Creation

These have been slow days in life and in work which makes for some slight discrepancy in the exact speed that time is slipping to the realm of memory. There is no boredom, there just seems to be more to toss around...more time or more life? I don't know - sometimes they seem synonymous.

It's nice to have the time to poke around old bookshops to find volumes suitable to fireside reading – slow, peaceful afternoons melding into Vivaldi's Glorias. The crackling of wood always spooks the cats until they realize that it's much warmer in my blazing corner than on their windowsill. Surprised at their own daring, they sneak their noses into my cooling mug until they are shocked to rediscover their aversion to coffee of any quality. However, being enslaved to the ageless feline-ego, they continue the farce of enjoying this experience while licking the bitter cream of their noses.

I have an innate desire to create a world around myself especially when everyday life is surrounded by whispers of uncertainty - it is a world that is fragile, a world where the edges are faded, but a world of temporary silence that is my own - a world where I don't need to worry about the inconveniencing others soothing a bruised soul with fumbling hands. These moments are my own - fleeting yes, but a shelter none-the-less. They renew me. Here I become Mrs. Dalloway tromping through the streets of London or Gershon Loran deciphering the wreck of Korea.

I fell under the spell of literature early in life and it has become my code – much like Remington Steele and old movies. Here I forget about the might-have-been’s, the what-will-be’s, the what-are-now’s. Literature is a temporal resting place – at least until the page that reads, “The End.” Then we must re-enter a dirty and decaying world – armed with new possibilities perhaps, but really just carrying more questions.

Remembering

Last night, I found that place again where I could sing. Singing is often like crying - emptying yourself of all the disappointments (and joys) that life carries – both the world’s and my own. I think I want to write about Virginia Woolf next though I have trouble directing songs. They seem to take on a voice of their own instead of me capturing my own voice. I want to encapsulate something of her living so boldly, seeing so clearly, and dying so tragically. They are all intermixed - I just need to somehow separate them.

Take Two

Well, last night was not the start of my "it's-time-to-get-enough-sleep" campaign. I should turn in around 10:00 - 11:30 is much, much too late. I think part of the issue here is that one of my housemates is currently unemployed, one gets home around 10:00, and one just arrived this weekend. The house feels awake during all hours so it's hard for me to wind down. It will happen eventually - it's just going to take some getting used to. I like being awake a little longer than everyone else, but that's not going to be an option anymore. (Actually, I think there is only a two hour period where everyone is sleeping!) Basically, I should really be in my room with the door shut around 10:00.

I also think this is the hardest time of year for me. Autumn is full of excitement & change and I feel so alive, then there are the holidays - and then there is the cold and dark. At work, I'm too far from the windows to get any light plus it's too cold to sit outside on my breaks and too dark once I get home. This may also be a large factor in why I feel so disconnected from creativity. To be creative, one must be honest and to be honest is often painful and I am not prepared for that sort of honesty at present. Fortunately, spring comes early in the South. Hopefully I'll feel more like myself then.

Better Late Than Never?

The show was interesting...to say the least. This particular bar isn't my favorite to play. First of all, the ceiling is extremely low. (I practically look tall in it) Plus, it's dark, narrow, overly smoky, etc. We were also supposed to have four performers...two actually came - me and the man organizing the tour. I was only prepared to play my best stuff, but to fill up time I had to dredge up all the songs you end up writing to get to one worth keeping. Fortunately for my fragile ego, there were a couple of people who came up to compliment me which was kind on their part, because I know I didn't play well. However, things will go better next time - I'll at least come with an hour's worth of music!

I'm trying an experiment with a friend of mine - she thinks she would like to manage artists, I think I'd like to be an artist. Anyway, I'm hoping she can help with some of the drudgery I stink at so that I can focus on playing and writing.

Speaking of playing and writing…I feel as though I’m loosing my ability to create. I’m hoping that this stems from the fact that my schedule has been out-of-whack the past couple of months and I have thus exhausted myself. I need to re-develop a routine.

Opening Remarks

Tomorrow I will play my first show of the year - the start of a mini-tour followed by six more. A year ago, this would have been the sign I was looking for, a sign that this dream of being a troubadour would soon be fulfilled. At this point last year, I had just started my first recording project. I was finally courageous enough to acknowledge what I wanted to do with my life and was overwhelmed by a desire to prove that I could succeed as a bard. A year later, we are less that halfway done with the album and I question whether it's worth the effort to complete it. I would rather stay home and dream about noble adventures than to actually be the noble adventurer. This world is a dark place and seems to become even darker as the years progress. This will continue, most likely, in a long defeat. Glory is breathing slow, shallow breaths and beauty is almost forgotten in our cold skylines. I am small in stature and slight of voice. What can the writing of a song accomplish? Can it revive whispers of what was once unquestioned? Can it bring about justice? Can it help build a foundation for unfading beauty? Or can it only offer a temporary solace?