A delusion is that others might have an interest in anything I would have to say. Yet, I've written down what I can for as long as I can remember, even though so much of the early work is gone.
Yet I keep going but I feel every day it's all been deleted and I have to start over again. Nothing lasts from one day to the next, or so it seems, until I begin to examine what is around me.
I find listening to music from a lifetime ago helps me connect and fold into myself, only to emerge back then somehow. I send messages back to myself, and there are always echoes to whatever now is tapping the keys.
I have memories of conversations that took place in the long sunset of a rare evening off, when I actually cleared the decks to spend time with someone. There was much that happened, much that makes me remember why I've retreated into myself, or want to.
It's easier to write it all down and hope the words stitched together might form something that creates a new thought in someone else's mind. I lived and I had ideas, and I'd like them to go somewhere even if there's no way I'll ever know if any of that has been successful.
I prefer the deep cuts on the album compared to the single but I suppose it all fits together. I pause on a particular construction in a song and I wonder if that's something I will ever learn to do - construct a song as opposed to improvising it all.
All of that time is spent alone, and I realize now this was a safety mechanism, a way of ensuring I do not get damaged. Is this better? I don't know and I would love to be a character in a well-known song but that's not happened yet and it may never happen.
What is known is that the long sunset is happening and I will enjoy the view and reflect on what I have seen. That may be all there is to do when I'm not working. The labor keeps me connected. Now, point me in the way of the sewing machine.
Comments