After last Freeflow’s futile diatribe, I thought it would be wise to take on another humbling venture into songwriting. I think I am falling in love with the practice. I actually work at it steady and true, like a Calvinist thought janitor rearranging the gray matter. No milking the clock for me this week! Up before dawn, cheap mixing new tunes at bedtime. The finger callouses on my left hand feel like beach pebbles and I have given them names. This songwriting expression is so valuable to me. That is, I produce something while learning, yet feel like it’s work the whole time I’m doing it. And believe me, I could use the work! Maybe Nashville will buy the rights to some of these ditties. Probably not. That’s like expecting Keith Urban to have a thought go deeper than one of his swimming pools. I don’t think words like “anarchy”, “maggots” and “succor” ever make it into country songs. Or any songs other than those sung by lone wolves beneath full moons. I suggest songwriting for all the lessor poets, which is every one of us who has ever cried a tear or laughed at something funny.
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