Home alone she says. Another one of those nights where she feels no one is listening. One of those dark and godless nights where no belts from drunken step fathers are unbuckled. Bruises have time to heal. But she is left with an emptiness. She takes pictures of things. The way the sky looks between certain angled branches. (dudes drinking whiskey, girls getting fucked). She listens to sad music to accompany her photography. Looking at the same overgrown children's toys left strewn in the yard from halloween so many years ago. She wants to hug someone but doesn't want it to be weird by association or dissociation. Everyone knows someone. What it feels like to fall limp into someone's arms. A figment of imagination, a dream-character comes into full focus and sweeps her away. Think hard about that one, lucid dreamer. You are so successful in your self-experimentation, where it seems I always lose the necessary confidence. To change completely. Into a blue-haired, maniacal, character. Itching to find something to scratch.
She is on a beach and it is raining. Sideways rain whips it past her face, uncovered, and the feathers in her hair sag from water weight. She smiles and stomps through puddles carelessly, consciously avoiding the dry spots. Small feet protected in thick boots that allow no liquid through. (I've sent good vibes. I wonder if they have been received).
We drink box wine with measuring cups. Cook chicken fingers and tater tots on large trays while dribbling a basketball. We rearrange our errands until there is enough potential talent to float us through our slots. We only have a few chances before they take more money from us. (Do not think about the mic you use. The one that costs $100 a day to use. Cover songs. Singing nonsensical. Learn the right melody.
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Hold a conversation while having a vicious dog (labrodoodle) attack your hand and arm. Cool scars though. Make it look like it was a much more dangerous animal. Tell them that it was, as well. Talk about philosophies of life. What my dad is like. Poker and james bond. Dirty laundry. Enough clothes to make it through a few more moments. (towel fell into the toilet earlier). I can borrow yours I understand but still I would like to use my own. I turned off the tv and they went downstairs. Guitar genius. Thinks of it a different way entirely.
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audio tabs, a wonderful idea but one that made you realize your son is just that much more unique. The low desire of the program isolates and illustrates this...
I wonder, sitting in the closet of the apartment, the mains hidden in this closet, there is a leather jacket. Two weeks or so in the recording studio. I'll find something great for me to be doing. Exercise in the sun. Run around and sweat and enjoy life. Take off and run somewhere. Well we are all here. I could not tell you much of what happened today. We nailed harmonies down from about noon to 7. Then I don't know. Changed strings of bass. A stranger in the street said hello to me. After my pancake breakfast and writing ecstasy. Wrote about the waitresses as I talked to them. Beautiful eyes but not great teeth. Teeth don't need to be great. Just not obviously crooked and jangly. She was nice and I tipped her.
I wonder, though.... Will I meet anyone here? Will I have friends outside of the band? Outside of this circle? Everyone here seems to be isolated into their own world... The orlando studio scene. The hollywood production scene. What am I? Sound cannon. No los angeles frame or network. But with live harmonies and badass bass lines people, important people, will enter my life. I am more vulnerable to be thrown to sharks if I have less of a network. I am more likely to say 'fuck it let's do it' if I have no one to ask if it's a good idea. Drinking everyday. No frame of reference. This is what these guys do. All of this music and the vibes and the harmonies in the songs. I will wake early in order to remember the parts before practice.
Basically, I am on vacation... but I must be making connections and frameworks before I truly end up living in the attached guest house. (Basically a room in a house with thin walls but an independent door lock. Will be waiting for me to move into next month.. Month by month rent. Needed the flexibility. But truly a hard situation to deal with...) Now I am in limbo. I will be suspended for the next few weeks until the recording is done. We need to practice the songs though. Over and over. Have full practice. Have harmony practice. Rhythm section practice. String instrument music theory practice. Wrote out all of the mapped harmonies in every song. Make it sound so much more full. Give me a microphone! Yes! (I just have to block out the lead vocal and tuck in some back ups here and there. While rocking out. We are a four piece so I will get my own side of the stage and my own light box. Have to be perfect before hand. Practice every single day. This is all I want to do.) We almost sound really solid. It takes a hell of a lot tighter practice to make this all worth it. Because I have nothing else going for me at the moment.... running beyond my immediate control... like painting or drawing.... I see all of this empty time as time that could have been spent with the full band. Learning how to make each other tic and work. I have the passion. But once I'm settled in and have found a shitty job, who knows how willing I will be to work then. Most likely, willing to do anything to pull it off. Thought the work ethic would be more rigorous... that's all. they all just relied on me to be a quick learner. This I am but they still don't seem too excited to practice through all of the parts. We won't do any harm. Heavy drinkers. Heavy thinkers. Dispute about god... worship song for him. Music is my religion. write about god but in ways that leaves everyone into deeper thoughts about other things. those who are religious would probably pick it up immediately though. I did not want that to be the case. Music theory music theory. Tell me what notes to pick for what scale and in what key and why. Tell me that I have a beautiful voice with a great tone and that many girls are scrambling to find out my location. Will I become a hermit? We'll see. But who cares. I can be a hermit as long as I get really freaking good at everything in the mean time. Didn't I say this about Tempe though? But hey it worked out on bass and working out, probably. But not for my body. For my exercise. None of that.
