AT-15's, biotch.

AC/DC is not a band.  It’s a choice.  Hitting the icon for iTunes and clicking on Dirty Deeds is just not the same as dropping a needle on the crackling disc, incense burning, purple lava lamp well-heated, purple area rug well-worn, candles.  There are things I miss.  My records, my record player, my ginormous Cerwin-Vega! speakers (AT-15’s biotch), carpeting, my actual recording studio, and instruments.  These are the things I’m supposed to miss.  Sundays are the hardest.  Not for wanting big speakers, missing my wife, meandering through the farmer’s market wondering how much I can carry alone.  What I’m supposed to miss is what I’m only now starting to.  I miss being a musician and an artist.  You know I once was, and am told that I was good at it.  Very good at it.  As I enter into a reformation, retool, redefinition, overuse of “re”, I see that I’m on a long and somewhat steep curve here.  It’s the creative aspect of life that is where we feel closest to our source and ourselves.  I thought the void may have been lack of career advancement over the past year.  Perhaps lack of wallet-fattener in an ever more expensive country.  Maybe lack of true deep friendships.  But what I think I’m seeing more and more is not a lack of anything but creative outlets.  It’s more along the lines of not appreciating what I’ve got, and not working on bringing back into my life what I’ve left behind.  Ian Laing said that it’s a sin to have talent and not use it – and insult to the one who gave you that gift.  That sounds like something.  My intention is now the birthplace of my excuse it seems.  I need my instruments.  I need an instrument.  Not one that needs to be tuned but simply needs to be touched.  I’m going to write the greatest record of all time.  Wish me luck.

Also, see you November 6.  Live.