The days are like weeks in the final stretch.
Lucky bar hosted a few musicians last night, which was okay. I actually don't like live shows at Lucky Bar. It's very scenester-oriented, and there's rarely anyone there before 1 a.m., and since the live music ends at about 10:30, it's sort of languid. The two dozen people in the place sort of bob up and down until the music's over. Very strange. And as soon as the musicians are done the bouncers are there tearing off all the posters, getting ready for the real event -- DJs!
Oh well. Can't blame a business for trying to make a buck. I can do anything except make money. I should dye my hair gray, put on a gray suit, get a massive other chin and buy a few condos. A different life for every room. A different wife for every womb. Hahah.
My guitar techniques need massive amounts of improvement. I'm getting into the rut, where it's always the same chords no matter what I'm feeling. I also need to get on to my latest poem, currently titled "Blood Trucks". Getting better at music is a very strange thing. I write the music in my head, then try to transpose it to guitar, with some changes along the way. But my fingers need to keep up with my head, and when they finally catch up, my head can forget and my fingers can remember. The body remembers the scars it inheirits, and music is the most suffocating scar that the head can write. On an unrelated note, I'm wondering why my relationship is turning up all over the net.
Posted by matty-b at February 6, 2005 11:27 AM