20191122
i wrote an incredible amount on unfinished music over the course of my depression.
those dark times were oddly fruitful. my memories have left me, and even though i am happy and content, i wonder if i will ever be able to retrieve any of my past.
the fog of war seems to have purged all of my childhood and my first, terrible marriage. i'm on the other side of all that pain and suffering and just marvel at it all.
the breadth and width of it all, the weight of a thousand affronts now all forgiven and forgotten, what was i thinking?
depression has powerwashed the vaneer of my mental scrapbook until my very identity has become a nimble, fluid thing. ever shifting and evolving.
but all that pain is gone. replaced by a powerful love. but hubris and pride dictates that i still force myself to try and look back, to try and wonder what might've been.
like a fingernail in the quick, you have no choice to pull and tug and chew on it, relishing in the pain and promise of release.
if only it worked that way.
anyway, i am going to start tinkering on the music again. no one listens to it. maybe it'll all just collect dust with so many exabytes of others hopes and dreams.
blessed beyond belief to be living and have lived in a time with the privilege of preservation, yet knowing even the biggest contributions to mankind end up a footnote to a crumbling edifice of time. given enough time. even the beatles will be forgotten. honestly that's a little comforting.
