I was sitting alone in a small Brooklyn apartment, missing my New Orleans friends and wondering how this music situation I had undertaken was going to work itself out. And then I began writing. I didn’t write much, or for long, but the following entry is what prompted me to eventually create what has become a detailed journal, or memoire of sorts. 

Perhaps overly dramatic, oddly worded, and nothing you could read for long if continued in this fashion, but this small section gave me the idea for the bigger picture. Like the time my bassist once accidentally struck a note in an attempt to rest his hand on his bass and an entirely new and completely finished song rushed through my head in mere seconds. In comparison, this is proving to be exceedingly more difficult.

But all theories have to begin somewhere.

     Three mornings prior to All-Hallows Eve in the post-Apollo Year of the Dog I was thrust upon my fate…   
     I realize we are all blind as to the constant twisting of gravity against our insignificant mass and helpless to resist the strings as they press against not only our flesh but also upon our minds and our souls.  Disease, famine, and wars spread throughout our world, yet I feel as though my years have weathered away and eroded as if I had been deprived of an atmosphere in the depths of the cosmos.  Civilization has created me and rendered a selfish being with warped mind as to what wonders reality can truly hold.  In hindsight, ignorance is more than bliss and I almost wish for relocation into what once was and what will never be again.
     My one thing keeps haunting me and may never let me go, at least not until I am unable to possess it.  Others have their muse, but I have my anchor.  Not that I can’t swim with the added weight, but there is fate and gravity and the strings all interweaving together into the fabric that is space…  and most importantly, time.  And as I’ve always known, timing is the key to everything.  Ostensibly, my time has yet to come.  Misspent years drowned in grandiose dreams beg to foresee its arrival and not miss the opportunity rather than continue an ill-fated belief of what may never come to pass.
     It seems my selfishness rears its ugly head again.  But what else can I do?  Or is it what else will I not do?  Have I lost my way or are there more than a few ne’er-do-wells wandering about in this head of mine?  Perhaps I will agree that timing is fate, karma, and string theory combined and everything that has and will happen is the way it was always meant to be; that those who starve and die and those who live well and prosper deserved their particular fates.
     Possibly, a few of these rambling thoughts might actually help me get some sleep tonight, but I know as soon as my eyes close, my soul will overflow with guilt for what I have not yet accomplished.  No matter.  Conscious or comatose, my one thing is always present, a singularly gorgeous apparition directly in front of me, seemingly within my grasp.  If only I weren’t yet dreaming…
     And the scorpion’s torment continues each and every day of every solar cycle.