I got a big bad feeling,
That you don't live here no more.
That you don't live here no more.
Quoted from Jimi Hendrix's Red House.
The way that Eric Johnson sings it with sentimental feel, just touches me at the right spot(s). Not only his voice, but the notes he pick.
And he enhances his notes. How? Simple. Steroids.
Nah. Sound. The amps, the pedals, the guitar, the rig, the articulation, the pressure on the left hand and on the right hand, etc.
In other words, how was this song? Depression?
Damn straight if it were to be depression. It's 8.44pm, and I was supposed to start on my journal-reserach a few minutes ago, but I decided to stray away, and to think about what my life is about.
And it ain't good. I came home with clouds of thunder, watching others how they simply play the guitar, and sound good (not good guitarists, but they sound good. Emotions heighten your performances as well, apparently).
And.. what am I doing?
Flipping through bank regulation journals preparing myself for a subject I'm going to fail.
It's like a drug addict, who smokes a shitload of weed, and realises that he's going to die because of weed. But smokes even MORE because he's too ashamed and just wants to die as soon as possible.
Tell me, what the hell am I doing here? And what in the freaking world have I done to make myself miserable, anyway?
People pisses me off. The close ones I had..well, are the ones I used to have. And new friends will turn into the ones that I had.
Is this some sort of a circle of life, or it's just myself?
Either way, I've done it this time, and I've screwed myself really hard.
The only achievement today that I'm somewhat proud and not proud of myself would be.. scoring a 4/5 in my test last week. And the other more studious people scored 3, and a little bit more. They could've done better, but why did they not? After all, they pay more attention in class, and they definitely understand the subject more than I do.
How in the world did I slither out of this? Does the Big Man up there wants me to succeed or what? Sorry mate, if it were to be my own effort, I know that I'd be pretty smug about it all day long, but this, I feel, isn't my effort. I did my everything to contribute, but something inside of me is telling me that it wasn't my full effort. Or effort. At all.
Hmmm.
*Conducts the orchestra to play Red House
The way that Eric Johnson sings it with sentimental feel, just touches me at the right spot(s). Not only his voice, but the notes he pick.
And he enhances his notes. How? Simple. Steroids.
Nah. Sound. The amps, the pedals, the guitar, the rig, the articulation, the pressure on the left hand and on the right hand, etc.
In other words, how was this song? Depression?
Damn straight if it were to be depression. It's 8.44pm, and I was supposed to start on my journal-reserach a few minutes ago, but I decided to stray away, and to think about what my life is about.
And it ain't good. I came home with clouds of thunder, watching others how they simply play the guitar, and sound good (not good guitarists, but they sound good. Emotions heighten your performances as well, apparently).
And.. what am I doing?
Flipping through bank regulation journals preparing myself for a subject I'm going to fail.
It's like a drug addict, who smokes a shitload of weed, and realises that he's going to die because of weed. But smokes even MORE because he's too ashamed and just wants to die as soon as possible.
Tell me, what the hell am I doing here? And what in the freaking world have I done to make myself miserable, anyway?
People pisses me off. The close ones I had..well, are the ones I used to have. And new friends will turn into the ones that I had.
Is this some sort of a circle of life, or it's just myself?
Either way, I've done it this time, and I've screwed myself really hard.
The only achievement today that I'm somewhat proud and not proud of myself would be.. scoring a 4/5 in my test last week. And the other more studious people scored 3, and a little bit more. They could've done better, but why did they not? After all, they pay more attention in class, and they definitely understand the subject more than I do.
How in the world did I slither out of this? Does the Big Man up there wants me to succeed or what? Sorry mate, if it were to be my own effort, I know that I'd be pretty smug about it all day long, but this, I feel, isn't my effort. I did my everything to contribute, but something inside of me is telling me that it wasn't my full effort. Or effort. At all.
Hmmm.
*Conducts the orchestra to play Red House
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