playing the drums for me is like sex-
or fucking
to be exact-
it's hard
and unplanned-
and calculated, practiced
and sloppy just the same.
sometimes you have an audience
and sometimes you don't.
sometimes the only audience is your expectations
and blind hands searching for meaning.
but when i hear the music that's inside of me
or around me
it can make me MOVE
not just a little shake or
sway
but it can MOVE me!
give me air
and life
and some sloppy, silly excuse to sway
and act as if i have a purpose that isn't related to the mundane, practicality of everyday life.
i think
and worry
and feel this movement
that moves through me
and my fingers as i type
and i beg for it's appearance on the skins of my trap set.
trap.
it doesn't do justice.
there is no trap to speak of..
but there is
a mic.
and a spirit that moves.
and records.
erratic and
non-sensical.
i beg to deliver the message of my mis- understood soul.
the music is and can be understood
if you get it
and me.
it makes perfect sense
the in-between's and missed notes
of predictability.
if you dig deep and think
it makes perfect sense.
i am not a cryptic person
i put what is on the table on the table.
you can choose to engage me
acknowledge me or not...
however-
the music inside of me
doesn't lie
it is what it is
and what it (i'm not) isn't....
