicide letter on the desk of all 800 employees at the agency and drove from Chicago to Costa Rica to live. There, I found something genuine in myself...something I could offer the world besides watery beer, fattening food, and consumer manipulation. Maybe I was inspired by the people in Central America that everyone said would shoot me and steal my truck. Maybe it was the ocean. Whatever it was, it answered my 27 year-old question about what I''m here to do.
I''m a musician, my biography, the best way I know how to say it, is on the my CD.
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