The Slow, Melancholy Deterioration of the Human Mind - A Love Story

In twelve days, I’ll be playing my first full set of individual music for a live crowd.

I’ve been playing guitar for about eight or nine years and been writing songs for about seven years. I’ve played shows with a band, and I’ve played open mic nights by myself. I have not yet, however, put together a full set of songs on my own, to play for about 45 minutes by myself.

Very rarely do I come up with a full song on guitar – chord progression, riffs, bridge/chorus, etc. – in one sitting, and even more infrequently is that full song generally good. At 2:15 this morning, as I walked up to bed, I saw I’d left my guitar sitting out from earlier in the day and decided to fiddle around with it. By 2:45, I had the music down.

Unfortunately, I don’t have a goddamn word to put with it.

In college, I wrote columns, blogs and other articles far more often than I wrote songs, which is odd considering how much free time I usually allotted myself. Granted, writing columns and articles was kind of my major, but still.

Now in my post-university life, I’ve found that despite my desire to re-enter the journalism/media field, I’ve written songs and lyrics far more than I’ve written blogs like this. I’m not sure if this can be attributed more to how short and simple my songs are (because don’t get me wrong, I’m not a very good musician), or how I sometimes aspire to be some sort of deep-thinking, artistically-inclined string-strummer.

Which is interesting, because often, whether it be a blog entry or a song, I find I don’t have much to say.

Not everyone is destined to spew their thoughts for the masses to see. But if you were to graph out my “inspiration to write” on a chronological chart, you would see a nice, steady decline from the day I graduated college to April 28, 2013, nearly two full years after I walked the stage, grabbed my diplo…I mean, my invitation to the Duquesne University Alumni Association, and high-tailed it out of Pittsburgh before the administration could reconsider their fateful decision.

Since that time, here are my accomplishments:

--Earned a job outside of my area of study and worked my way through to a slightly better paying job outside of my area of study at the same company.

--Moved out of my mom’s house.

--Squadoooooooooosh.

Okay, so I’ve done some other stuff. (Those dishes don’t clean themselves, thankyaverymuch). In terms of my intellectual development, though, you could say that I was humming along in a Lamorghini…

Okay, in a Ford Fiesta…

Okay, on a rusted-over Huffy bicycle…

Alright, anyway, so I was moving along quite well, and then gradually, coasted to a stop. I’ve acquired several books as gifts or as personal purchases in that time and can distinctly remember reading 1 2/3 of them: “Year of the Black Rainbow” (a book based on a Coheed and Cambria CD, which was basically the equivalent of reading a video game), and 2/3 of “Hearts inAtlantis,” which I read during jury duty. And to be honest, I had already read the first half one time before, four years ago, and decided to start again. That is an alarming lack of mental stimulation. At least I've supplemented it with plenty of other....well...yeah.

In college, though, I was force-fed great writing. .Kurt Vonnegut! T.S. Eliot! Hunter S. Thompson! E.L. James! (Okay, I’m joking…I never read T.S Eliot. That puss J. Alfred Prufrock can go right to hell)

I was forced to think because otherwise I’d fail. My economics classes taught me how to think and how to apply it to everyday life, and my writing classes taught me how to communicate what I knew effectively and, when I stumbled upon a joke or two by accident, in an entertaining manner.

I realize that last paragraph sounds like something I’d put on a resume. It sounds an awful lot like something I’d tell someone in a job interview. Thing is, I’d be outright lying if I told somebody that in an interview. Two years ago, that might have been true. Not today.

In college, “life” was studying and bettering yourself. Today, “life” for me is taking home enough money so I can pay my bills, buy food, and maybe have enough left over to hang out with my friends or go out on a date (sometimes both in the same month, if I’m lucky). My leisure time is spent eating, going to the gym, sleeping, and plucking half-heartedly at my guitar, hoping the next time I strum the strings, they’ll emit words instead of notes.

I’ll be 24 in a few months. I cannot become a hopeless nostalgic. If I want to be a better writer, a better songwriter, or for God’s sake, just a more interesting person who can talk about more than last night’s game or that hi-LAR-ious video on YouTube, it has to begin with me, and now.

Starting in May, I am resolving myself to read two books a month – one fiction and one non-fiction. It’s extremely modest, but it’s something I believe I can manage between work and social life.

I’m well aware that actions speak louder blah de blah de blah. I’m putting this here as a modification on Drew Magary’s “Public Humiliation Diet.” The premise is, you’ll be more inclined to work towards your goals if you publicize them, because that relative publicity will push you not to fail. If you keep it to yourself, the only person who knows is you. For some of us, that isn’t enough.

So I’m asking for suggestions. I’ve got a big bookshelf of potential selections, but I’d love to hear what you guys have read recently and liked. They don’t necessarily have to be the most intellectual pieces ever written, but I’d prefer they don’t involve vampires, or middle-aged mistresses, or both.

Thanks, everyone.

-Matt

And as one last shameless plug, my set at Chaplin’s in Spring City is on May 10^th. I’m playing with No Stranger and my brother Alex Kasznel from the band The BlueRoom, and it’s going to be a great time. Yes, I’ll be playing the original songs I’ve spent this post diminishing, but I’ll also mix in enough Kelly Clarkson covers to make up for it. (See, now you’ll have to show up to see if I’m kidding about the Kelly Clarkson covers)