so much is within reach, and like thoughts and knowledge slips below the surface and like melodies or lyrics i like i have to trust that they will stay within reach and i will not lose them.
i make music, the music i make and the music i will make and all that i will share is all of the utmost importance to me, because it’s the state that reflects my being the most truly. even unfinished and unpolished progressions that vague vocals fade in and out of… this is more real than the me who talks to you, says how he is doing… he really is dancing free in his mind like a bird in a meadow and only half-attending to this conversation… he is suited to teach the children with the smile on the face that these melodies elicit… he really is humming these songs in his head, no, that isn’t it, the melodies themselves are singing in his head, the songs are stuck there, even well after putting down his guitar, the cords ring out and so do the subtle iterations and vague incantations that will one day be verses… they ring out in my mind as I teach, as I greet the kids and present them with the material whatever they make me read to them, or what have you.
The song blesses me, the fact that I get to come back and keep working on the song, the fact that this beautiful song is mine and I get to attend to its growth, that is what I bring to the school, because it is teaching them not only to write, but it is teaching them to write something they’re proud of, and all I can say is that I am grateful, I am proud of my work, every minute of time spent in focus and in the trance of music, I can now teach the kids to make work they’re proud of. How would I do that if I didn’t have my own work that I myself am wholeheartedly proud of? This is what I teach and what I embody.
No, I am not proud of myself. I am proud of my work. There’s a huge difference. If I was proud of myself I would try to do the same thing over and over again in a gratuitous homage of self-indulgence. I would simply put my effort into making the same thing over and over again and peddle that as a shopkeeper would peddle mere inventory. Anyone who didn’t like my products, I would pay no attention to, and write them off as a waste of time and energy, someone who just didn’t “get” what I was about.
No, I am not proud of myself. I myself have changed much; what is the use of being proud of something unfixed? I myself age and have grown considerably and will never be happy if I choose one ideal self to tout as my “appeal” to my pride. No, I am proud of my work. All of my work, no matter when it was completed, signals a time where I focused, a time I set aside to craft something unique when I could have just sat there, smoked, hummed and hawed with my friends, but chose to bring something permanent into the world, for no reason other than curiosity and joy, maybe uncertainty. I am proud of what I created, because it has a life of its own. I often am very surprised and shocked by the life my songs take on, how different my perception of something will be before recording it vs after. The unpredictability of the quality of a recording, how enjoyable it will be to listen to, that is pure and amazing. It could be the dinkiest most static infested recording. That still might be the ringer. Sometimes the moment is just palpable and the recordings are the same, some of the notes just hum and resonate because of the shape of the room, and then what would in another room be a sterile, inert and comparably flat note, in this rooms strikes the exact balance of a fine wine accentuated by a golden ray of sunshine, a slight breeze, and an annoyed glance from both your parents.
I heard what are clearly gunshots at the end of the recording. And I had to show Mae. She was not that impressed, but likes when I show her the random trivial things that would otherwise pass by unnoticed.
Here’s to that. The fact that way more of reality is untouched, unresolved. Unrealized. Unreal.
Untitled.
