Sacrifices, Creating, and Craving Movement

Last night I had a brief conversation with an old friend about sacrifice: that each person has to sacrifice something in his or her life for the sake of something else.

I started writing this week’s column with a particular story/rant in mind, and after I’d written 200 words I felt stuck, so went outside for a cigarette. I thought to myself as I puffed away in the rain, bright red jacket hood covering my freshly painted bright red hair, that when I write, I take breaks to sacrifice the health of my lungs for the sake of a robotic, unthinking task whilst staring at something that isn’t my computer. This little sacrifice allows me to clear my head, and to let it naturally come to something that is more interesting, or at least more relevant, than whatever it is I was stuck on before. And here I am, thinking about sacrifices.

Writing this column right now, I am sacrificing the build up of creative inspiration I had accumulated over about 6 solid hours of reciting my poems, recording them, sourcing some of my old footage, editing it all together, and creating what could be my very first musical expression from sampled sounds and bits of songs. I didn’t want to stop, but I had to, because this column keeps me alive, in a way. But I am sacrificing an interesting take on the myriad important national and world issues for you to read for the sake of self-indulgent emotional musings, again. I’m not sorry; I just gotta be me for a bit. But it won’t be like this forever, I promise.

I was thinking, last night, that the reason I have not had a decent, regular income for the last 6 months, is because I am not willing to sacrifice the satisfaction I garner from having the time to do anything I want, when it comes to creative expression. I can run off to a gig and take photos. I can sit and think and read and write at any point of the day. I can spend a day making a short experimental-spoken-word-set-to-sounds-film simply because the mood takes me, and my brain is much better for it. And I would certainly prefer this freedom- while I can have it, in these surroundings, under the care of my long suffering mother- than to be slowly going crazy from the creative vacuum that is bar work or café work, which are the only jobs I can hope to quickly get, from which to earn a decent living, at minimum wage no less. Fuck that shit. I’ve done it too much, it never lasts very long (except for the best bar I’ve ever worked in, but then I wasn’t getting much creative work done…), and it’s far more trouble than it’s worth. Naw. Freedom from wage slavery. Freedom from assholes. Time to help my consistently troubled mind is more important than being able to afford to buy things.

However, that being said, I am thinking about sacrificing this easy, mostly carefree life (except for the depressive swings, but that’s never going to stop) I currently live, for the sake of running back to Melbourne town, because it seems like a really good idea. A really, really good idea, full of bands I miss, beautiful humans I long to be around, and a bunch of other places to explore.

This isn’t to say that I’m done with Perth. Fuck no man, I had one of the best days of my life over the weekend, surround by the incredible community of fucking lovely, loving, exciting and inspiring human beings that put together and attended Yarstock 5.0.

The humans involved were near breathtaking, and I will be sad to leave the new group of pals I have discovered since being back. But like, y’anno, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, and while this sacrifice is a biggun’, given all the freedom I’m now used to and the bullshit I just spouted about it… I’m pretty sure it will be worth it.

I’ll be here for a little bit longer. There are more bands to watch, more humans to connect with, more Things to Do and See before I leave again… but the sacrifice has already been made in my heart and in my brain. Gotta go. Gottttttttttaaaaaaa get out of here man, I’ve been in one place for far too long.