I could O.D. on this cocktail: getting lost in the music, engaging and connecting with you in the crowd. I cant get this high often enough, but when I come down; hop off that stage; lights, cameras, mics all switched off, its easy to take for granted that you're still checking for me.
See I go back to my ordinary humbling life, quietly feigning for those moments between.
I try to get it back. I try to put it together. Pieces of me, scattered all over the floor and walls of my solitude. Melodies wake me from my sleep, I write them down quickly lest I lose them as they fade like dreams. Others have plagued me for years. I tune in to the din of voices in my head speaking over each other incessantly in prose. Thoughts on my chest like an aggressive persistent cough. I need to get it off, get it out...
Where did that come from?
That joy from writing and composing is the gateway drug that's gotten me here...smacking my knees, scratching my elbows, bussing shots through my ceiling with my gun finger, or that finger-snapping you do with your middle finger and thumb together while index finger lets loose (girls that dance 'hot wuk' understand. Men that give it do too). But I digress...
I'm a junkie you see, irrational, here one minute, spaced out the next, but i never stop moving. Perpetually focused and scatterbrained all at once. I disappear, not because I'm not channeling my gifts to purpose. I'm trying to better share them. Bare with me...
I am eternally grateful for all the time you have lent to my dream.
Thank you for helping me to support my habit.
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