Crying Like a Car-Struck Cat

By everything, I didn’t also mean writing.

Forgive me, oh blog. My separately occurring lows (parental death, physical injury, cyclical thinking requiring chemical adjustment, etc) outnumbered my highs in 2011 and 2012.
But whatever happens transforms into never-again. How about that? 
The music never left. There were taste changes. There were hate changes. New loves. One of my young kids loves jazz and can play horn by ear (<– one of the highs). My own musicianship weirdly flowered into an ability to play & sing the likes of Scott Walker and Nick Drake (another high). Weirder things have not happened. Although coming from a musical family as I do, and having done my best to abandon them since I was 17, and then being dunked under their roiling sea for a few recent, dark months can have an odd way of making  some of that prodigal stuff work like a sudden life preserver. Talent, I never knew you. Howdy. Stay awhile.

I’m also back because it’s a tad enraging to hear better-paid content-spouts try to diminish their recent, online plagiarism by crying that they found it too, too hawd to keep up with the Internet Beast’s relentless feeding schedule. You wanted to keep up with the checks, guys. If you don’t have anything to say, don’t say it, and don’t get paid that day.

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