Feeling hugely responsible. No, I wouldn't say that I am afraid of commitment. If afraid of anything close, I'd say it to be of a lack of commitment. Go all the way. I apologize that I can't tear through space and time to see where I might end up a year from now. There is no way to tell. My body is immersed in a sweeping current, a river delta that misleads us into believing there is a larger pool somewhere at the end... that there is an end. The big drink. (Associative memories.) There are beautiful melting colors on the sides of the path. I let go of the wheel and stare out of the windows. There are no windows. I'm in the air, flying. This beauty is surrounding me like a blanket. To predict an end when so involved in the present is a preposterous affront. We have no ideas whatsoever. There might be death. There might be travel, women and publication. There might be armies of producers and managers, all sweating in a hungry mob, gathering quietly. There will surely be experience. All of life is experience anyway. Can never complain of current situation. Not with what it is. Could I? That would seem inhuman. To predict any coherent future is to believe that we are grounded. Ain't no telling what comes down the pipe next. Dreams? Pipe dreams? Too damn restless for normalcy. Urgent and thoughtful. I can't say what will happen in this year to determine our place in the world. How could you say with any confidence that in five years we will care to know each other? We all have chapters and forgotten pasts. There are bigger hearts hurting in more specific places the world over. You might find a reason to hate me, or fall in love, or vice versa. "I could not foresee this thing happening to you." There will dark and lonely nights spent wasted. There will be moments of pure ecstasy and revelation. There will be decisions made for better or worse. There will be simultaneous connection and isolation. A connection to the vital pulse of the earth. Isolation in the forest. Time spent working toward a solution is better than thinking about the problem. By leaps and bounds. There will be exploding heads and a rhythm to the words linking together like chains. There will be bare shoulders and six packs consumed in the evening to destroy the attempted six pack abs during the day. There will full heads of hair resting on rising and falling abdomens. There will mostly be projections of love. What would it be like to...? There will be introspection and a consistent questioning of every fact surrounding our well-being, our every move. Every step is backwards and full of conscious anger. Have a reason to seek me out in a vast unknown future aside from monetary reasons. Made end up spending the rest of my life in this side-room garage. There will be pain and denial of pain. There will be abundant happiness, over-flowing crazily out of every pore. No way to deny that fact.
--- hours later ---
the ebb and flow of spiders in the studio, spinning intricate webs, telling stories of bragging rights and melted down precious metals, of falling leaves and money burning in piles. Keep the books, burn the cash. but society always pushes away from the most positive solutions. each outcome compounding and after a day-long, mind-mold, of exercise mentally and physically, testing impossible boundaries and counting alignment, heading out to parties and to events of wild insanities. Follow the bread crumbs. Find coffee shops and write new songs. New material to share. Scratch a song for a brand new one. Something simple but catchy. College campuses. Northridge. Peet's Coffee. Outside coffee bean. Cd Trader. Libraries and obituaries. Nights out and nights in. Art galleries and practice hours spent inside. Days spent tracing the outline of things with minds eye. Analyzing words and artwork. Buddhism and writing literature. "we'll have to arrive drunk to have any fun." find friends. find family. places of refuge away from the wildness of recording. it will become necessary. finding places to escape to aside from behind garage and the book store. extinction.
