As you may have noticed the title of this blog has become completely ironic. I thank you for your understanding.

I have been doing a lot of pondering but not a lot of writing lately. Song-wise I am dry. Every idea I dredge up seems a gumboot in place of a fish. There are so many amazing storytellers in this world, and so many words have been written. My words just seem to add to the commotion.

Words, to me, are increasingly empty. A shaped mewl with the lips parted, pops added accordingly, we impart to our fellow chimp a buzz from our fleshy lobes. A buzz born of some base fear, twisting and mutating through the tubes until it has found letters and legs.

Every animate being feels fear. Every emotion we have is from fear, yet we treat our reptilian brothers with a pompous scorn at their lack of complexity. What’s the difference? A few more neural pathways perhaps, but we run on the same juice.

The idea that love and other complex pleasures are born of fear needn’t be depressing. Fear is beautiful and wild. It’s the vibrating force from the back of our skull that reverberates our organs unpleasantly, forcing us to contemplate our crudely miraculous bodies.

It’s the fear of finding no mate that makes a pigeon dance, a moment of elegant genius in an otherwise primal grind of a life.

My dog snuffles adorably in the crook of my arm, hungry and afraid of starvation.

I marry someone who turns me on and makes me laugh, and who I can spend a long time with before getting annoyed. I am afraid of bad sex, losing my sense of humour and being alone.

I write a song in response to a powerful un-nameable atmosphere that would envelope me unless I funnel it into a tiny, manageable physical form. I am afraid of being swallowed by magic.

I sit down and write to you to keep my phantom persona alive in your mind. I am afraid of disappearing.

Love Laura