The future may never come. The past may never leave. Gemini thoughts in a pond. Again I am riding a tongue made of rose machines on a Saturnine night. Writing is like picking scabs off my elbow. After every song I lose my memory of how to write. I must begin again. I must build a new house to live in so I can burn it down to start again. I reminds me of a very small period when I had a job in a field archeology company that did environmental impact studies on land to be developed or in the middle of nowhere in deep government territory.
My job was to dig perfectly square holes, one foot by one foot and one foot deep, using a pick ax, shovel, trowel, ruler, a toothbrush and a GPS coordinate marker. Documenting each layer of dirt through a sifter and bagging and tagging any significant finds. If something is found, rarely this is the case, then I must expand my square to one meter by one meter and one meter deep....or stopping when the earth is sterile, having no organic residue. When I am finished, I fill in the holes and start over the next day.
There is something quite Zen spending your time with meticulus work, only to erase it. Like those Tibetan sand paintings. This is what I feel about my writing process. It always begins with a new page. I fucking hate this new page. I fucking hate this new page because it demands me. Me. It fucking demands me, even if I don't want to, or can't give me. Me is the price.
So here I am...licked and lashed by Rose Machine tongues trying to finish this damned song even when I procrastinate to write this. This is no solice. There is no escape.
Oh...by the way...one slight happy note. I remixed "Hey Now" from my "This Was Tomorrow" album and re-released it with new artwork. I am sure I will do the same with "Los Feliz" next. I did this because it itched me. I scratched it and I feel better.