Different Dither

Something inside imploded, outwardly exploded, changed that shift within - spawning a new flower never seen before. The effects of a high that usually wears out in a few moments of strive and stigma became the bane of the legend.

Someone lived a life fully anchored in the honest truths of integrity drove me down to the future of my grave. The fast forward movies playing in my head like a traumatizing nightmare on elm street woke me up from the matrix once more. Once again, the light becomes clear like water, still water hovering above the nervous feet of the swimming ducks. I felt the regrets. I felt the pain. I felt the unbearable sorrow of my soul eating away at the treasures I collected. I felt such uncomparable anguish I wished I had not lived.

A rich man's son, a rich man's fool I have squandered life away. Like I lived it, like I loved it, like I deserved it. It's about philantropy. It's about evolution of mankind. It's about being part of the process. It's about the mum and dad and the people outside of the single-minded dreamland. For this truly makes one a man to be revered. Makes a man bigger, larger than life.

It will not always be perfect. But time is running out. I gotta spread my wings wide, stretch those skin marks out like nets hovering over the fire. For when the ones I love fall, I want to be there to catch them. Yes, I will be here to catch you. And I will be grateful that I put myself on the line. For I will know that I did this all for the love of you - the plural you in me.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing. - 1 Corinthians 13:1-3.

Breakthrough

After countless days, sleepless nights and the same cycle I had to do when I first loaded up version one, I have finally got this piece of sophistication to work. It's a miracle!

I remember having that same problem with the signal and the mac recognizing the hardware back in the fitzroy apartment days. The sheer joy of hearing the sound coming out of the headphone monitors is just pure heaven. This taming has finally paid off. Thank God for the internet and forums. Whoever thought it was essential to tweak them settings in audio midi setup. Some hidden utility that no novice would know to access to make things work.

Come to think of it, I did have to meddle with the settings in the audio midi setup in OS9 too.

Turns out it was really the faulty firewire cable that came with the brand new interface. Talk about new in box. Perhaps the cable was too damn long to begin with. But some intermittent signals got me to switch the firewires around and the difference it made!

So now, more than justifying the spending on an expensive software, this is the beginning of a long overdue journey.

And oh, did I mention that the room was cleaned out? I took out three bags full of rubbish. That, too was long overdue. Now we can call it a true home studio.

Cling & Clutter

Life gets to a point where the ship docks and the feeling is surreal. It's like a tired seal washed ashore seemingly dead. Pardon the unlikely metaphor, a whale is too big for me now. Not when the denim stretched to a discovered tear last night in front of the tele. Not funny considering there's some retail therapy to be had to shoo the cavities away.

This new Harvey Danger seems nice. Old skool definite. Reeks of Fastball but not really the direct radio hit material. It's the slow sinking-in discovery. Like marinating chickens. Slow and steady. Slow broiled for succulent goodness. Go download, they'll love you. They want you to.

There, did my bit for the free download. On second listen, they remind me of the aussie band Whitlams. Just the style, not the politics.

I'm clinging to a log of junk. Well, more than a log really. I made some mods to the said room but there's that backlog of washed up bills and plastic food wraps lying underneath the boardwalk. Argh, just the thought of cleaning it just makes me queasy. I can so easily blame the childhood slave labour for the effects right now. But I am a responsible adult. Actually I don't really wanna be. Argh!

This clutter is taking my creative energy way off the tangent. I heard it on a podcast that clutter does that. Now I know why I feel like I'm climbing up the hill when I wake in the morning to fetch the girl to work. I ought to throw away something everyday and stop holding on to them documents like evidence for a murder trial.

Then I get to mid week and scream daylight robbery when I realise my ass will be mooted to the machinery all weekend and it makes me weak just thinking of it. And come Monday, I rest my sorry bones to the tune of a repetitive Celine Dion Titanic Theme and realise I have usurped the sunrise beyond it's use-by time. It's a vicious cycle. Freaking 'ell.

I go clean and sweep and suck it up now. STFU!