The constant variable of change is at my core…

Do you imagine that trees and other plants feel? That they experience sensations, just in a way that we humans and our egocentric way of thinking are incapable of understanding? When the wind blows, or birds make their homes in the branches, or lightning strikes, do you think that maybe there’s some semblance of pleasure or pain?

Image result for Trees
I sure hope they aren’t as self-critical about their appearance as we are…

Too, what do you imagine a tree feels if it is uprooted and transferred to another location? Excited for a new environment and surroundings, perhaps, or anxious about leaving the only home it has ever known?

At least it doesn’t have to worry about packing, moving all its stuff, changing its address with the USPS, transferring bank accounts, and all that mess.

Not rules as much as just the way it goes…

It always starts with an image.

Maybe it hasn’t always been this way, but it always is now. An image so clear yet dreamlike and unsharable, at least by his hands – never good at drawing, painting, sculpting, or even capturing with cameras, but his brain overflows with visions astonishingly beautiful and horrific.

And so sometimes those images attach themselves to music, something random piping through his earbuds. Heavy, ethereal, cinematic in its own right, whatever. There’s no rhyme or reason to the process, that he can understand. It just happens — music sees imagined vision from across the crowded bar, and after a few shots of liquid courage, music hits on vision and they get married and live together happily ever after.

This, then, is the source. Like an album full of songs that are crafted solely to support a single riff or short chord progression, the stories and characters and dialogue flow entirely as an excuse to describe a lone image that he can not otherwise share with the world.

That’s the sad secret, one which he shares begrudgingly but also suspects is not his alone.