Headcase
3 April 2008
Am I to believe that my head is a problem? My ego? Well, yes. There are two me’s. There’s Pete, and there’s Mr. Alive. Pete thinks he was born on such and such day, in this or that town, drives a car worth too much or not enough, and a has a job that makes him think he’s all that or not much of anything. Mr. Alive doesn’t think. He just is. He’s been around for like forever, and isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and—believe it or not—he hasn’t been anywhere before, because there are no before’s or future’s with this guy. He’s the one moving the pen, and Pete is just the one who likes to think that Pete is periodically clever. Mr. Alive on the other hand, is always clever, and never misses a beat.
That said, Pete does get to feel more like Mr. Alive when he listens better, when he creates, moves about, walking, talking, riding a bike or writing without too much thought. Ahh, those are the moments. However, here we are with the thoughts—like Beck the musician says, “Comin’ to you 1000 beats per minute…”
On good days, Pete tries to let Mr. Alive run the show via activities like prayer, meditation, and aerobic exercise. These activities—though they take longer than beer, but are free of hangovers and more extreme side effects like chronic depression and homelessness—scrub the brain of energy draining thoughts, and let the more easy-going ponderings of Mr. Alive come through. And yes, writing is another good brain scrubber. Mr. Alive and Pete work together in the editorial room, and the goal is for the words to reflect Mr. Alive’s sentiments; however, we realize Pete is bound to influence the process, and it can be great fun to work with Mr. Alive on which words get crossed out or set on fire.
The message coming today is that thoughts are there for the taking or leaving, and Pete’s job is to let Mr. Alive decide which ones are important. Simultaneously, Pete must not take this occupation too seriously; this is how Mr. Alive gets turned into “reasons” for spilling blood. Guns don’t kill. People with names like Pete kill. Egos kill to protect what was never really there. Egos protect stories we invent to make us feel more than—when we can never really feel more than Mr. Alive. The Pete’s in the world are often more worried about making up these stories than appreciating the real spin behind it all. Holy shit… I’m alive! What can I do to spread this news?
