The more I find myself within it, the more I realize that the music business is no place for unchaste art. Not that my art is in any way unchaste. I ascertain, however, that my art is really the only thing about me with any beauty at all, and for that I am grateful. We spend hundreds of hours in search of the best soundtrack to express these ideas that have forced themselves upon us. For the best of us, we only passively choose music as a profession. Most often MUSIC chooses us - torturing us until we bend to its will. Sometimes I feel that the music actually dictates the words. And that the beats, sampled from our hearts by the Divine, are to keep us iN-TUNE(D). Trying to describe the process is like trying to articulate heartbreak with an X-ray. Here, failure has its rewards though.
I function as nothing more than a messenger. An intern for the Divine. Hard-working, but unfocused. Ambitious, yet apathetic like 'Fuck them. That shit ain't hard'.
I remember the prosecutor calling me a "tragedy of war"....
Years later, I now better understand the importance of that OMEN. How ironic that Nature rewards with fruit only those trees that do not reach too high. And that the fruitless trees find the most essential source of their survival in the very rainstorms designed to destroy them. Does this mean that I may only bear the fruits of my labor if I lower my expectations?
With everyday that passes, my destiny becomes a little more clear.
REVOLUTIONARY.
But please remember to remind me to pray tomorrow. I forgot today. I was busy picking fruit, and planting seeds in the sky. Or from the sky. Or maybe because of the sky. I'm tired now. Goodnight.
