July 13

Treating your ears to something fantastic and magical, expectations for awesome rock-star drug usage. The conversations speaking louder than words. Reading up billboards on the buildings, wondering why I'm feeling so deflated. I'm entirely myself on stage. There is nothing contrived about what I am doing and something special can be recognized in that. Training montage in our respective caves, one black, one sun-bathed, one amid other ruins, but once realizing the pay gig mantra ends up leaving all devoid of fascination, really they search for the next star at the front of the set, the vocal talent or the singer-songwriter with obvious disappointment in self, but there is decent money involved to pack up into that life. If I could I would. Quit union work for a job in two bands. Not losing a commitment rather transferring it and creating more wonderful music like something jazz on the side to expand horizons. Would I be turned out as a turn coat, out with the bats in the belfry? no it is rather a deeper realization of becoming a better human machine controlling and feeling the beauty of rhythmic sounds all planned and organized into neat little rows, but always music has been my life, that is probably why I stand apart, there are compartmentalized boxes in my brain that only cycle through different melodies in my head, I'm sure this happens, I've caught it in the air sometimes when there is a sudden desire to whistle or to tap a quick rhythm on something, try to show the new difficulties. I could have gotten a whole lot better a whole lot quicker but for some reason I never practice enough, I played like exercise and all hard and fast and heavy until my hands cut open and bled until the walls shook pictures down, the expenses required to make music happen, the desire for a drum set, the worst thing a parent to hear, but knock one wall down, another builds itself somewhere, separating a bay of that garage, that small compartment, full of blasphemy and crazy-panic, filled with all of the emotions of the color wheel, from red to black... there is something new-spirited and dressed up like a model, check her out, holding hands under the table, but yeah good things will come from this with the beauty of a blonde at the arms, drink out of that beer cup, that nervousness fades, a little shy in the presence of others, close the door at least a little bit, but it is not a paranoia, it is so unimportant considering the worse things I've done and will do in front of these people under assorted intoxication, we are not immune to horrible visions... straw sneakily drain the drink, walking around in heels, you look great, incredible sweaty, tearing off the shirt and becoming a socially awkward mongoose, but there is something incredible there, magnetic in the ability to tell time and direction, but when it is entirely necessary it will happen. My good friend acting as a conscience I never really had before in such large christian doses. Something strange in that admittance. Will you hold my hand? take my hand? there is part of him missing when he can't say these things about these songs. but watch out it will all be incredibly okay