For nearly six months I've been writing, mostly subconsciously, nothing but songs that in some way reference myths, cryptids, Atlantis, ghosts, and general humbug. I'm not announcing this with any sense of dread or regret exactly....I guess I'm just saying it. But it's surprising how much my life -- or at least the way I look at things -- is streamed through this lens and how it actually kinda works. Invariably, I'm more interested in the mysteries of life than the answerable banalities.
Anyway, so yeah....I went busking tonight. In desperation. Yes, it's that time again, that wonderful time in which I have to scramble to make as much money as I can before I go home for two weeks where I can't make money. That sort of thing doesn't happen in Hendersonville, NC. But what does happen is fun, and that's not to be missed.
Someone told me tonight that I should make a CD. Thanks! I think it'd be a good idea as well. So hold tight. In addition to scrambling for dirty pennies, I'm also scrambling to record EVERYTHING I'VE WRITTEN EVER before I leave for home on Wednesday. I've only got a few things left, but I'd like to finish it all in honor of the coming new year.
I debuted a new song tonight about an aforementioned mystery, written for someone recently. Too quiet, though.
Just 'cos I'm a little obsessed right now, here's a great Keats snippet for anyone in the mood:
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
To thy high requiem become a sod.
-- Ode to a Nightingale, 1819
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