Jeff Buckley - Morning Theft
I haven't been writing much this month. Or, rather, I've been selective in my words to the point where I rewrite the same word many times every day. I've been considering foregoing this whole blog thing. We'll see. For now it stays, if tenuously.
I've seen several deaths in the past couple weeks. Not anyone I've known bodily but those I've known affectionately. More than one. One much younger than me and for seemingly no reason (though any death is seemingly without reason I suppose, even those of age). It's been paralyzing.
I've written two songs. Might not sound like much but lately it's been a lot. I've even learned a song by Philip Glass and am mastering it in the hours I have.
Tomorrow I work 15 hours. I wake at 8, work at 10, break at 6, work at 8, done at 3, home at 5 and sleep. I feel like I should be preparing but what's to prepare for? I'll wake and I'll go. I suppose the only frightening thing of it all is all the hours spent in waves other than affection, skin and tenderness.
I saw Corey today and we had a big talk. It was beautiful. I love that man very much.
The weight of living is difficult. Beautifully.
And I dream so vivid it sometimes pains.
Okay. Sleep. See you all soon. I fly to New Brunswick later this month and I'm glad for the break. I'll come back fresh.
(I don't know why but the last half of this song has captured me to tears lately, it's been mine. From "What am I still to you..." and on. It's it.)
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