Home. Sweet fucking home. Loved the trip. Loved the Convention. Hated Vegas. Loved seeing my Michelle. Loved Johnny. Hated Vegas. Home.
My Booger. My mandolin. My friends. My books. My girls. Home.
Did I mention I hated Vegas? It ain't the sin in the city-none of that effects me. It's the mediocrity. It's mediocrity with thousands of spotlights shining straight at it. Performers with little claim to fame save personality. It's the ultimate homage to shine over substance. It's banal and as egocentric as this website; this shrine I carve to myself. It's banal and draws attention to its' banality in some vulgar aria.
Vegas and LA can buy each other dinner and celebrate just how pretty they are. For dessert they can hash out the marketing details as they publicize their union. I hate Vegas. I hate LA, too, but I wasn't just there.
I think about it all in wide armed generalities. Some how one thing waterfalls into another and I have been redesigning my thoughts on sharing music, but we'll get there soon enough. Like air travel, all paths connect to all others if you have the fuel and the time.
There's an austere beauty if you get out of the town proper. A desert with true power, true wilderness that defines beauty. The take off from McCarran is breathtaking-Me terrified and unbelieving the craft I'm trusting-lights and pyramids and gold buildings suddenly bleed out into this desert and reveal some of the insecurity that must make Vegas what it is. To be that lonely you'd have to turn into the prom queen.
We didn't really see that. You stay in small, connected cities and sneak glances of this feral landscape through windows and between buildings. We span daylight sobering up and watering hangovers; running from room to room or machine to machine. Night time stays day-lit with a yellow, artificial shine from a million glass tubes. So many miles of filament, thin as our souls; pressed out forever.
Anything to distract self from self.
Noise and lights.
Me? I want to give things away after all this economy. I read an article on the way home that talked about two economies and it all seemed so connected. I'm accelerating this before it gets away, but I want to give away more than these songs: I would do that anyway. I will copywrite out of cowardice and some lack of faith. I still want to be remembered somehow, but I will say that I want these songs to go out on their own and be loved like the velveteen rabbit from the story and the article. Let them get rubbed raw and used anyway they can be to become real.
Sample, interpret, steal lines, borrow melodies, take entire verses or dissect themes. Whatever. All I ask is that you tell them where you got it.
Either we're open or we're not. Some how I failed to learn from the things I lost before. This is my ultimate "fuck you, Chad".
And My next song will begin:
I loved you once,
I never stopped
I just forgot.