Enjoying the illusion of returning to the things of man to participate or at least witness the downfall of humanity led to the romantic idea of being one of the musicians on the titanic who played as it went down.
What greater image can there be?
Knowing full well the end is near and yet playing one's role to the fullest even when, especially when it seems futile and meaningless.
Lately, having been given exactly what I wanted and needed I've been preoccupied and often exhausted past caring as a member of a dysfunctional bucket brigade.
Long days, short nights and tangible insanity all around.
As the fire wanes, energy returns and my head rises above the waves and with that comes room.
Room for writing, feeling, music, both listening and even playing. Picking up the guitar again after many many years. The feel of the strings. The same guitar I've had for 30 years. an old friend. Worn and chipped and old, kinda like me. But a new set of strings and we're good to go.
1 comment:
...welcome back ;-)
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