I thought I would feel different about dying

Sent a song, again

Muscle on the bone.

This time not from a person but from the out-there. They don't come ready-made or in kits.

They come as feeling, a mood, a speed, a path, a texture, a flavor, the crackle of a memory in the air.

Straight out of the hands, they sound terrible at first. Throw clay onto the wheel, add muscle to the bone, a fiber at a time. An hour at a time. A day at a time.

There it is.

There's something.

Things I would tell my younger self

At 18: Let go.

At 24: Let go.

At 30: Let go.

At 40: Let go.

I thought I would feel different about dying

To be honest, I still wake up sometimes with the panic that somewhere out in the universe a stone is still unturned.

Then I think:

I've lived in the country, lived in the burbs, lived in the city.

Watched a moment pass.

Formed a band, made a record, played a stage, made another record, played another stage.

Slept on a couch, slept on a floor, slept in a vehicle. Ate on five daily dollars.

Watched a moment pass.

Fell in love, bought a house, raised a child. Made mistakes, tried again. Bill collectors.

Watched a moment pass.

Saved some money, saw the world, ate the tiramisu, drank the pinot.

Watched a moment pass.

I'm not saying I'm ready, but when the time comes, perhaps I'm good to let go.

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What I’m reading: To Ease My Troubled Mind (Ted Kessler & Billy Childish)

What I'm listening to: Grace 6 (Aleksi Perälä)

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