Into The Flesh – Day 13

“Some will long for what past them by but the battle hardened know better than to clutch on to what could have been. They do however suffer from a strange kind of melancholy. Having seen the worst, they care too much for brighter outcomes to want to be a part of them. Feeling more at ease in the shadows.’

‘Were you ever in the forces?’

‘Nope.’

‘Yet, there is a hint of the military about you.’

‘I grew up around men who went to war and women who had to deal with the consequences of these wars.’

‘So, in a way, conflict was part of you growing up.’

‘Very much so.’

‘Would you say that this affected the way you interact or feel about people?’

‘It’s been an influence but not what drives me.’

‘Okay, what drives you then?’

‘Rhythm and rhyme. From the music created by humankind to the poetry of the wild.’

‘What do you mean by: the poetry of the wild?’

‘Take the cycle of life as rhymes. Each newborn a blend of the generations that came before them and all set to the rhythm of the planet. It is all there to read, you just have to sit quietly and pay attention.’

‘Mmm, you don’t have the next generation on the way. Why is that?’

‘I wasn’t given the luxury of choice.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean’

‘Okay, I won’t pry any further. Maybe the future will put that choice on the table.’

‘No it won’t. My art is my child and that is the way it shall stay.’

‘Never say never!’

‘You’re pushing it.’

‘I know, I just think that…’

‘Let me tell you a story. A singer gets drunk one night, really drunk and during this session he hears a thud on the French window. He gets up and staggers outside to find a dying crow. The crow is in pain and is not going to make it so he puts it out of its misery. He then goes back inside, drinks some more and then with pen and paper he writes a song about the dead bird.’

‘Okay and how does this relate to what we are talking about?’

‘Well, I didn’t kill the crow.’

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