another ostentatious post about posting and making things and just the general process. boring. deal with it.

See, I if I just met you now you might really love the way I play the first half of this Bach Sonata (No 2 in Am Allegro; BWV 1003). You never had to hear the hours of tink tink tink that made it possible and you can't possibly anticipate the hours more learning the second half that's coming. It's a lot of work and you fell in love with the end result. You stupid bastard. Either you learn to love the discomfort and tediousness that eventually pays off or you leave me alone.

The last girl is sick of the sounds I make working on things. Hell, she's sick of the end results, too.

The above part of this post is days old and the back end of this blog is becoming a graveyard for abandoned posts. I'm sitting here realizing that execution is easy and that the ideas-the very stuff I typically find so cheap-are the hard part. It's easy to find a path when you know where you're going. I've been cursed with ideas and direction. It's not a bad curse and I'm not bitching about it, but I hit a few days where I'm just pushing through back pages and the entropy and the lethargy and I get whiny and shitty and short with everyone. I can't stomach the research for what comes next. I remember the first time I had to read to get a song out, the first time I couldn't just tap on what I knew and had to s t r e t c h to get at an idea and I remember the payoff and the resentment. I feel so often like everything is preparation for the next tune and I shouldn't need to reach to get to a specific,

but I do.

So now there's some things I wanna say and they're all so folded up in my arrogance and my insecurity that I have to pick at 'em and cuss at 'em and keep standing them up until they balance.

The first part of this kept coming back to me over the sound of the Goldberg Variations (Gould) and making me say something. I know the ache of getting it out is tedious, but I'm testing you, see? Who's gonna stick it out? I'm drawing out the birth until you scream. It hurts me, it should hurt you, too.

I'm studying some things and when this fucker pops its head out it better roar. I can't stand the whimpers.

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