Hello, again. I haven’t written in this journal for awhile. I suppose it’s because of all the changes. I’m busy with being back in New York, and loving it so. Who would have thought the cats would adjust so well? And Doe leads me from park to dog-run. We make friends everywhere we go. I could leave everything from my North Fork life behind and never look back. But of course, the house is still there. Haven’t been able to sell it. I guess, come fall, I’ll rent it because I don’t want to go back there. Not now, anyway.
It’s Memorial Day weekend. I love the way the city empties out on summer weekends. D. is in Bridgehampton and I picture him doing the things we’ve done all the years past. We’re not together but still together. I can’t explain it any better because I don’t understand it, but perhaps the truth will come out in the new songs I’m writing. They seem to have a way of letting me know what’s going on.
Sometimes it’s confusing to be working in solitude. I know the answer to the question about the tree in the forest. My songs keep coming and no one hears them but it doesn’t matter. Or, not so much. I suppose it makes the work feel more like hobby and less like “work”. But that’s all pride and ego. Pride and ego are not much good for songwriting. I’m still the happiest when I’m writing songs. It’s my life’s work whether anyone is listening or not, whether I’m any good or not. Not that I’m insecure about the quality of my songwriting. I may be deluded, but in my own mind, the songs are genius. Hahaha.. Well, pretty darn good, anyway. Why be modest when I write this for myself and to myself (and the few loyal friends and fans who remain)? I am able to hit the emotional mark better than I used to. Better at form, lyric and melody. I’m at the top of my game. Or convinced I am, delusional perhaps. But if it’s delusion, it doesn’t matter since I am the only critic.
My new set up, at the far end, the south-west corner of this space, faces a window and a wall of old brick. There is wonderful natural reverb here. The ceilings are high. I’m on the top floor, so there are never any footsteps overhead. There is no shortage of noise, sound, racket, music, coming from the street, the alley and far-away. I love all the sounds. But when I close the windows, it’s quiet enough to record. The microphone sits close to my mouth, just above the piano keys. The cats, asleep on window sills, couch and counters, are quiet. Doe is stretched out on the rug. She’s never far from me. I forget everything and fall into my world of keeping track of things. Emotional things and the rest. I do still pick up the guitar, but most of my writing is done at the piano, now. It’s a process full of learning for me. I play better with all the practice and I have a long way to go. The daily discovery is challenging and absorbing.
I have no interest in performing Will ths change? I have no idea. Performing was always a challenge for me. I hated the variables. The ones coming from me (not being in good voice, guitar issues, etc.) and the ones due to a venue: sound issues, club issues the rest of it.. The disrespect. The need to prove oneself over and over. All that balanced by the rare joy of it all going well. A beautiful communion with an audience.
Now that I’m back in New York, however, who knows what will happen. Everything is subject to change. It all feels shaken up and alive.