I'm redoing my music libraries, again; as part of this, I'm also clearing down my desk, a task I should have done months ago. So much dust.
For years, my desk has been entirely dominated by computer equipment: my big machine and the DJ setup. I have a bad habit: I don't put things away. Just shove them aside for later.
If I want to art, or draw, then I either have to complain while taking everything down, or do it somewhere else... or give up and play a game instead. This is even more poignant as I've turned fifty.
Fifty is, to me, the age of cardigans, comfy chairs, and long periods of inactivity and cups of tea and reminiscence about my wild youth. I had a wild youth, horribly, outrageously delayed adolescence, then one of the more abject failure parades that come under the umbrella of adulthood.
Part of that is questioning my life choices, it's always so easy to second guess the past. Another part is regarding my future life with, generally, dread.
When I started making music, it was the high energy, dancefloor filling stuff, now I wonder: should I bother? Would it not be better to just learn modular synthesis and make avant-garde art lobster shrieks and squeals that I can pass off as ambient electronica, the sounds of a life in its final downhill?
I don't know. I just... don't... fucking... know.
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