I don't do this.

[kimathephish]

"She fled all this for a life in rock 'n' roll. She wanted to be a lead singer in a coke-snorting hard-rock band but was prepared to be content beating a tambourine at studio parties. Her mind was exceptional, a fact she preferred to ignore. All she desired was the brute electricity of that sound. To make the men who made it. To keep moving. To forget everything. To be the sound. That was the only tide she heeded. She wanted to exist as music does, nowhere, beyond the maps of language. Opel knew almost every important figure in the business, in the culture, in the various subcultures. But she had no talent as a performer, not the slightest, and so drifted along the jet trajectories from band to band, keeping near the fevers of her love, that obliterating sound..."
from Great Jones Street by Don DeLillo

wouldn't it be nice? But hell. The means towards a dream dampened by reality and the dregs of escapism. A burning passion fought by a lack of communication from soul to body. She sounds like me, but I haven't gone that far yet. I want to compose, perform, listen. Period. All, everything. But my body holds me back and it's never enough. Nothing I do is ever enough.

It's true. Demondre is right. I'm afraid, I'm holding something back. I'm trying to find how to break through. God help me, I'm trying.