Day # Whatever... fuck the day-counting thing, that seems like noise for folks who don't intend to become super-lifers. Amy and me are still in the game and maybe it's easier... who really knows, I don't... shit is-what shit is.
I feel flattened. Like a lightweight drumroller rolled over me 16,000 times and I'm stupid enough to keep asking the thing to come by for another pass. The holes we dig for ourselves.
I've been doing some digging and the way I'm eying things from my corner of the globasphere is thus-
Everyone's got a Bag. Some might know it, others might sense it and then... there are the clueless. I had/have a Bag. It was/is music. I say was because if you don't flex the muscle it stiffens, if you don't use it... you lose it. Nonetheless, I had/have it. I know what it feels like to play some shit that makes people STOP and stare, get lost in it and FEEL what I'm conveying... and if not feel my thing, feel something. Affect/Effect. I know how to channel the shit that floats above us all [in the ether's] and translate it into sound. Some say/call it a Gift... I wouldn't know, I've had it since I was well... me (born). It's my language... it's still my language and really the only language I'm at peace speaking (words are only a meager substitute). A surgeon of the night sky that repairs all broken things.
I peeled away from that (my original self... my "true self" as the Original Americans would say) because of a multitude of reasons.
1. The birth of our daughter
2. HATING the business of music
3. The back-stabbing bullshit in the NY jazz scene
4. The distrust and keeping up with Joneses that was prevalent back in '99 (if you're readin' this you know who you are)
5. Self-promotion and a deepening chasm of distaste for it (refer to #2)
In the last few days I've come to realize I'm on a quest. What kind, for what, to where, to what means or end... I haven't the answer(s). I just know I am.
First, setting myself straight for wellness, well being and peace. Then... (?)
The answers have yet to be written, the questions remain...