Didn’t see The Shredder and Herr Howard much today, as I was building word webs and they (from what I heard through the wall) were bashing away through TIBERIUS.

The piano you see above is my first, which I bought around 1993 and had once resided in the front of my purple Victorian. It’s a Bauer and was manufactured in Chicago somewhere in the 1920’s, which might explain the good luck I had in writing many of my favorite songs on: BEAUTIFUL, MUZZLE, ANNIE-DOG, BY STARLIGHT, FOR MARTHA, and others too numerous to count. And in certain times I’ve found myself back before the stained keys and mismatched legs: which of course brings memories good and bad, but also a sense that I’ve done this before; as silly as that sounds. For no matter how many songs I’ve written (and I’ve written perhaps over 400) there is always some part of it that brings me to a place of unknowing.

In real time this aligns with my day/evening in the present, where I went over the sparse lines of TIBERIUS again and again; and again. To answer my own question of ‘why.’ I am reminded of the hours I’ve picked over a line, a word, the turn of a phrase, which I’d guess goes unnoticed by most but I’ve also seen where it’s appreciated too; sunsets be missed. But that’s not why I do it, honestly; although communicating is a pleasure. I pour over there fineries because it is like stitching up a delicate quilt, the ‘word’ in many effects that cherry that sits on top of a composition and brings it to life.

That though is overstating the case. Poorly too.

Because no matter how I say what I say, and I’d admit too much of what’s said is convoluted, the messages are 3-dimensional enough that they speak forward through the ages; even to me! Is it immortality? No. But it’s close; for vibration, the sound, the first sound, is light; is life; is joy.

Let there be rock.


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