9. Brian

1.9 Cosi disse ‘l maestro; ed elli stessi

 

Sometimes it’s hard to know where to start. Some days just picking up an instrument and trying to magically produce something doesn’t work. That’s when I get panicky. Sometimes there are so many layers of thoughts and fog and shit that even the most instinctual bit of music in the world can’t find a way out. Of course it’s always there. There’s a very effective way of blocking it, that’s all.

Today, for example. It shouldn’t be that hard today: I just need to write six bars as a transition. But the dog has to go to the vet, and the dog cries and looks at me like he doesn’t trust me when I take him to the vet. And moving mum and dad this weekend, and mum can’t cope with the slightest bit of stress these days (and moving is obviously a pretty big stress) and the blood vessels in dad’s brain can’t cope with the stress of mum’s stress, so that’s going to be a tough weekend. Then there’s Joan next week. I don’t know what evidence they’ve got on her but things would be a lot easier for her if we hadn’t fallen out the way we did just before she lost it.

I haven’t written anything decent since. Ironic then; malicious damage by who to who? What comes around. Maybe that’s why I can’t write.