Single minded

If single-mindedness were an art form, I’d be rich. But it isnt, and I’m not. Thinking I would write a new blog I discovered the only thing I could think of to write about was music. Having just spent three satisfying hours playing it, two hours walking back home thinking about the music I’d play next rehearsal, and the rest of the evening writing lyrics, one could be forgiven for thinking an alternate subject might present itself.
No dice!
Even the time spent writing this has yielded the absence of a pork cylinder. Could it be that I’m possessed? Oh, no, that’s the wrong word; incest? I remember… Obsessed.
Most likely.
It’s consuming though, you see. Lyrics for songs, arrangements for songs in development, melodies, harmonies, rhythms, riffs, constantly running round n round my head. It never stops. People wonder why I get so agitated by “shit” music (i.e. music I don’t like). Because I, and in my experience, any one else schooled in Musick can’t not listen to, analyse, and generally focus on music playing in a given situation. And while that may be just annoying to some, for me, it interrupts the flow of composition and creative fermentation. It touches a core of me, a place that shouldn’t be sullied. I feel as disgusted and ill when I hear such things as I do elated and alive when I hear the music I love, that sustains me through life. Melodramatic it may sound, but I think I would die without music, and my life would have very little meaning had I never discovered it or if it didn’t even exist.

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