I’m a musician.
It is THIS pulse that comes from within that escapes into this universe through my fingers producing sound against a medium of material (Guitar plus Amp, Keyboards, etc.)
I don’t need a band to play. Just some time with her in my hands is all I will ever need.
Often times, people see this as a luxury, a fruitless pursuit of something that does not pay-or is a distraction at best.
Right now I am moving-in the process of call-text-email people with rooms listed. Tedious and time consuming, but necessary.
But it hurts.
She is the muse like no other muse I have had in my life.
I can see her, but I can’t touch her.
She cries to my heart-and it does break open a little wider with each speck of dust that collects, the impact is as if it were a bullet.
My fingers hurt from not touching her-the callouses crack under daily activity…
my body is not stimulated to continue their production at the intensity to which my body had grown accustomed to.
Her sound resonates within my body when she is awake.
Sympathetic frequencies through out my nasal cavities and vocal folds flutter upon this interaction.
I hope I can get settled into someplace soon.
I die slowly without playing my guitar.