Wave Direction

Inside of me I'm caught in a trap. It's all reality but visually mutated in a sort of pleasing but warped way.

I'm stuck on this hill.

Surrounding is a water; communicating I not attempt to swim towards the sorta-distant shore. I could make it easily but something in me respects the water's warning and accepts swimming won't be an escape option.

My guitar and amp are here too, I find that very comforting and assume it has to do with the trap.

After however many hours it's pretty clear I don't need food or water, I'm glad that's not a part of this little riddle.

Never been known to be great at sleeping but here I don't feel the effects of fatigue. I estimate it's been a week, I've actually relaxed knowing I'm in no rush to escape death. I'll survive if I stay here at the very least.

It's obvious the guitar has something to do with all this. I feel like i'm writing the best songs I've ever written on it. I don't suck so bad at bar chords anymore either.

So at this point I think I should be at the "losing my mind" part of all this, but to be quite honest it's really not that bad. A bit frustrating that the songs aren't doing anything; I know they're the best I've done. Not even frustrating because I'm still trapped, but frustrating because what the hell man? How are you not digging this?

It isn't a trap, that must've been my initial fear of arrival. The new songs are even better.

That was stupid, it's definitely a puzzle of some kind.

My songs are getting more expansive, I'm even singing these classical symphony style things in the middle. I'm finding if I focus on steadying the guitar, I can fly with my vocals more and inspired lyrics come along.

Simple chord progression today but did this unreal vocal melody over it.

There's this thing I came up with lyrically that with the vocals creates a jaw dropping effect

In some ways I hope this is permanent because never having to worry about feeding, sleep, or water? My potential is unlimited.

I thought about swimming to the country today, for real it wouldn't even take me an hour to reach the shore, I didn't do it though. I worry if I do I might get hungry or something. I've just grown curious about why this calm water feels inclined towards hostility.

Maybe I'm wrong about the water being hostile, maybe it does like my voice and it wants me stay? I don't think I would care that much this is a pretty good deal.

The lyrics i've been singing are boundry pushing, I do think the water is loving my directon.

What would happen if I did sleep? Fearful but unable to refuse my curiosity I tried. It didn't really do anything. I'm not even certain time passed. I haven't been tired once since I showed up here, however many years ago, so further sleep study is pointless.

I sing melodies beyond the realm of reality

These days I imagine I control the winds of "the living realm" or whatever.

My singing is some sort of cosmic obligation presented to my, formally human, brain in a digestable hallucination.

Why not? I'm clearly supposed to be like some sort of king or sage I guess. Not even in the arrogant way.

I control time, I must be the sole resident of the 4th dimension keeping record through the breaks of my voice.

A great illusion to keep time in the known universe through my song.

I'm over all that importance talk.

I think this is always what reality has ever been.

I am a central force meant to BE.

I sing from this hill. I BE.

I don't think I need to "BE" anymore.

I don't think I have any cosmic role anymore.

I felt something watching me sing, I choked the note in shock. My first thought was the sorta-distant shore, but nothing has EVER moved there.

There isn't anywhere to hide on my hill.

My voice and I, and the old amp and guitar, is all that is here.

Amp isn't big enough to hide behind, I checked anyway.

How did that amp work if it wasn't plugged in anyway? I'm not even sure if it ever worked, I can't recall playing it.

Come to think of it, I don't remember if I've touched the guitar.

This guitar is gorgeous the more I stare.

Heavier than I think I remember. The strings too, I've completely forgotten how to play them but that isn't why I'm crying. I'm crying? I'm not sure why I am. I wouldn't have even guessed crying existed wherever I am.

Where am I?

I retaught myself one of those basic chords. It's okay, I guess, but this thing feels impossible to navigate.

I gave up on it "today" there's no point. Very unique and strange sensations touching those strings, but the challenge clearly is not worth the struggle.

I can't stop fixating on the guitar, I simply can't teach myself how to control this thing, but that feeling on my fingers stays like an itch.

It almost hurts not touching this guitar, but the awful noise it's producing is ruining my sharpened voice's song.

It's called Herson

Herson is a nightmare to deal with, I don't even wanna make music if this is what it's like now.

Herson makes my voice's songs so messy. This is not the vision.

Herson made a very intresting musical choice, on accident for sure, but either way I can find a way to improve it with this vocal trick.

Herson decided to reteach me all those lost chords

I've been writing the best songs I've ever composed with these chords under my voice.

Still never tired, but I think I've become bored

This guitar is annoying me again. I get its idea, but my idea fits the vision more.

The fundamentals shouldn't be blown off, it looks lazy.

"It looks lazy." That's what makes Herson quit.

We're playing together again.

Herson just sits there like an old guitar during the songs.

Herson is beyond dramatic, all stiff since our spat.

Grudges are selfish.

I'll reluctantly give a little bit for the sake of my grander vision.

Herson has been less stiff since I gave up some of my song to a Herson idea.

Herson and I are at odds again.

I wish I could go back to my vocal symphonies and I would too. My fingers ache without feeling Herson in my hand. It's a cruel little trick.

Herson and I will write a songs as equals.

I'm not overjoyed at the idea but the way I see it; I can do my proper right vocal symphonies and in return stop the finger itch. Herson wins fully free contributions. I'll just have to bury them a bit.

My mouth has sang one million words of self-proclaimed lyrical mastery Herson's wordless freedom can't be sung.

I can't imagine how long it has been since I opened my eyes. Herson's distorted and unbound wave of raw honest expresion erputing from my own veins is too much to pry open heavy eyelids.

When I finally manage to see amidst the sound, the old calm water is in a sonic wave forward forcing the trees too to bend in wave direction.

The closer Herson and I get to the shore the louder the feedback screams.

Something here is fading. Something here is changing.