The Saddest Thing of All? (the prologue)

The Saddest Thing of All? (the prologue)

This is- I’m not exactly sure what this is.  It is a book, loosely speaking of course, but nevertheless, however oddly written it may be, it’s still something.   Now to be fair to myself, this did not turn out at all like I had planned.  This is a good thing- it’s far more entertaining and interesting, but because of this, I am sure you will notice a marked difference in the beginning of the book versus the end.  I will now make a futile attempt to explain why this is.

The only thing I’ve ever been good at, or at the very least kept with, is words.  I’ve always maintained a journal (if you can actually call it that- it was and will continue to be a notebook) for longer than I’ve ever maintained doing anything else.  I’m also very opinionated, although I don’t always necessarily share all of my views.  This, I thought, was the perfect stepping stone for all things great to come.  I’ve never had the patience or ambition to actually finish anything in my life- I lose interest halfway through.  For example there was the handwriting analysis, and when I wanted to be a photographer, but I’d never have the patience to learn how to develop film, and now that it’s all gone digital it’s lost some of it’s mystique so… you get the point.  Writing was the only logical solution.  Writing was my only constant- the only thing I had (somewhat) regularly kept with.  Flirtations had come and gone, but through it all I had still written.  Not always with the same consistency of course, but at least with some sort of regularity.  This was to be my stepping stone, my gateway to whatever was to come my way, great and small.

I decided I would write a book of my beliefs on rock music.  Simple as that.  I wanted my brother Shannon to write a few excerpts as well.  The book would be called The Quest to Rock and the Art of Rocking.  That went to shit.  Although I never pretended to be an expert on anything, and I often ended up saying “I could be wrong” or “it’s only something you can feel” etc.  I couldn’t (and still can’t) help but feel I had absolutely no authority to be writing any of the things I was, save for my personal experiences and loves.  So the book was to be a manual, albeit my own fucked up what I thought rock stars should embody manual,  but nevertheless it was something along those lines.  Somewhere along the way it became a confessional.  I’m not exactly sure how or why, but it did.  It became even more of a salvation than before, and I had thought it would be gateway out of this hell hole- my hell hole.  Suddenly I was writing about my fears of everything, including failure.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I was able to purge what needed to be purged, all the while writing about what I love more than anything else: music.

I don’t expect any of you to love this, or even understand this for that matter.  Nor do I expect you to care about my fears, my failures and my perpetually broken heart; I wouldn’t give two shits about me.  Yet, there is always that strange thing we call hope, forever looming in the background.  The lovely, beautiful thing, I, an incurable optimist and a fool as you will soon learn, forever cling to.  And it’s forever a fool’s hope that keeps us going.

-Louisa Maria Montealvo

2:12 am Tuesday morning, September 13th, 2005

*Today, November 12th, 2011

This is the introduction (obviously) to my crazy, weird, fucked up thoughts which were amassed into book/confessional form.

Over the past few days as I’ve procrastinated on projects and instead focused on this past chapter of my life, I’ve discovered that I haven’t changed as much as I thought. True, I’m no longer twenty (or a size two as Weight and Waiting acknowledged) but I still love and obsess like I used to, it’s just that I hide it better.  I still talk to myself, I still live inside my head, I just don’t write about it anymore.  And it’s truly a shame.  So, I’m trying to change this- I feel like a woman possessed, consumed with this burning desire to share and write, like never before.  Maybe living with someone for the past five years has influenced this- I’ve become softer, kinder, and less rigid.  It’s all about compromise, right? Anyway, as much as I know I should be working on other things, somehow this just feels more important.  So I’m gonna go for it.



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