Slack on writing motivation. Something different in the head. In the environment. I don't have so many empty nights at a blank desk with idle thoughts. I need to rearrange my life to keep the important elements from spilling out. But here, in California.. there can only be growth. Seeing eye dog attempts to eat a metal coaster. Homeless man yells at a bush while trying to remain incognito. Coffee shops and lava lamps. There are so many things. The hills and the craigslist ads. Someone will fall for this decrepit old place with cross eyed determinism. All elements came together and unfolded in secret languages. Your own son loves to fight these facts. Natural and obvious how the growth will come. (You are only as good as your weakest leak.) Halo tournament. Dad brings pizza. We stew in our comfortable chairs and get a feel for each other. Skill at video games. Bonding in a way not easily understood. In it for the quick A.D.D. games rather than the full and engaging storyline. There are tall trees here. They are friendly and wide with branches. Input on the drum mics. Leave me alone. Go fro golden opportunity. Why do I feel I've been wasting away again. The hero has no home. The hero has nothing to love for himself. The backdrop of talk of murder does not present itself well to me. We still love to listen to music. It has not yet been ruined. Take time for yourself and listen to the things that make you feel human and alive in this chaos.
Let the current sweep you off your feet. You are alive and you are dreaming. There are waves taller than your head where the wind doesn't reach. And all in between is drunk and vague. We repeat the points and I bum around the studio. Sleeping on the couch day in and day out. Jam sessions every damn day. We get it good and we understand each other. Speaking music as a language. Working it out. This is all about jamming and improving and pushing the limits. Colors of fallen leaves turning into shades of grey at the fall of man. The straight A student leaves his dean's lists behind and goes off west. Chasing the sun. The shadows cast. Everything great and happy. Indication when there have been day-long gaps between writings. Silly mistake. It takes repetition to get good at anything. Even if it's just... blah blah blah blah blah. I am the bass player. The guy with an interesting sense of humor who has problems interrupting people. Remembering that no one cares (or can relate perhaps) to my various anecdotes about Portland or the Northwest in general. Great escape. There are awful hidden things underneath all beauty. We only talk about good things around here. I might not be stylistically up to par. Gel in the hair and bronze on the skin. We're all good. We're all good enough. Get along better once we move forward and mold minds. The greatest trick the devil ever played. Studio below the kitchen. Working on the drum tones. Surround sound and tv set up. Closet sized bedrooms. Necessary to control the outcome. We all bleed together and if we can just get along. (I had many compulsions to put my knuckles towards the middle of us. Four way fists. Bump. A powerful moment when the band comes together completely.)
Write write write. baby girl, write.
