Category Archives: Random Thoughts and Stories

Random Thoughts and Stories, Shared on Social Media, Songs and poems

I Oppose

I can’t stand the sadness that I feel knowing that the ugliness of the people of our nation has been utterly exposed.

I’m disturbed by the deep disappointment I feel knowing that so many good people could follow the leadership of ignorance, deceit, and hatred.

I’m diminished by my own anger and resentment towards my fellow citizens and the realization that these changes cannot be undone.

I’m shaken by this knowledge that I will carry to my own grave.

I’m appalled by the view of family members and friends that I now see as the same mindset of people who oppressed the millions of humans in the past and present, simply through unknowing and unreconciled agreement with genecide, slavery, and the belief of self supremacy.

I oppose the people who support the corruption of our law enforcement funded by the very people which it openly oppresses and actively murders.

I oppose allowing the disgusting greed of the wealthy to abuse and restrict, to deny and control, and to empower the convinced self righteous.

I oppose the continuation of blindness, believing certain political leaders are good, when they are justifiably proven evil.

I oppose the use of psychology and emotion to manipulate the populus, enabling the fear machine that drives deceit, fueled by greed and power.

I oppose the loyalty to defiance of common sense and basic morality.

I’m dismantled by the knowledge that the poor intellect of so many is magnified by mass communication. The damage is reprehensible and undoable.

It is, and will be, the fall of our nation if we continue to allow it.

Comedy, Random Thoughts and Stories

My Video Submission

I’ve written stories about my friends that they might find offensive. I don’t blame them if they do. I often convey their personalities in an unflattering way. I don’t mean to purposely demean them, I just amplify my perception of a small part of them that adds character. And in an attempt to be fair, I’ll attempt to write about myself in a self deprecating way.

It was the year Twenty-Nineteen and I had decided I was going to become an entertainer. My landscaping job was not only shameful, embarrassing, dirty, and non-lucrative, it was also kicking my ass. I realized that I wasn’t physically going to be able to do the labor-intensive work much longer. I needed a new career plan that I could live with. The thought of working a seven to six job until I die of sadness, fluorescent lights, and monotony just made me want to die sooner.

But here I have this fountain of talent for writing songs and singing that has remained untapped for thirty years. It requires a lot less physical labor, and since my standard of income is so extremely low anyway, I should be able to continue barely supporting my family with minimal impact.

Somehow, I have worked hard for years to find the perfect income bracket that allows us to survive in poverty. Making just enough money to almost never owe taxes, qualify for affordable health insurance, and still have enough to enjoy pizza and movies on special occasions. It’s pretty good science until the President throws some random bullshit executive order into the theory.

If I was going to restart a music career, I needed to start honing my craft. So I asked my family to help make a video to submit to the Tiny Desk contest. They agreed to help, but as the days passed, my repeated requests seemed to always be ill timed. So I waited. And waited. Asked again and waited some more. Soon the deadline was upon me. I had one night left and everyone was still too busy to hold a camera to make a video, so I set up a tripod, drank a beer, hooked up a light, drank a beer, adjusted the light, drank a beer, adjusted the sound, and drank another beer. And then I put on a clean-ish shirt and a hat and recorded two amazing songs.

I opened up the first song presentation by explaining that I didn’t understand ‘charisma’. It was one of the required suggestions for submitting a video. I said, in an uncontrolled, high pitched, special needs sort of way,” I don’t even know what charisma is, I don’t think I have it, but here’s a song anyway!”. The second video was much less exciting, I may have said, ” This, I wrote, a long time ago….  here it is. By the way I’m not sitting at a desk. It’s a drafting table, but I guess that counts as a desk too, so…” I thought it was a good idea to show in each video, a half full, glass of beer with a lime in it, on ice, to show I was enjoying myself and I had some class.

I uploaded it to YouTube and enjoyed a few more beers, knowing I had just created some possible winning videos.

The next day, I came home fithy from work, had a few beers, with ice and lime, and decided to upload one more winning video. Mostly because of the rule of three’s, coinciding with the best chance at having good luck. I didn’t bother to shower or change clothes and wound up recording an extra song, completely negating the rule of three’s. I also chose to use distorted electric guitar to get all gritty and down and dirty. I wanted to present myself as a real person with a real job so they might decide I need to be rescued from my real life.

Oddly, some time passed and I didn’t receive my winning invitation to perform at the actual Tiny Desk on National Public Radio. I did receive a ‘thank you for your submission’ email, so that was almost like winning. 

Since then, I started recording an album while enjoying beer, then finished the album while enjoying no beer. Most of the ‘drinking’ tracks were deleted and re-recorded due to strange technical problems like inconsistent rhythm timing called latency, and slurred singing, called slurred singing. The computer probably just needed to be re-booted.

Sobriety hasn’t made my work shirts any cleaner but has reduced their appearance in videos by fifty percent. It also hasn’t motivated my family to help when they said they would, but it has lowered my bitterness and anger by a factor of three. It has increased my ability to perceive reality by approximately fifteen degrees but hasn’t deterred my retirement plan of pursuing a career in music in any way, so I’m not sure if sobriety even really actually works.

I’m considering selling black-market ‘clean urine’ to functioning drug addicts as an alternative or a side gig but still haven’t committed. I still need to do some legal research on liability and insurance fraud. I suppose I may have to choose between selling bootleg pee and playing a guitar, but it’s almost the same thing. It’s giving away a part of myself for money.

Someday, I hope to be so big that even really large desks appear to be tiny. I’m also okay with poverty. It really doesn’t matter as long as the family is good and everyone is healthy.

There’s also no shame in having a tiny desk. Especially if all the drawers work and you get your work done.

Just to be clear, my desk is a drafting table, so…

Random Thoughts and Stories, Shared on Social Media

Success, Parts One and Two

Success Part 1

It always amazes me to see just how many people are happy to take your money to make you successful.

During my years in Nashville, I saw countless songwriters throwing money at shady promoters and self described music industry insiders promising to get your songs to professional representatives. I never met anyone that sold a song that way. Many successful writers knew someone personally in the business. Sometimes the writers had an arsenal of good commercial songs and came to Nashville with enough money to survive without a day job, and buy the attention of actual music industry executives. They made their connections before even moving to Nashville.

I’m lousy at making solid plans. My plans for Nashville changed drastically just on my drive there, but that’s another story.

In Nashville, I once met a guy from Houston, who was fully financed by family friends that won the Texas lottery. He had athletic good looks, money, and had written at least one really great song hook (that I’m surprised we haven’t all heard yet) but got caught up in the Nashville party scene mixed with self promotion. When I met him, he was working off debts on a horse ranch and going through a severe, cold turkey, drug rehabilitation. He blew all of his gifted lottery money on cocaine and partying after only two years. His family gave up on him and he had destroyed all his music industry connections. There was a long line of people that took advantage of him and it left him completely broken. I’ve never seen someone fall so hard from so high up.

I suppose I was lucky to have so little. It kept me from blowing it all on drugs. I chose to waste my money on food and shelter instead… like a loser.

I have to admit, I also capitalized on the constant flow of aspiring songwriters a teeny bit. I built part of my recording studio with money I made from other writers. Sometimes I would even go out to a writers round at a venue and recruit business. A few times the clients were Music City tourists that just wanted to record a song in an actual Nashville recording studio. (It only qualified as a real studio because I installed a cool looking slanted window and built an isolated sound booth). I never promised any promotion. I just provided a demo recording on a CD at an affordable price and had fun. That type of business recruiting makes me feel predatorial and sleazy, but that’s why I’m also lousy at marketing and sales. I obviously don’t have the stomach for it. Mostly, the studio was built with the help of friends who agreed to help me with getting equipment for recording their demos. I then kept the studio going primarily by recording local rappers. I somehow became a premier east side, mix-tape studio. My given rap name was Thug Nasty and I learned about blunts and proper use of the N word.

The years I ran the recording studio, I had a stream of promoters and representatives trying to get me to recruit seemingly desperate songwriters. Sometimes they offered me a one time commission but usually nothing at all. Not one of those businesses were truthful about their accomplishments. They all claimed to have success stories of people no one has ever heard of, or some grandchild of an old fart country singer with a random hit song as part of their sales pitch. I was amazed at how much business there was that seemed to be the bottom feeders of the music industry.

I once had a songwriting session with a guy that worked for a major record company. He even showed me around the building on Music Row one Sunday afternoon, including the writers rooms where staff writers actually wrote multiple hit songs. It was an amazing experience and I’m grateful I got to see it. Not many people do. We got together at a friend’s house later and started writing the next “Redneck Anthem” as he put it, but after about forty-five minutes, I became frustrated with the cold and insincere process and abruptly walked away, almost like a real jerk. Also, I was writing all the melody while they were just trying to come up with string of catchy phrases. Oddly, some songwriters do exactly that and occasionally they write a hit song. I later learned that he was actually a part time janitor at the record company building. I would have thought that was even more cool than being a staff writer, if only he didn’t discreetly lie about it.

One rule I still follow is “Never pay to play”. In all of my experience through the years, that still hasn’t changed, even though it’s often tempting when something amazing or exclusive is offered, but it’s always too good to be true.

With the release of my third album, I am now bombarded with ads for promotion on Facebook and email. I see some friends using these marketing techniques and I really hope they know what to expect. I also hope it really works for them. It takes an incredible amount of effort and time.

I’m doing some of the same techniques as the marketers, usually by sheer coincidence or intuition. I have difficulty dedicating a lot of time for self promotion, so I’ve given myself reasonable deadlines and realistic goals. I plan on doing things before I die of old age.

There is a huge demand for independent music marketing on the internet. It’s actually mostly about gathering data to sell ads, not music. So you’re really in marketing, instead of music. Did you want to be in marketing? Too bad, you’re in marketing now. Surprisingly, the pitches are pretty straight-forward and honest about that if you’re really listening, but they can still be pretty tricky.

Creating music is actually getting more affordable as the processes get more streamlined and competitive. It’s also becoming less meaningful as it gets more and more saturated. I’m contributing as well, I’m sure.

The independent music industry is turned upside down right now and I assume that the real players are way ahead of the trends and protecting themselves. Nashville executives have always been in control of their industry, for the better or the worse. It’s all subjective, and as long as they can say what’s good music, they’re going to be just fine.

Success Part 2

With the internet, the average person can now produce music and make it available for the whole world to hear. We can go out and play live shows and peddle our CD’s and t-shirts for a few bucks. We can even possibly make a living doing it-if it’s set up right and highly maintained. (It’s important to note that professional music producers, talented writers, and craft musicians are still in another league. All musicians should aspire to be in that elite league, or at least know the difference.)

Making it big is still as elusive as it ever was. Getting a hit song on the radio or movie soundtrack is still amazingly difficult. Everybody wants a cut, everybody wants a piece of the action, and nobody wants to invest in the highly unlikely chance of your success. It’s worse odds than winning the lottery and being struck by lightning on the same day, but we do it anyway. We tell ourselves that someone has to win the lottery, and the chances are greater the more we play, and we try and put ourselves in the path of opportunity. I am there with exactly that.

The hope of making money doing something so creatively satisfying is mind boggling. It’s an addiction and it’s a foolish pursuit, but it is also a legitimate business. Computers, software suppliers, bars, restaurants, instruments, electronics, CD manufacturers, online distributors, ads and more ads. It’s a big, big business for so many, and sometimes lightning really does strike for an artist.

It’s also hard to accept that you should just go get an unsatisfying job for sixty-five years when you are capable of creating music. 

An extraordinary soul stuck in a conventional life. (I heard that on the radio). It makes you wonder why you even exist at all? It’s even harder when you have to accept you’ve struggled to dedicate your entire life to music and realize that you’re barely closer than you were thirty years ago. You didn’t plan for surviving with nothing, and it seems too late to start building anything. It makes you wonder, again, why you even exist at all?

That’s why some people believe it’s absolutely foolish to chase such dreams to begin with. I get that now, because I’m older, worn down, cynical, and poor.

There’s also a heavy guilt side effect in investing in my music endeavor because I should probably be putting money into my home and family instead of throwing it away on guitar strings and making CD’s. When I get a few extra bucks, it usually goes into a music fund and I try to spend it before something new breaks around the house. (I’m ignoring the old hole in the back porch.) I even keep my self embezzled allowance a secret from people that wouldn’t approve. I’m probably way too old to be doing that, but I’m also too old to have to be explaining myself.

I’ve tried many careers and made many mistakes. One mistake was not going in deeper. Fully immersed and sacrificing everything. Homeless, starving, alone, and maybe ending up dead. I sometimes listened to people who didn’t get it. I was convinced that I always had to pay the rent and have a steady job. That kept me from discovering and learning everything I really needed to know about music or entertainment. I was so focused, for years, on trying to earn a living instead of figuring out a way to develop my very real passion, I actually wound up failing at both.

I’m aware that it sounds like I’m blaming others because I am. I’ve got plenty of things to blame on myself, but it isn’t like everything can be my fault all the time, right? Right?

When I was seventeen, I wanted to go to L.A. to try to get into the movie business. I didn’t go because something told me I would die without support. The truth is, I was already dead, or at least my future was. There was nothing for me where I was. In hindsight, I had no real prospects either way so I should have just gone to Hollywood. Part of me thinks that is my biggest regret. Another part knows I probably wouldn’t be here now to complain about it, so I try not to give it too much thought.

So years later, I’m still struggling to make music. It’s still just as useless and futile as it ever was, but it’s the air that I breathe. I have no desire to quit creating music and still no desire to work at a meaningless job for lousy pay. At least no more than I have to. I still gotta provide and survive.

At this point, I’m sort of just running out the clock. I have to make my failures my accomplishments, my poverty my contentment, and my lack of desire for competitive wealth my social protest.

Making music is powerful. Sharing music is nice too if everyone at least pretends to like it. Making money from making music would be life altering. The amount of work that’s put into making music is mostly kept a secret because it’s ridiculous. And don’t even ask how much money we put into it.

I was thinking about how much I can charge for a CD. If I sell one for ten dollars, that’s about thirty minutes of work for an average person. It would be kind of like giving someone my CD for taking out my kitchen trash or folding a load of laundry. My cost with shipping is about seven bucks so I make three dollars for a CD that I’ve invested thousands of dollars and a lot of years to create. I’m starting to think it’s a bad business model. Unless I can guilt millions and millions of people into buying them.

It’s strange to think that music is for sale at all. Music is the way humans breathe through their souls. It’s just too bad we can’t eat pentatonic scales.

Comedy, Random Thoughts and Stories, Uncategorized

The Walmart Illuminatti

“Do you know what the Illuminati,… you know, the top one percent, do you know what they call the rest of us?” I couldn’t wait to hear the answer. This beautiful, buck toothed, scraggly woman at the Walmart check out had peaked my interest. I didn’t mind that she confused the wealthiest people in the world with the Illuminati. I don’t mind that she actually believes there is a private social club that controls all of our lives. Maybe, there is. I don’t claim to know about things I can’t possibly know. I just know I love to hear crazy people speak. “Useless eaters”. she said, ” That’s what they call us”. I thought, that’s not so bad. I often feel like a useless eater. I agree with the Illuminati. Maybe I am one!

Turns out, after a comprehensive google search, five days after the statement rattled inside my head, that consisted of one very easy search, I discovered that the iIlluminati didn’t say that. It was the Nazis.

Damn! I am so dissatisfied with the customer service at Wal-Mart. I want to complain, but to whom?

Then, I remembered the rest of the cashier’s platform. “Well, when those Illuminati meet the Lord, they’ll find out, real quick”.

“I suppose they’ll get what’s coming to them”, replied the long, white hair, bearded man with minimal enthusiasm.

When it was my turn at the cashier, I just said, “What the Hell? Ten cent’s for a god-damned paper bag! This is bullshit!! Fuck the Illuminati!” Then I peed on everything and exposed myself to the cameras in the ceiling. “Sam Walton would have burned you all!!” I exclaimed. Then I wrapped myself in pool noodles and sang God Bless America. After three back flips by the security guard, we consummated and drank a case of Gatorade.

Actually, I didn’t do any of that. I just don’t have an end to this story. I wonder what the Illuminati would think if I did do that? Oh well, who cares? I’m hungry. Fuckin’ Nazis.

Random Thoughts and Stories, Shared on Social Media

The Judge and the Victim and the Justice and America!

If you don’t know, there is a brand new United States Supreme Court justice! Brett Kavanaugh will be a judge for the rest of his life. He was accused of a sexual assault that happened in the 1980’s, by Dr. Christine Blasey Ford. He adamantly, fiercely denied it. There was an extremely publicized confirmation hearing where it basically came down to his word against hers.

Somehow, it became highly political. Both parties became enraged and accusatory. Both parties helped to continue the division our nation. Both parties handled this situation horribly.

The final conclusion, one could assume, is that the accused have to be proven guilty. Accusations have to be traceable and confirmed. This is the basis on which Justice Kavanaugh was confirmed to the highest court of the United States of America.

The part that disturbs me the most, is the attitudes. This seemingly new polarized political landscape has made me struggle with understanding everyone, on all sides. President Donald J. Trump seems to incite negative and disturbing public behavior. I see websites and Facebook memes that make me question the moral decency of some of my closest friends and family. I honestly can’t believe some of the things I have heard, read, and seen widely distributed by people I know and care about. Advocating running over protesters and calling for a civil war, just to name a few. I now question the intelligence of everyone with a bumper sticker or snide comment. -I’m not proud of that. It’s upsetting to realize this has all been just under the surface of our great country for years. Festering and waiting for it’s chance to burst out into the mainstream.

We are told to blame the Russians, or the Liberals, or the right wing extremists. We are told that the other side is blatantly against us and there are conspiracies in play, (as Judge Kavanaugh openly stated without offering any proof, somewhat ironically). We are told that a different opinion is just stupid or overly sensitive. We’re told to pick a side and fight for your freedom or it will be taken away. We’re told that our constitution is unwavering and amendments can’t be amended, even with the reality of toddlers and children being gunned down-murdered at school. We are told to stand up and recite the chants and believe and trust in our ONE almighty God or you are an unpatriotic heathen. Oddly enough, the roots of our unique American freedoms are based on the exact opposite of all of that.

We are NOT told to believe in each other.
We are NOT told to trust each other
We are NOT told to listen to each other.
We are NOT told to respect each other.
-Something’s wrong here.

As a victim of sexual abuse as a child, I am highly discouraged that Dr. Ford’s accusation was not considered valid. The President mocked her for not accurately remembering all the details. Anyone that has been a victim of abuse knows that we don’t catalog our memories, but we do remember our abusers. I have documented the multiple accounts in which I was abused and not one of those accounts has the same accuracy within the timeline. I simply do not remember, and it bothers me a great deal. Sometimes, I’m not even sure of my age when they happened. It makes it very difficult to write about it. Frustrating and distracting.

I also have known for a while that it would be futile to accuse the person who molested me, because I have no proof. I know my word will not stand up against theirs. I have considered a suit against them, mostly because I fear I’m not their only victim, but since that person is not in any position to influence the lives of millions of people with the stroke of a gavel, I will not pursue them. If they WERE nominated for a position of extreme power, I would feel absolutely obligated to challenge their character. I would assume ALL of my friends and family would feel the same way.

There are psychological explanations for why victims don’t remember details. No psychological knowledge was aptly considered in these hearings. In fact, it was overlooked and mocked. It truly is shameful.

As a parent, I worry about my children’s future. I worry that our current culture of hate and blame will permanently damage the foundation of our country’s liberty and justice.

We, as a country, should be better than this. We Are better than this! Our founders envisioned a better way of life. Why is it such a battle? It could be so easy if only people could focus on the things that are really important. Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And not one of those things are defined as MY life, MY liberty, and MY happiness. Greed is not life. a lack of compassion and justice is not liberty, and wealth is not happiness.

Let’s stop spreading this virus of hatred.

It’s time to be kind. 

 

Patriotically signed,
Sidney V. Stephens

Comedy, Random Thoughts and Stories, Uncategorized

Loving Wife and Mother

When my wife wakes up my 9 year old son in the middle of our bed. She uses the voice of a tiny mouse fairy. “Hey lil’ guy…time to wake up….can I get a good morning hug?” He usually squirms around a bit and slowly opens his eyes and gives her a sleepy warm embrace.
If I’m still in bed after a few minutes, trying to sneak in a few more moments of rest, the clunking and clattering of the movement in the house seems to get louder and louder. Then, I hear this same woman, who just minutes ago, had the voice of an angel stirring my precious child to conscienceness, use the voice of a stern, annoyed, and disgruntled 1970’s newscaster, who just overdosed on coffee and cigarettes, to motivate me to start my day. “It’s almost Nine,…… are you working today?”
As if to suggest I only work when I damn well feel like it. As if I am a worthless and lazy bed squatter. Also as if she has never slept late, or woke up groggy and tired, in her entire life.

Where is my little mouse fairy, rubbing my back softly and caringly to wake me up? What happened to her to make her treat me like an unmotivated, smelly, grossly overweight, punk kid at summer camp with dishwashing  duty? Would waking me up with sarcasm and dissapointment inspire me to approach the day with a successful outlook?

So, I get up, get some coffee, watch the news, and wait for them to leave, …..so I can go back to bed.

Comedy, Random Thoughts and Stories, Shared on Social Media, Uncategorized

A Matter of Size

Once, a long time ago, in 1985, A friend exuberantly pointed and laughed rambunctiously at my wiener as my friends and I all were peeing on the side of the road in the freezing cold. I have a completely average, normal, functional manhood, a grower, not a show-er, but it was about twelve degrees, so physically, there was some extra shrinkage. Before that day, it honestly had never occurred to me that my wiener could be so absolutely hilarious to a grown man who was looking at my wiener. It bothers me to this day for so many reasons. One, why was he looking at my wiener? Two, it was freezing cold, what did he expect? Three, from that day, I have been overly self conscious about my wiener. Before the internet, it was much more difficult to get information about weiners. It was more spread by hearsay. Four, it was widely known that he was endowed like a wilder-beast, therefore he had no need to be interested in any other wiener. If you’re hung like a mule, you should be happy and not ever bother anyone about anything ever. And five, what a dick! Pun intended. Have some self control. He could’ve just snickered a little and pretended he had a snot drip or something.

And six, now everyone knows the story of my frozen wiener.

Comedy, Random Thoughts and Stories, Shared on Social Media, Uncategorized

Move Like a Cat

Once, a coworker told me I move like a cat. He then asked if I had seen the movie, Where the Buffalo Roam. I said I had not and he said, that’s from that movie. I didn’t care. Until years later, when I finally saw the movie and realized how blatantly insulting that was to me. Now I’m upset because I never got to tell that guy, Hey! Screw you, pal! I don’t even remember his name. It was a temporary Christmas job at a packaging outlet in 1994. If I  had a time machine, I would go back and watch the Bill Murray movie about Hunter S. Thompson a week before I took that job so I could say, Yeah, I’ve seen that movie,  you asshole. And then I would immediately go see a dinosaur.