Hey Now...

A few moments of introspection. Introspection itself is tethered to our outlook.


How we feel is how we see.


For me, I have just about finished a new song for my next album. It's called "Hey Now", a nice sappy love song that I proudly say Neil Diamond might have wrote. I love Neil! My mom brought me up on all those singer-songwriters from the 60's and 70's. Neil Diamond, Carol King, Jimmy Webb, CSN, Neil Young, Nick Drake, The Carpenters and Burt Bacherach...


I need to add a couple tracks of trumpet on it, which I hope to complete next week. I always drive in my car and tool around the neighborhood listening to the mixes, production, and if my vocals suck. Most times I think my vocals suck, but if it's in tune and sounds honest then I'm done with it. I am no judge on my voice. I'm too prejudiced against it. It sounds like me...and I'm not my musical heroes. *laughing*


Knowing this, I am still happy the way the song came out. Only two chords dancing between themselves, building, always building. It's funny how a song grows up. You hope for the best, but in the end, they just do what they do. I'm proud of this one. A happy song-parent. A doting ditty-dad I am...


Back to my point...how we feel is how we see...or perceive rather. I feel great! So...the world looks beautiful! It's a sweltering day here in Southern California Inland. Do I care? Hell no! Not today! The breeze, the sky, the rustling date palms, even the angry busy-bee-automobiles buzzing and whirring 'round are beautiful. Now I know I'm under a spell! A spell of hope and beauty because I created something today. Whatever it becomes or not becomes isn't important, but that it was made. It's what I do, my nature. Succumbing to my nature is like falling into the arms of God, the Great Om, the perpetual spin into oblivion.


Happy am I. For today, for now...and I didn't even touch my absinthe yet.


Sent from the Black Forest...

The Analog...

We are analog beings. We do not make perfect copies of ourselves. Our memories bleed like a watercolor canvas. Never truly static. A little water will change everything. Our nature is true. Our chemistry sets are somewhat predictable though volatile.
My age is showing. When I see film emulsion, magnetic tape, watercolors, oil paints, charcoal drawings, imperfectly drawn circles... I see us. Skipping down the sidewalk with decay. The slow fade to black. No color. No color at all.
Why are we so scared? Why do we hold a death grip fighting change? Do we really think that at this very moment we are at the height of our capabilities? That this is it? Our possibilities are just diminishing returns from now on? Is this why digital technology is so appealing? The perfect copy. The perfect memory. Static and immortal for all time?
We are immortal. It's just that we are just a part of it. The notes of our echo are still ringing, just not perfectly from our initial bursts. They may barely resemble us as we think of ourselves now. Just as we barely resemble ourselves from when we were children. We've grown up. We've changed. Life has stained and run us through.
A painting is no less powerful whether it be new or old. It is what it is. However faded it becomes, the residue and essence remains true... as we.