i wont lie.
in a bit of a creative fuzz.
what does that even mean?
i have two full albums of music finished and mixed.
when i listen to them i feel they are worthy chapters in the sound story i have been trying to tell.
i have music i am making that fulfills me.
but as of late, i have asked myself a difficult question.
creating is one thing.
creating when you feel a sense of indefinable futility is another.
there are times where i look at the immense possibilities and potential and wish to wade in it.
there are others where i am frightened by the possibilities and potential of all of the unknowns.
but for weeks i have felt as though i am pushing against granite.
i feel like a mouse drowning in a bucket.
the weight that gives my soul substance is the same weight that makes me feel as though my feet were rooted in stone.
i am a creature of multiple dimensions
maybe it is why i have trouble reconciling myself in your world
for the first time i feel as though i understand the disconnection
my flaw is not my distance from your perception
but my lack of empathy
i am not different from you
you are different from me
do you see it?
that’s a mean question
you are happy in your two dimensions
i am curious in my many
this damn cold.
of all the times i should get a cold.
my body feels drained and hurts from coughing.
as if my sleep patterns weren’t disturbed enough.
in the midst of changes in my life.
in the midst of recording something to fix broken impressions.
in the midst of writing my first solo live show in some time.
i pause recordings to spit out phlegm.
(im sorry, i know it’s gross, but if you are going to read about my reality you get it all)
it is hard to focus on the notes i’ve charted.
a path through my own space and time.
i sway between my own emotions and those of others.
trying to create to reveal to relate my own statement.
glitches and heavenly choirs.
times that don’t fit.
things i must fix.
resolutions to find.
maybe i push myself harder than i have to.
but sometimes, i don’t feel as though i have a choice.
i have to make something.
oh black francis, where is my mind!?
i suspect the cold medicine has kicked in. i just talked to my plant, gary.
and he talked back.
sunday night in the sound palace
there are times where i ask myself
what am i doing?
i played my heart out
big balls bass player
where i am only sound
i feel my heart
as i drone
sunday in the sound palace
i was screaming
before i realized it was at myself
trying to show the way i hear the world
angry voices yelling over each other
a million lies for every truth
frustrated and alone even when together
denying the connections that define our tiny nature
a miracle of temperature, physics and biology
seeking the miracle of the knowledge of our existence
defining our spaces
illusions heaped on illusions
delusions fed by delusions
seeking the patterns to put us in our places
but there are none
and faced with the horrible realization of that
i was screaming
before i realized i was screaming at myself.
with all of the projects i have on the go, i tend to hop around instrumentally quite a bit. some days it’s all keyboards, sometimes it’s a mix of keyboards and guitars. or guitar on its own. other times it’s bass. or bass synth. or bass synths with keyboards. and just to get complicated, let’s throw in baritone.
you get the picture.
the point is what am i chasing?
exploding silver dreams.
‘well,’ you say, ‘clearly the acid got to this fellow cause now he’s going on about exploding silver dreams.’
if i were looking for something as simple as putting all the notes in the right order, i could strap on my guitar and get out there and join a journey cover band.
(just kidding. i reaaaaallly hate journey. not as much as bon jovi, but they are a close second.)
but im not looking to do that.
i’m chasing something. something i cannot explain.
transcendent moments where sound transforms me.
transforms the spaces we occupy.
and since i don’t know what to call it, i call it exploding silver dreams.
now, if you’ll excuse me, i have to get out my wire snippers and do some restringing on my 6 string electric oscillation machine.
(that’s a fancy way of saying ‘guitar’.)
this is my hand.
it exists in a place between my head and my heart.
with it, i find shapes.
shapes of sounds.
when i play a magic happens.
when my heart and hands and head swirl in a lustful haze.
the soul bleeds through.
this is my weapon.
this is my hand.