well, the rains have quieted a little down in the deep-a south. gulf south, that is. thnk gd. i was turning into a plant.
the sounds of a repeat on a take of a particular guitar lick over and over is an old form of torture used on prisoners of war in the last century, after recording was invented. (not looking up when recording was invented.) some of us crazies do it to ourselves, it’s called working on a record. a music project. whatever, haters, we are what we are.
slowly a form comes into view out of a fog- that’s what some takes are, a form coming out of a fog.
like this year.