The words get choked on what I know to be right from wrong. I could not sing between the grooves too fat. Brings me back to those days when studio hire was $15 an hour at Boon. Belting my lungs out at the wet overworked microphone where everyone was not really paying attention to the story behind the melody. everyone was painting their own thing and fancy. It's an art form waiting to be beautifully aged.
Instinct, they call it. You just know. Like how your fingers would glide through the keyboard because its all part of your muscle memory. You can type without checking out the alphabet and letters.
My musical intuition got the better of me some time ago and it was easy to just walk out and look for greener grass to mow. Pride comes before a fall. It is difficult to explain what goes on in my head and I feel like there is so much more inside than there is time to fill. There comes a time when the shift has to take over. When the boy becomes a man, a guardian, father and protector.
Faced with these multi talented palettes and brushes, what will I do today? Perhaps this personal melody is the life I have to lay down for the sake of life to germinate.
Phase II. Grow strong. Work out. Get good.
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