MUSIC WAS...

  MUSIC IS...

Honestly what am I doing 

I need to get moving 
I gotta stop thinking 
and gotta start doing
The world doesn’t for nobody 
and neither does time 
with everything I've invested
i gotta get mine
Watching other musicians succeeding
good for them, thats fine
while I've been at it twice as long
so why aren't I?
Am i not as charismatic, or personable 
as the others I see?
who is my audience? who am I?
is it my brand - is it not me?
Truth is, its so complicated being a
 musician on todays crowded earth
because even the greatest musician alive
can live his whole life unheard. 

Music doesn't pay my bills. Never has.

I've played or recorded music 

in some form or another 

every day for the past 20 years, 

or so...

Spotify pays $0.003/stream. 

I have nothing to show for it,

anyway...

So I clock into work everyday at 5am 

at a dirty, dusty, unhealthy fiberglass shop 

full of deadly chemicals, confined spaces, 

and extreme manual labor - I hate so much. 

So much... 

But what gives me hope, everyday, 

as I watch the clock all till 3pm comes. 

I just can't wait to get home so that i can 

sit down in my studio, and continue 

the music. 

futuristic species of the then non-conformist 
deliberately investigating, collaborating
rather than thriving naturally
or spontaneously without capturing. 
The incentivizing creations or 
delegating deranged arrangements
in a way that seems artificial and 
unrealistically inundating to explain it.
Through auditory illusions losing
brainpower to morning movements
The hourly sequence subsequently
devours the deepened atonements.
of calming evening manifested showers
that seem to drown 
Earth & sun’s invested involvement
between seeds & the ground.

Now long days seem wrong nowadays, 
They mostly congregate as a mainstay refrain.
Some stray, while others retaliate by making claims with bold blames.
Of items... gone, stole, missing, disappearing with some old maids.

Stealing?..
Yes, chain links, loin cloths, pantyhose - then replacing things. 

Not to name no names, we thinks its a plan devised by an organized identified nameless team.

The strangest thing is the tapestries, prescription meds, flushed down the toilet in a vain attempt -

and how can someone still be tempted to take even when named a suspect?

well, you see...
in a compulsory fashion, they're taking an opportunistic action.
We must understand the blemish of an underhanded faction.
Of an Immigrant raised by command, raped and abandoned,
Anytime she makes the mistake of leaving a room empty handed.