We forget. I have forgotten how I have slipped away from my craft. My craft of viscerally tearing away at the surface of assumptions and surface-level thoughts and feelings. Too wound up in living the "real" life, I have been. Finding a home, working, fighting. All this has taken their precedence over the hunger. Yet it still bites and claws at me, reminding me of the nibbling and eager promises that I have failed upon myself.
Happiness also drains away. Contentment satiates. I am feeling like the full man. But this is good in a sense. I can't imagine it any other way.
Maybe all I need to remind myself once in awhile and not neglect the project is through the mediums which most enthrall and represent me. I have to write music and write again. I have to bend and create. I will do so. I will find the time for what is time if not an instrument of my disposal?
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