The perfect world is one in which I can wake up at 9-am with the sound of palm trees swaying in the wind and to the smell of strong Brazilian coffee. Pumping up a 10 meter kite at the beach and knowing that the water will be a warm 80 plus degrees and that in between sessions the coconut water will be ice cold.
At night, time slinging a gig bag with my favorite guitar over my shoulder and heading over to a dark little funky place to play music and tell a few stories. Always have something new to try out on a friendly crowd and, for some weird reason, I really like the excitement of not knowing if I’ll remember the words just written because, even if you can’t tell, I’ll know if I fucked up a new line… I play in lieu of a shrinks couch and for the pure joy of excommunicating demons and in hopes of glimpsing tattooed dervishes floating about…
But this hasn’t been the perfect day, or week or month… Lines are being put to paper, frantic searches over frets abound but without the live opportunity to invade your ears… Silly phases, scheduling conflicts, epic battles, and dead air… A wee bit of life interfering with the order of things… Got a little bit of ass kicking to do, and then I’ll be back.