Remember these scenes from the film Detroit Rock City? You're damned right this is the ultimate heavy metal moment. It happens in dreams, and to some who may have thought of it subconsciously, and eventually ended up realizing it.
Let's talk books. Those self-help ones.
If you're fuckin bored you are probably gonna read on, so if you're not, scrap the dilly-dallying and head straight for the pictures.
Ain't it funny how the United States had turned into a mecca of self-help fanaticism? Prozac Nation, no shit it has become. I figured it won't be long before their streets turn into one big flea market of self-help books addressing issues of a wide assortment- from surviving your 7th divorce to escaping furtive glances while walking your chihuahua.
I'd just like to say that I have a personal disgust for small dogs, like poodles. I have some serious physical problems with them. Everything about them means I must kill them. I must. - W. Axl Rose
As for me, I've gotten myself a copy of Robert Greene's 48 Laws of Power. But I had done so without the intent of absorbing every nitty-gritty of it just so I could be the biggest asshole in the workplace. I did so because it's a pretty damn fine history book, having all the facts and figures laid out in such a neat trivial manner.
John C. Maxwell's Failing Forward, which I read in private, is something I have never considered worthy of my shelf. Several expatriates from an office I used to work for continuously and annoyingly, as if with a cattle hotshot-type prod, recommended we read it. That it would change our lives significantly and all that bullcrap.. I had prepped myself up for some heavy reading, but to be honest I find Richard 'Little Miss Sunshine' Hoover's talks much more poignant and inspiring. I am most especially ashamed to have read a Maxwell. Considering I blow a huge chunk of my salary on books, I actually spent hours reading it in private in some grubby bookstore corner rather than buy the crap. After several visits, I did finish the book, albeit wholly dissatisfied. Aggravating more my disappointment, John C. Maxwell subsequently faced raps for concealing a gun through airport security. Oh well.. But that incident was just last year!
Hell, I ain't no big fan, really, of all these self-help shit. I figured early on I'm quite good enough to be a shrink of my own. I blast my speakers to eleven with all the heaviest tracks I can summon, and that's it! And through all the negativity I reckon it's not much aid as well being guru extraordinaire with regard to positive thinking. I have always been the 'expect the worst' type of fellow who's better off being at the ready with disappointment. Plus, spirits are double the high if you get triumphant otherwise!
No wonder I'm not getting any richer.
A succinct repackaging of everything that embraces the power of positive thinking is how The Secret by Rhonda Byrne has been perceived by many. The reason for my tedious foreword is indeed my reluctance to read that book, much less believe what it has to say. Seriously, after getting a glimpse of its content, all the stupidest decisions I had made in the past slammed right smack in my face.
I recall that right after the Arch Enemy finaIe I had hauled my brother's ass out of VIP, for fear of a slow-moving exit queue and an exploding bladder. He was, for the entirety of that evening, mumbling non-stop on how he's feeling Daniel Erlandson's drumstick in his hands. We had just rounded the corner when, much to my surprise, all five AE members had gotten back to the front most part of the stage and had taken their bow, sparks of pyro flying in the air. Right after, I remember seeing Michal Amott releasing his guitar picks right below his feet, as if handing them from one person to the next. And then, Daniel started launching his sticks, right to the spot where we had placed ourselves all night.
By far, it was THE loudest what-the-fuck of my life.
It wouldn't be that long a wait before my brother had his next next chance. So much for this elder naysayer, I wasn't there to consistently retort that 'it's impossible' on that recent Trivium concert. The Secret may have worked, but the pessimist deemed it was destiny.
Nick Augusto or Travis Smith, that little piece of scraped wood is sure to be going to some place of honor once it gets its glass casing.
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