Hull

In Deep Bay there is a ship wreck. She's called Sid Sirocca. I wonder what happened to Sid.

I was listening to music on my way home today. I set my player to random, and it chose the perfect music for me. It often does this if I know what kind of music I want to hear. When I reached the beach, it played me this:

Prokofiev's "the fiery angel"
Grieg's "aese's death" and some
Radiohead, Bach, Iron and Wine and Charlie Haden.

I don't know how it does this. It could have played thrashy pop or pixie punk or worst of all, jazz. How did it know?

Big ravens on the beach gave me eyes, and the clouding skies were appropriate and lovely. I might have just b-lined for home if the music didn't slow me down. Music makes me do things. Makes me walk with waving arms along a narrow log, like an acrobat, tiptoeing to Prokofiev. Crouch down at eye level with geese because some cruel woodwinds pushed me down onto the rocks. Stare moonily at the shipwreck looking for Grieg.

I always was a bit of a romantic. I'm not talking about valentine's day romance. I mean, like, the
Romantic era. I can't really speak to visual art. I don't know anything about art history. But I know enough about poetry and music to know that I'm a sucker for it.

I'm into John Keats again. I like to read poetry when my brain is going glug-glug like a dishwasher with too many dirty pots and thoughts.

I'm feeling a bit heavy with the album, and caught between 2 philosophies -

1.) This is just a snapshot. The product is of little value compared to the process. Move on, accept the outcome of this process. Trust that the others are right about the song, and that this is just about insecurities and attachments.
2.) Settling for this 'outcome' is a cop-out. It would be easier to just send the album as-is to get mastered and have it all done by end of summer. But then this recording will represent a song that I don't really feel is mine. Can I live with that?

Curious side-effect of mental-grappling and doubts: blame lands on the body. Man, it's hard to re-program the brain when one thing triggers another which triggers another. But there's no sense getting discouraged.

I'm going to read poetry in bed.

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