Weird Artist Shit

Being an artist can be depraved when there's raw vulnerability and authenticity. I've always seen my songwriting as therapy but I'm beginning to realize it's the sonic equivalent of going to church confession and having to do a few Hail Mary's.

I feel great about the music itself for the first time ever, but everything else in life is pretty shitty. My bones. My brain. My heart. My soul. My balls... in that order. In the last two years I aged a decade, but I've written so many bangers. In the next two years, it's make or break for me.

I thrive in solitude and artistic chaos. I'm surrounded by guitars, pens, notebooks, colored pencils, paint. I live like an animal and put pen to paper every day. I don't put thought into the way I look, or what people might think about me. I dress like I found my clothes, I probably smell like weed and tequila... definite "guy who has custody of his kids every other weekend but he never sees them" vibes. Thankfully I have no kids.

It's weird to have written three unplugged albums worth of love songs before I really knew what love was... also I never wrote anything from the heart before I was 36. The songs were meaningful at the time but prophetic looking back now. At 39 years old I'm finally starting to understand it, I think. Love to me, is being able to "mutually be" with another person... No stress. No judgement. Laughter. Communication. Peace. Freedom.

Peace is so fucking important. Anyone who disturbs my peace, I cut them loose. I work best by myself, but when I do find those fellow kindred spirits I cherish and revere them. I implore them to rip some solos and scream with me in horrifying unison.