Wednesday, January 7, 2015


If we were still talking to each other, there's so much I'd tell you. Like the crazy people I played music with tonight; you would get such a laugh out of these wack job, trust fund hippies and their weird music. You'd also understand why I'll probably play with them again; you play with a few wack jobs yourself.  I'd tell you the tale of my office retreat, me stuck in a small room with my co workers for two long, relentless days. The horror, the horror. You know the players, the back story, the context, you would get it in a way that no-one else can. We could talk about the songs we're listening to, the songs we're learning, the songs we're ready to leave behind. I might even screw up the courage to share one of the songs I'm writing with you, knowing that you wouldn't be interested but that you would be kind. All the things I could do if we were still talking to each other.

It's a new year, a clean slate, right?  What's the worst that can happen?

I pick up the phone and put it down, open an email and close it. I've hollered down that well once too often and the echoing silence is painful. It sounds like death.

People come and they go. Nothing is forever. Be here now.