The Last Refuge

Momentous shit seems to be happening everyday. There's so many people on the planet now, our schedules are so chock full of big-time events. No sense in panicking. And fleeing seems futile, since there's nowhere to flee to.

We retreat into our heads. Not really safe there either. But it's the last refuge.

I barricaded myself in my little home studio yesterday. Working on some new "self-recorded," "self-produced" music.

New songs. Kind of like those old cave paintings. Sitting in my little enclosed space, creating my own little world. Almost like a religious or "magic" act. Conjuring something inside. To bring outside later.

And the inside is just reflection of the outside. A facsimile. I sacrifice an idea on the altar of my own craving, and create a song with a little life of it's own.

And the world of momentousness just rages on.