What's that they've written?
What's that they've written all up and down the wall?Some people recite Shakespeare; others read Supreme Court decisions to their children. Me? My tiny mind focuses on the familiar, and there are few things more familiar to me than the boatload of crazy-ass songs I've been living with for the past three decades. Lots of material there - probably a couple hundred songs, poorly recorded on cassette 4-track decks or something meaner, all demos. The copyright folks down at the Library of Congress must think we're a couple of crazy motherfucking crackers, though I'm sure most of the cassette collections we've sent to them as deposit copies have long since turned to dust. (They do digital file uploads now, of course.)
Something about suction and my face.
I don't know what they mean or why it's illustrated in green; is it
some tasteless reference to my
love for you?
Of course, there's always the piano. But most of my composing happens in the old brain case. If I don't get a song in my head first, it doesn't usually go anywhere. Sometimes I fram on the keys, record a snippet on my phone, and build it out from there, but usually not. Hey ... whatever works, right? So long as you and the brick walls listen, we'll keep tossing it out there. That's how we roll.
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