There is such a thing as bad art
And I make it.
Sitting here with guitar in lap, I often wonder "Why?"
Over a year ago I decided to take lessons to learn about music, and sing the songs of my soul.
Soul singing has yet to occur as I fumble through chord changes and hold my baby as if she were a dead fish.
I learn from the head and not from the heart. The heart has nearly seized through years of rusticular calcification.
Life, percieved, has not been kind, and meds dull the ache.
I learn because I want to. Through will I pluck the strings though a Jimi I will never be, nor a Dylan...not even a Croce.
But that's ok, because I make art...even if it hurts the ears and makes dogs howl.
I make the art.