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Current mood:introspective
usually, when i head over to my post office box, i don't expect to find anything: an urban outfitters catalog there, a mainstream alternative music magazine which i should have ended my subscription to long ago there. it's not every day where i find a handdrawn postcard from one of the few people in the world i consider a hero. the word "hero" is a funny term, because it usually implies some sort of vague notion of coveting, as there's something about your "hero" that makes you want to be them. when people look at their "heroes," they sort of imply that they would trade their lives in a heartbeat.
i would not, even for a second, want the lives of my heroes.
most of the "heroes" i have are such because they've lived through hardships similar to mine, and have come out of the debris not quite unscathed, but toting under their arms a beautiful catalog of art that has become a large part of my life. i've talked about john darnielle of the mountain goats being my hero, and this is mainly due to the fact that he, like me, was an abused child growing up, and has spent most ofhis adult life being my favorite singer/songwriter and one of the most vivid lyricists walking the earth right now. elliott smith is another man i consider a "hero," because he was also abused, but unfortunately,despite his vast catalog of pop genius, he never got to claim victory over his troubles. the final name on this list is of a man who almost joined smith and kurt cobain in the tablet of songwriting geniuses who took their lives.
i've made it no secret that i've suffered from depression before, and have tried to kill myself on more than one occasion. there was a rather desolate period in 2005 in which i locked myself in my house, stopped going to work, and desperately scrawled in my notebook. in the bottom of the barrel as far as these times go, i took a bottle of skyy vodka in one hand, a bottle of sleeping pills in the other, and tried to never wake up again. i woke up. i was PISSED.
in 2003, david c. berman, the driving force behind silver jews(long-known as one of my favorite bands), tried to kill himself. for quite a few reasons (one of them quite possibly being divine intervention), he is still alive. a few years ago, upon first listening to silver jews' classic album american water (one of my all-time favorite records), i read a revealing interview with berman about the suicide attempt and his life afterwards.
one day last year, for reasons i'm too embarrassed to actually remember, i sat down with a pen, paper, and drink, and wrote berman along fan letter, describing the effect his lyrics have had on me, my own music, my suicide attempt, and how silver jews helped drive me to take fresh cherries from yakima seriously. he responded with a kind message on the front of a handdrawn postcard.
3:32 PM
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