on writing a new album
Sudden tears in a nightclub, manic laughter in a quiet waiting room, text typos like "love" instead of "live" or "wild" instead of "would"...
A persistent lust for loneliness, strange sleep cycles, raucous risk-taking, drinking & smoking & drinking some more...
A profound sense of separation, like standing in a room, invisible, watching life happen around you instead of being a direct part of it...
And liking it.
The feeling that you've traveled so far, for so long that you've lost track of how exactly to find yourself...
Again.
Yet you're still ageless, a 5-year old on a swing set or a geriatric breathing your last breath...
Out of control, insane, deep, depressed, whatever its name, I know what it is.
It's music.
Maybe songs maybe not, but it's music (before it's "music") flowing through humans. You can't see it or hear it or touch it, but it touches you before it is even realized...
And you can move with it or against it,
Acknowledge it or ignore it,
Embrace it or abhor it,
Translate it from the inside out into its "acceptable," functional form,
From a cold chill or hot sorrow or vivid dream into something legible, audible, & lovable,
or
Let it eat you alive, a casualty, Another victim of time, a drifter lost in your own mind...
A choice.
For now, I will return to what's familiar.
Home
And reacquaint myself with myself and the self I want to be, and let the music flow through me freely, let it be what it needs to be, knowing that in turn, it will do the same for me.
17 may 2013
A persistent lust for loneliness, strange sleep cycles, raucous risk-taking, drinking & smoking & drinking some more...
A profound sense of separation, like standing in a room, invisible, watching life happen around you instead of being a direct part of it...
And liking it.
The feeling that you've traveled so far, for so long that you've lost track of how exactly to find yourself...
Again.
Yet you're still ageless, a 5-year old on a swing set or a geriatric breathing your last breath...
Out of control, insane, deep, depressed, whatever its name, I know what it is.
It's music.
Maybe songs maybe not, but it's music (before it's "music") flowing through humans. You can't see it or hear it or touch it, but it touches you before it is even realized...
And you can move with it or against it,
Acknowledge it or ignore it,
Embrace it or abhor it,
Translate it from the inside out into its "acceptable," functional form,
From a cold chill or hot sorrow or vivid dream into something legible, audible, & lovable,
or
Let it eat you alive, a casualty, Another victim of time, a drifter lost in your own mind...
A choice.
For now, I will return to what's familiar.
Home
And reacquaint myself with myself and the self I want to be, and let the music flow through me freely, let it be what it needs to be, knowing that in turn, it will do the same for me.
17 may 2013