I don’t know how people navigate relationships. I keep everyone at a comfortable distance. Family. Friends. Even when my father died. Even now. While the world descends into madness.
Yes. You only get to know another when you live with them. I learnt I need space, perhaps more than most. A tree. A place where I can escape into. The freedom to not speak. Here are trees. Noisy people with problems. There’s a piano. I am the UN most days. Cooking food and dreaming of music.
On bad days I regret. Not having a son. Everything else I can live with. It matters that who I love at the end… has kids or small kids. Or a big family with small kids. I need to ground my love, let it take root. I hope I am given grand babies by my daughter. I wonder if I will live long enough to see them. Most days I doubt this.
The world feels like it is put together with invisible glue, about to shatter into shards of light the minute I look away. The unreality of it all is so amusing I end up laughing while looking at the stars.
Are there any mysteries left in the universe? In people? Or is this all there is? This Limbo. This Grief. This upside down world.
Friends have called from overseas. Are you safe? Of course, the news and social media perpeutates the idea that The Unrest is everywhere. Staring at us from behind the curtains. Under our beds, ready to snatch our feet that dangle over the edges as we dream. I am 7 hours outside of CT….still I can hear The Unrest whispering to his side chick Debbie Downer from everywhere scared people live.
FB is a cesspool. Look at me, I am safe! Jab! Look at me! I am safe. No Jab! I wonder how long I will be able to speak my mind without being censored. Wait. I don’t need to be censored. I have been doing it my entire life. Cutting off bits to fit in here. Adding a dash more to remain inconspicuous. A smile here and a how are you doing there… when a generous dose of Fuck You’s should have been dished out. People spy on me. Mostly they are curious about who I date or am fucking with. The truth might shock and will never be found here.
Did I mention how unreal and loose at the edges everything feels?
I make music…but… Is there a Music Scene anymore? Release new music to whom? Who is gonna listen? Does any of it matter? Even without the pandemic, being Heard here was hard.
These voices I ignore as I sit at the piano. I need to allow it to find me. The Invisible Melody and Sound I dream of. Allow and inhale. Travel through my bones, find a note or word I can attach meaning to. The world of Making Music Videos. Being In Studio Producing An Album…. feels light years away now.
This place is my Bermuda Triangle, this Limbo, this Grief, this upside down world. I do not want to find love here. I might remain. Forget music. Settle with a plain but uninteresting man who has no magic in eyebrows, but speaks of solid things that make sense. I like eyebrows that jump timelines and set worlds on fire! I like how enlivened I feel as it glides up and down my spine when I sing.
Perhaps I am losing my mind eh? Perhaps I should write music about losing my mind. I like how disjointed and fun writing this blog post felt. A release of sorts. A serious ‘I have zero fucks to give because none of this matters’ kinda post. Or perhaps all of it matters. Who knows ?
How do people do it? Remain safe and sane while the world spins and spins? As it descends into madness?
I sing. Or try to.