I haven't posted in a while. I've pretty much moved my obsession elsewhere, but I keep this up, too, for a few good friends. =) My instant reaction, otherwise, would be to impulsively delete it, complete with all of the poems that I have yet to transfer into my new journal.
I have "Popular" from Wicked stuck in my head. Not so great.
Melodies have been popping into my head lately. I've actually been recording them. You should be proud.
I feel the piano and the piano feels me. Playing it is like trying to catch lots of fluffy, multicolored lights. I can hear it in my dreams.When I think in piano, I get frustrated because I want to sing it but there are too many notes and they move too fast, and in too many different directions. I try to speak about it, but it is a wordless thought, a wordless thing. I speak and my voice sounds like an awful croak, a disgusting and horrid thing compared to the innate beauty of piano thoughts. Worst of all, I try to play it, but my inner ear is not directly connected to my kinesthetic map of the keys. One day, I will fully attach the sound to my hands, and when I make a hand shape without even touching the keys, I will hear it. That is my deepest and most sincere hope. Then, I will be a satisfied human being and most comfortable and secure in calling myself a musician. Until then, my heart does battle while my fingers, they awkwardly dance, waiting to land on something that is a struggle to keep.
