Tony Chapman-Art Music Writing

Outside birds sing … dawn chorus … faint light appears through the skylight above me … a hum and the faint tap of my Spen stylus … me trying to write about what is in this moment

… tiredness behind my eyes …

apps are the Alladins cave … I lie awake all night searching for more and more … I always come back to Snotes. Must leave this device downstairs at night – must!

Feel better for writing about it all though –  money low again – gig tomorrow night with  bass player – should sleep – will have to cancel lesson tomorrow – no time for me … hardly – only way to get time for me is to lie in bed at night writing on my device … I have no children to carry my genes on – how strange – this particular billion years old evolutionary line – ends here – with me …

and yet, as there is only this moment what does it really matter?

l lie in bed waiting for Godot … oh how far does it go? – this spirit and spiral the past is just a memory, the future is ? … I close this ragged door and the pitiful strangers pass through … they collide and ricoche across tragic ballroom floors, they dance heavily on the poished wood, their heavy, muddy boots, dragging.

Where are they/we now?…  our apples smelling over-ripe, in their orange boxes, stored on the dry, dusty floor of the woodshed at the bottom of that muddy track .

oh, take these blinkers from my eyes
… let me see again
… through this silly, rattling rain, hammering lightly on the corrugated iron of the goat’s shed at bottom of the garden. And beyond the shed: the ditch and beyond the ditch: the field, where the black and white cows sometimes ran …

…oh yesterday is gone and I’m learning,
… who knows maybe I’II have a family yet?

… and maybe there is another lifetime, endless Planet Earths, in endless, different dimensions, and us, merely transfering from one to another.

… and my own father’s life has finally reached the end … God bless him… it is so wierd.