Conjure One

Mara and I have both been listening to a CD she bought called Conjure One. We’re both a little carried away with it. I’ve listened to it six times already. I have to admit that this CD has inspired me. Now I want to get that recording equipment more desperately than ever. There’s music like this in my head and I can’t get it out. I’ve finally admitted that rock and roll is all but dead and buried. Nothing seems more ridiculous to me now than some self-absorbed rich bitch wailing away on a guitar.
My god. I was headed in the direction of music like conjure one ten years ago. Where might I be now if I had kept going and had not made so many stupid decisions? I would be one of the pioneers of this kind of music, instead of an aging ex-musician who is stuck out on the road driving a truck in some never-ending purgatory, dreaming about being able to make music again some day.
I feel like the guy in that movie, saying “don’t bury me. I’m not dead.” I like to say “I’m not dead yet,” meaning that my life isn’t over, and that it’s still full of possibility and promise. But I often find myself thinking that Mara, Mama and myself would be better off and happier if I could just let it go.
And then I hear something like Conjure One and I think “Goddamit! I can do that!” But I can’t do it without equipment. And that, of course, as always, is the problem.

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