Dispatch on our Diamond-Core Selves

Sorry have to do this. Have to kill off the weeds that would digress. Have to burn away the ones that would not get beyond their own sense of self-loathing. Maybe we’re not what you really need right now and that’s ok. Your own life force, will, and direction should mean more than a portal of creativity. You’ve come so far to stay anywhere where you’re held back or pushed against some wall that ceases to shrink.

Some roads have to split, in order that all passengers may embrace their own singular, worthwhile road to tread. Suppose we’re living out some cliched musical scenario? One member battles addiction, while the others tiredly look on, with arms raised only muttering to each other and themselves; “I don’t know anymore…we’ve tried…” This kind of scenario makes me believe we really do exist in some kind of hard-wired matrix. A kind of user friendly interface, which we’ve individually decided to be a part of. The frustration comes out of sensing how precise and determined this super-structure really is.

As the veil continues to be lifted, we race against time fully aware that our mental faculties we’ll never be stronger than they are TODAY. So panic creeps in at times. Is this ship progressing at the most efficient rate? Who even exists to truly define terms like “efficiency”, “purpose”, “success”, or the dreaded T, “terrorism”? This person doesn’t exist, so we collectively try in the dark, with the patient help from our friends.

A band’s progress is so painstakingly subjective. Built on hunches again and again. Applause from fans. Is the applause growing? Growing in a genuine way or is their a dash of pity from friends and family? This whole musical experiment may take 2-3 more lifetimes to truly see it through to the END. (Who defines “the end”?) But for now, we embrace the at times flexible simulation we find ourselves on stage. 

At times we each have the ability to really receive notes in our ears. Interfacing with notes, allowing notes, to telepathically teach us, as words have become so soiled and misused over the thousands of years they’ve existed. The note cannot be soiled, it refuses to be, and exists on another dimension as to not be defiled. At these unpredictable moments, our thick caked on amnesia breaks off from our shoulders, bones, backs, and psyches – And it’s why we subconsciously put ourselves in vulnerable situations again and again. Desperately wanting our onion’s core to lessen, layer by tireless layer, disintegrating more to reveal some Diamond Core that we intuitively know is there. The arts do much in this way and the “gutsy” become addicted to this mode of accelerated revealing. This millenial generations and slightly older generations, openly lust after this Diamond Core of unique expression. We’re all in a race to get there. Grace, being the lubricant most necessary for ourselves to arrive “there”, somewhat smoothly.


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