i did a thing!
i did a thing!
[you gave me / the rarest bleeding / a hearty bleed / to save me
but what if it’s not real / how do you know what you’re feeling / if you never knew real / if you were always pretending
now we’re here / a place that’s on high / the clouds here / are dark with your eyes
so what do you feel? / so how do you know what you’re feeling / if you never knew real / if you were always pretending
how do you do things? / how do you see dreams? / how do you do things? / how do you see dreams? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / did you fool me? / are you fooling yourself? / are you fooling yourself? / are you fooling? / are you fooling?]
i wrote this four years ago during a run of gut intuition, inviting hours of songs being built at hearty speeds — forthright, becoming, enveloped, giving. and it’s been a while since i’ve been there, but the resemblance of my thoughts then is uncanny to my thoughts today.
there is a trust we have within ourselves that cracks the door open to worlds we can only imagine. but our imaginations are the only entities that push us forward into today, so even though they’re indeterminate, they still shape our lives with remnants of our own desires.
but accepting the doubt is just as important as accepting the good. because more than anything, we completely accept ourselves.
…probably one of the most perfect performances i’ve watched.
a slow and steady process:
gear used: #fender guitar, #roland tr-8, tb-3 & scooper, #electroharmonix 45000, #boss pedals [dd-7, rv-5, os-2], #arturia beat step pro, fm radio
the same song playing circles in your head.
drowning drips of distorted chords and off-the-road keys. dragging feet in the dirt to some distant restraint.
but i can’t complain. i’ve never waged a war or climbed the hill with the ghosts of myself. i was just a coward hiding in the known. the fictional mother. made up relief. pretending his punches were the reasons. blowing kisses to no one there. guaranteed defeat.
but i don’t belong here, now.
so then where do i go?
how does one leap down when the past holds you out?
for now, i’m just loops of wilted notes melting sad. hanging on with fingertips and aches in every step. out of tune, fasting. crying with ever low breath. rims with low tears. no shelter with chromatic fears. slow and deliberate.
i do know one thing, though…
i have to quit blaming my mother.