May 5, 2010 12:34 AM

So many ideas just bubble right out the top of my skull, whip through my hair, scattering out from my helmet's vents into the tractor-trimmed wilderness of my neighborhood, so that by the time I reach my driveway, nothing remains. And in fact, it would seem that the bigger the notion, the easier and quicker it was lost, just as well as the tiny, flittering ones.

Some music is only possible as a sudden and visceral outpouring, created out of a frenzy or conflict; it prickles the creator therapeutically with its pure tactile energy and potential for danger. Other music is more philosophical and meticulous, explorations worked out in solitude; it reaffirms its creator, allows them poise and grace. Secretly I'm hoping this understanding will give intuition into my own music-making, but so far I don't see how; it's a strictly mechanical explanation, and lacks magic. A few things I do know about myself, though: I need to be less vain (I'm getting too old for it); more patient (I'm too young to not be); and I should make my words count (greater than one...let's make a sentence!).

Do you ever get the feeling that someone wants to tell you a secret, and is just itching for the right moment to break it to you? I can't be certain if this secret even exists to be told; it easily could just be my overwhelming passion for the unknown. Assuming it does exist, I wouldn't know it if I heard it: in effect, a secret unrecognized is identical to a plain fact. Assuming it exists, why should it matter so much to me? A secret in itself is valueless; any old piece of trivia can be a secret, as long as it's kept obscure. In any case, I'm done for; the secret has seduced me; I'm bound for glory.