Brain in a jar ÷ heart on display

“Come out angels/Come out ghosts/Come out darkness/Bring everyone you know…If fear hasn’t killed me yet/Then nothing will”–War of My Life

I’m not one to invest my thoughts and energy into celebrities’ “private lives” or just people’s private lives in general. I figure if you want to tell me something about your love life or how you feel about something that has directly impacted your worldview, you’ll tell me. Therefore, this thing that I have with John Mayer, whether you want to label it an obsession, an idolization, or a connection, makes me more than slightly uncomfortable. I’ve YouTubed interviews, gone out of my way to Google him, follow him on Instagram and “like” his photos, and “know” about his dating history, how the media portrays him, and how the public reacts to his interviews or statements. I also spent too much money on a fangirl t-shirt I bought at his concert in Denmark, and am proud to say that he was my first concert, ever (I now plan to attend concerts more often because it was such a good experience). Oh, I also listen to his music at an unhealthy level of repetition. I wouldn’t cyber-stalk someone at my school like this, so why would I do this to someone I’ve never even met?

He’s a musician, not an entertainer. What he lacks in keeping your attention visually or sensationally, he makes up for emotionally and sincerely. And it’s magnetic. I can solidify my belief that music truly transcends everything, it is borderless and contagious. Music trespasses cultures, languages, time, even all five human senses, and brings people together; it’s something that no other art can accomplish singlehandedly. The way he communicates with his audience is through his music, through his soul, through his fingers strumming on his guitar strings, because his guitar strings are his heart strings, and he’s begging for someone, anyone, to hear him, to see him. If I thought his lyrics struck something in me, the way he plays guitar is something otherworldly. He just goes, freestyles, communicates, and expresses with it, and to feel the spirit, the personality behind what he’s strumming, makes you feel like you can go with him to his quiet spaces and just be there with him.

An invitation to get lost and be found.

And despite never conversing with him in real life, I feel like I know him as if we have talked for hours. Or perhaps it’s just my imagination of him that has me enthralled.

Whether it is valid or not, I see my current self in him, and I see who I want to be through him. I feel his sadness and desperation, his struggle to navigate through his journey of life, and his metaphors and modes of expression resonate to how I think and articulate. Whether or not it is at his personal expense, his work brings joy to others. It serves a purpose. His public image will have you believe he is an arrogant womanizer, and some of his interviews are nothing short of douchebag material, and despite all of that, I still admire him. Because he has the guts to honestly screw up in front of the world, not hide from it, and somehow the world hasn’t given up on him. He still has a stable and successful career, and people look beyond his rumors and allegations. If he can make headlining mistakes and still be successful, I can “fail” at a few things and know its not the end of the world. Clearly perfection or a clean face isn’t always required, and it’s relieving on a macro level, because it must then also apply to my micro situation in comparison. Kindness and forgiveness are things I can give to everyone except myself.

And then there’s the passion and sincerity for what he does that emulates from him. The love he has for making music and sharing something so special to him to people he knows nothing about, is both admirable and brave. I want something like that. And I suppose that’s what this blog is for me. I love writing and experimenting with expressing myself through different types of prose, as well as combining it with carefully chosen songs that relay something beyond the song itself. It challenges me to open myself up to something outside of my control: (fear of) criticism I didn’t ask for, praise I didn’t expect, and unmasking parts of myself to whoever takes the time to read my ramblings, whether I’ve given you “permission” to access this part of me or not. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and satisfying all at once.

 

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