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On the job, when I’d huddle in the back room of the dismal department store at which I’d earn my bi-weekly pay, I’d tickle my ears with the aggressive stylings of rock, metal, and folk music. Hourly pay, five days a week, maybe more… working through my youth so others could have fun. I settled into a regular “nine-to-five” work philosophy. I felt it more prudent to have a stable job, try to keep my sanity and still perform, build something from the ground up. In the end, you could say I ended up retiring all of those dreams in the end. I was faced with the choice of retiring all but one of my dreams. Unless I forced myself into permanent debt to please both the teachers and students, I would never progress in my career path. My aspirations were frequently met by brick walls meat walls, too. Especially in the Arts, even when things weren't so tough.Īfter a while, I lost the will to jump over endless hurdles. I earned my Associate’s in Fine Arts I learned later on, perhaps too late, that college degrees were more or less useless in a failing economy. I wanted to create something that would capture imagination, inspire others - or at least, provide me security in doing what I loved. I wanted to be many things among them, a worship leader, or an opera singer, or the leader of the next big neo-classical band, or. Not to say that I didn’t try myself. I played the game, took the classes in theory, hoping to make a career out of my music in some form.
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The rare few would accomplish feats that were truly enviable among those of us who struggled alongside them. I'd hear about their accomplishments all over social media. Yet, they still were performed, the players would bond, the groups would either move on or split into other projects. Some of those compositions would never be heard again, after a lukewarm reception by an audience. Their classical and jazz compositions would fill countless notebooks, would actually be performed in front of people. I'd met many people in that time, folks who didn't seem to have a problem with putting lyrics and notes on paper, then birthing those ideas into the world. It was a desire I'd carried through to college. Since I'd been an angsty teenager, I'd dreamt of writing at least one rock song. One damn song, already! Come on, hit those strings! This plan had something in common with plans from years gone by. But this time, I was determined to sit down with the guitar, let the lyrics just flow out, maybe get this one recorded to work on later. No big deal - just something I’d been trying to do for years, without success.
Slavya everlasting summer h scene free#
I'd resigned myself to a plan at the beginning of the day once I was free from overtime at work, my night would be dedicated to trying to write a song. I made sure to get it right at the brim before putting the bottle aside and swiftly bringing the drink to my lips in one smooth motion. I poured myself another shot, carefully watching the ever-clear liquid as it trickled forth from the tall, ornately-crafted bottle into my short little shot glass.
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I’d never had Stolichnaya before in my life, but at the moment it seemed to be a bitter nectar of the gods. Over a hazy, drunken stupor, I pulled this piece of genius from a sleepy subconscious, reaching across my cluttered desk yet again for my recently purchased bottle of vodka, which was quickly nearing its half-life.