illimex
Bluelighter
You wonder if you got married too soon, if getting that one-legged overbite ridden slut in junior high pregnant was *really* that good of an idea, and why the musics not coming.
It's just not coming.
You sit and stare pathetically at the brownish raceways of burned nicotine on the corners of your computer desk, longing for a night of freedom, a night under no ones eye but your own, and notice the sad irony in that the freedom of your rebellious youth is the catalyst for the prison you now find yourself in.
But you don't want sad thoughts.
You want happy thoughts. You want funkalicious thoughts and groovy thoughts, D minor 7 thoughts and pixelart thoughts, original thoughts, sex thoughts, money thoughts, any thoughts but those that are invading your synaptic pathways, blocking the music from coming.
Keeping the music from being free.
You light up another cigarette, probably the demon responsible for the lack of mental elasticity, and inhale deeply.
Sequencer I request of you a sound so dear, a composition so enlightened, and the patience to finish, to explore, to capture the mood and the essence of French House and Breakbeat fusion, Trance enameled Drum and Bass, electronic candy for the ears, electronic candy for the soul.
Sadly the sequencer is only the extension of the reality you face. But you don't want slow music. You don't want sad music. You want people to dance, to smile, to lay back in their cars and mellow out to soothing basslines and piercing high end harmonics, to be lost in the creations of your mind. A mind, where the music won't come.
Another drag. USA Gold lights. 2.02 a pack...why if you could just finish this album, just finish this song, just be free from your prison, the all consuming, mind paralyzing life that you have created for yourself, you could afford to buy Marlboro lights where the taste isn't so sickly sweet it hurts your teeth, no doubt white thanks to Crest BrightStrips (TM) and no doubt rotting from the inside out, like your mind, like your soul, like the music that won't come out.
Digress.
These children love you. This woman loves you. It is only you who does not love yourself, and with no love, with no passion, there can be no music...none that you can be happy with.
Put the cigarette out.
Take that walk.
You may be 25 years old and time may be flying by now, but you are not old in spirit, my friend. You are not old to the world. Relax. Learn.
It will come.
You are a good father, and this studio is nothing compared to the lives your family, your children, your wife. This studio is not a mistress to the life you know loves you, and that you must learn to love. Not unless the music won't come.
Good nite Bluelight.
And sweet dreams out there in cyberspace
It's just not coming.
You sit and stare pathetically at the brownish raceways of burned nicotine on the corners of your computer desk, longing for a night of freedom, a night under no ones eye but your own, and notice the sad irony in that the freedom of your rebellious youth is the catalyst for the prison you now find yourself in.
But you don't want sad thoughts.
You want happy thoughts. You want funkalicious thoughts and groovy thoughts, D minor 7 thoughts and pixelart thoughts, original thoughts, sex thoughts, money thoughts, any thoughts but those that are invading your synaptic pathways, blocking the music from coming.
Keeping the music from being free.
You light up another cigarette, probably the demon responsible for the lack of mental elasticity, and inhale deeply.
Sequencer I request of you a sound so dear, a composition so enlightened, and the patience to finish, to explore, to capture the mood and the essence of French House and Breakbeat fusion, Trance enameled Drum and Bass, electronic candy for the ears, electronic candy for the soul.
Sadly the sequencer is only the extension of the reality you face. But you don't want slow music. You don't want sad music. You want people to dance, to smile, to lay back in their cars and mellow out to soothing basslines and piercing high end harmonics, to be lost in the creations of your mind. A mind, where the music won't come.
Another drag. USA Gold lights. 2.02 a pack...why if you could just finish this album, just finish this song, just be free from your prison, the all consuming, mind paralyzing life that you have created for yourself, you could afford to buy Marlboro lights where the taste isn't so sickly sweet it hurts your teeth, no doubt white thanks to Crest BrightStrips (TM) and no doubt rotting from the inside out, like your mind, like your soul, like the music that won't come out.
Digress.
These children love you. This woman loves you. It is only you who does not love yourself, and with no love, with no passion, there can be no music...none that you can be happy with.
Put the cigarette out.
Take that walk.
You may be 25 years old and time may be flying by now, but you are not old in spirit, my friend. You are not old to the world. Relax. Learn.
It will come.
You are a good father, and this studio is nothing compared to the lives your family, your children, your wife. This studio is not a mistress to the life you know loves you, and that you must learn to love. Not unless the music won't come.
Good nite Bluelight.
And sweet dreams out there in cyberspace
