A Trumpet Player's Blues
October 19, 2013One man's reality
In a letter, a reader reflects on his life, why
he is alone at 54, and why his efforts to
"wake people up" have been so fruitless.
"I was living in an old, small, apartment building where about 50 other people lived and heard me play everyday, sometimes for 3-4 hours. Everyone said they liked it; small potatoes, I know, but when I played I was heard, it helped me psychologically."
by "Trumpet Player"
I am 54 and alone. I had never fully figured out why why this is until I found your articles.
I have gone through life trying to love women and failing miserably in my attempts, for the reasons you describe. Women have rejected me for not making enough money, for not being enough of a "man" because I am kind, thoughtful and compassionate, concerned about the greater world, not just myself.
Now, at age 54 I am realizing what I've seen in front of me, everywhere, is just complete idiocy. I've always felt people need to wake up and have found very, very few who are even striving to do so.
Anyway your thoughts have put major pieces of the puzzle together. I also appreciate you use the terms God and morality without being specific as to the Bible or whatnot. I feel each individual has the ability to sense what is right and wrong and God is a very personal concept each one of us must find, not from a book but from experience.
Your work resonates with my life experience, which has not been "mainstream". I am a jazz trumpet player by the "right" of having spent 44 years of my life in small rented rooms playing my horn...I was living in an old, small, apartment building where about 50 other people lived and heard me play, everyday sometimes for 3-4 hours. Everyone said they liked it; small potatoes, I know but when I played I was heard, it helped me psychologically.
I have gone through life trying to love women and failing miserably. I have always "married" them when I went to bed with them, so I have had 4 or 5- year "relationships" that I was so relieved to see end. All I could think was "why did I do that ?". Basically soon after "going to bed," the relationship turned into a bad marriage where I was taken for granted and abused. Meanwhile, I steadfastly tried to love the woman.
Most recently I "fell in love" with a woman in my apartment complex. I courted her every time I saw her; we had meaningful conversations. We never did anything together though and after 4 years, I broke down in front of her and told her I really loved her and wanted to "be her man" (her words, she had to get it out of me.)
Then she said no, but she would still be my friend. Well, she left town. She was pretty anti-man and she liked rough, violent, mean men, judging from her last boyfriend, whom she introduced me to. The only time we did something together was when I got to walk her dog with her at the dog park. But before we went, she called her 250 lb. bull dyke lesbian friend to come along.
She was giving me a message. Anyway it was good riddance. We never "slept" together. I never "married" her and, obviously, there was no hope of a real relationship. Just another example of confused sexuality. This was in Seattle a real hotbed for confused sexuality.
All my "girlfriends" have been hyper masculine and so find me not masculine enough and have all henpecked me. At least that never worked.
Everyone has their "happy bubble" in which they are comfortable and anything that "pops" that bubble is ignored. They are all programmed for frustration and unhappiness because they cannot admit they need to trust someone. Everyone is running around proud of how thick their emotional skin is. It reminds me of a rock song saying, "What's love got to do with it?" Meaning divorce love from sex.
I know other good people but no one willing to open their eyes the way I do. It is bitterly disappointing to me and vexing. It looks to me like the world and America are about to fall into tyranny. I know no one who cares enough to stay informed.
I love to write and would love to "be a writer". I find myself writing huge emails to those few people I call friends and eventually they stop writing back because I challenge them to think and they do not want to think. But it allows me the space I need to put down my thoughts and experience and feelings, which sadly means I usually end up calling my "friends" idiots.
They like to think of themselves as special and out of the ordinary and I burst their bubble merely by pointing to a few news stories and saying there are big big problems in the world right now that they should be aware of for personal survival reasons. This usually ends the conversation.
WAKING PEOPLE UP
I spent six years writing "911 was a inside job" on band posters on the telephone poles. Six years !! No one really cared, in any way. I did it out in the open on a regular basis because it satisfied my need to put truth in front of people.
I also lived in a coffee shop for about four of those years, trying to make friends and talk to people, to no good effect. A year before I left I was assaulted for writing on the posters, 8 stitches to my face and $3000. I kept doing it for one more year and the cops said they would uphold my right to write as it was in their eyes political speech and the telephone poles are public space. The cops were all Alex Jones listeners and knew who I was and agreed with me and "knew what was going on".
I've got many many more stories. But as I write this, the thought does occur, perhaps I AM like everyone else, just another bozo on this bus. I also recognize I must forgive myself. My intent was and is good. My technique is, well, massively flawed. I have not done enough "networking" instead expecting people to find me. I have my excuses, it is hard when one is really dirt poor and mainly thinks about rent.
But things have changed and I am not dirt poor, for the moment. I am living in the country on a piece of land I own due to an inheritance. I am not "rich" but for the moment do not have to work. So I have a lot of solitude.
Ironically, being in the country, I have a menacing neighbor who objects to my trumpet playing; so I have given it a rest. My task right now is solitude and healing by being alone.
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Henry Makow received his Ph.D. in English Literature from the University of Toronto in 1982. He welcomes your comments at