Love letter.

cowpuncher Uncategorized

I wonder if my roof is on fire? I know its not, I still sit wondering and wasting with my fire ant ass sitting comfortably in a house far too warm for actual survival, a belly far too full and a mind far too sensible. There is no more romance let in me, I feel the pang of anxiety when the 4×4 turns in a different spot than it did last time, what does that mean? Then I realize that this is like a Lynch movie and the close ups are meaningless. Why is my house rumbling under foot? Because the train is passing by. Why does the one room always make that clicking sound? I have no fucking clue. How did I find that gun clip, after so much searching? With much luck.

I found a handful of coal in my basement today, just a little shit turd of it; not much, just enough to bring back dead spirits, feel the aching belly of the miners. Those poor dirty bastards didn’t have cars, thats why they built the houses so uncomfortably close to the mines. We have forgotten our old strengths, all of us. The memories of a time when we had no words and only music to speak. Before the Earth was born, gentle notions.

How was the recording? It was strange. It was strange and great, glorious and filled with malcontent; I always seem to sit on the edge, teeter on it, this record (whatever it will be called) and my playing is the same damn thing, almost at the edge of destruction while simultaneously crowning the head with creative spirit. I am hardly there anymore and that is tough and it is also great – what I get to do now is watch as something I helped with grow into something more than myself, I am happy – not that I have left or will leave, I just don’t get to do everything anymore.

Holy shit the wind is crazy here.

That is all, lots of love,

T