Cold wind today.

"Art is a collaboration between God and the artist, and the less the artist does, the better."
-Andre Gide

I think there are very few people that actually know what "cold" really is. To walk from your car to your house isn't really feeling the 20 degrees with the 2 degree windchill. If you're out and about in it for 7 hours, then you really start to get the idea of what cold is.
A terribly exhausting couple of days has passed, and I am happy they are done.
I wish I had the ability to actually speak to someone properly, unfortunately this is harder than it should be for me. To overthink for me is an entry into loss, and I happen to do that often. I can't really write cohesively either. Each sentence sort of stands as its own topic.
I have not yet found the ability to practice, to play, to assist, to lead, to stay quiet, or to hold back juuuuust the right amount. Cursed are these hands of mine, disobeying my mind all willy-nilly. And cursed is my mind, for not stepping into its position as leader.
Niles has explained Project Octave to me further, and I am even more intrigued now. As soon as the words "It could sound like you were inside of a piano", were said, I was an excited boy. But what to do with the rest of it? That will happen when it happens. I asked if perhaps a delay loop setup was possible for the guitar that would run on each of the 8 speakers as each note swelled, but he didn't think so. Darn.
What stops me from doing the things that I have hoped to do? I'm not sure I'll ever know, but doing them seems too difficult. If I can't find a very very good reason for performing a task, it feels utterly wasteful. A "pouring from the empty into the void", as it were. This has carried on far too long and far too deep in my own personal goals, and is becoming a terrifying setback. If it were possibly for me to truly have will, to really be able to choose what to do and why in every situation I was faced with, things would perhaps be alot more tolerable. Unfortunately not many of us are blessed with this gift of will, or even the gift to try to attain it. A falling out of mind, body, and spirit is necessary once in a while when one hasn't attained a higher level of being, and I seem to frequent this falling out all too often.
The air is far too bitter to be walking about, but I wish I could. The graveyard uptown is such a peaceful place at night. I say this with no intention of being morbid or "dark". Quite simply, graveyards are just a nice place to have a walk in.
A practice earlier I was all too unworthy of was given to me, and a gentle lulling into despair has been given to follow. Not a heavy despair. A mournful despair perhaps? No, not mournful.
How does one play music? How could one be able to "play" such a force, to control such a power? It is impossible. Absolutely impossible. And why, then, are we given glimpses as to what the possibilities are within it? I don't know yet, and to find out would require effort that I may not be able to give.

"Expectation is a prison."-Robert Fripp.