For the last couple of weeks I've been working on something I wrote in late 2004 (!) that was always supposed to be some sort of song, and even half was, sort of - I know I did some work on it, but I don't think I ever really figured out how it was supposed to go.

Now, this is something I mostly assembled out of bits and pieces of actual dreams, and even at the stage it's at now, I think if I were in a band they wouldn't let me get to the second verse if I wanted to try to get them to play it.

But I sorta missed the work of songwriting, the endless wrestling with sound, its symbols, its execution, learning and pushing its limits, learning and pushing my limits. And so I pulled this out and, well, worked on it. And worked on it. And worked on it.

The familiar routine has been pleasant. Accidentally setting ridiculous challenges for myself and struggling to meet them at least half way. Slowly pulling the pieces together until there is at least some sort of internal world I shaped and grew, that arises organically out of silence for a few minutes, and then fades back out, leaving perhaps some echoes in its wake.

4/20/21