I keep me safe.
No him, no her, no place.
Just the sound of my own
steady, beating heart, is all
I need to keep me safe.

I like the way my process pulls me into a timeless space of play, edit, play, edit, stare at the wall, play, edit, listen, breathe, play. I like the way my process shows me what I'm feeling, when I don't even know what I'm feeling. I like the way my process shows me the beauty of every feeling and every experience. I like the way my process doesn't take my bullshit; there's no hiding, no lying, no pretending. I like the way my process brings me closer to me. 

Cover me, earth.
Show me my worth.
Kiss me with the sun,
Let the rain wash me away.
Blow the wind across my skin,
Remind me of the emptiness within.

Cover me, earth.
Show me my worth.

And none of it means a thing.


....we assign so much meaning in our silly human minds....meaning to actions of others, to words of others, to our own actions, to our own feelings. But again and again I try to remember: None of it matters. And none of it means a thing.

In other news, I'm doing February Album Writing Month, and it's very much the best thing that has happened to me since graduating last May. I play every day, for hours. And I haven't felt this happy in a loooooong time. Blame the music or blame the exercise-induced endorphin rushes. You pick. 

http://fawm.org/fawmers/boopshoopbass/