Really, she didn’t leave, or maybe she did, but you are the one who let the dream die.  That dream may not have been true for you, but you are the one that let it go, and then said “she did it”…

You know?  We write the truth, and the future, but we need to be able to
face the truth, and really, there is joy in it, and a great deal of freedom.

Now, my muse, she knows a lot. Above all else, she knows this.
She knows that I need to tell the truth, and be responsible for my own
past.  And she knows to tell me that with her love, and accept no less. She knows she has the same responsibilities in her own life, as ethereal as that life may be.

We need to earn we. Me and my muse.  She might get mad, but she don’t get gone.  Same with me. We continue, day by day, moment by moment to earn we.

My muse and me. What a tremendous joy.  Freedom from “hip hooks”, if even as an instrumental passage. Freedom from genres.  Freedom to do what we were born to do.  Write the truth.  How do you actually feel about that?  Can you play it? Where is the joy in that?  Can you play it? What about this kaleidoscope called life makes you laugh, makes you cry?

Can you play it?

My great joy is my muse.  She expects, will accept no less, loves, laughs, and appreciates that I can play it. And will accept no less.

She is not the room full of strangers that most of us write our songs about,
and play them for. She dances, and cries, in the life I write and laugh and sometimes cry about.

She loves the truth.

Walter Mosley, in a book titled “R.L.’s Dreams”
wrote: “…and when he died, he would do it making music from life, like
real men did, a long time ago…”

Now, we live in a world of sad songs, but the fact of the matter is that we
write the songs, we play the music.

Sad would be only one way to look at things.

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