But until they do, it's music or death for me.
Yes, folks, I've finally snapped, and it don't feel too bad, actually.
I'm GONE(!) from the everyday world.
Can anyone drag me back???
I'm just waiting for my hand to heal, and then I will play my guitar until I'm dead. That's not dedication. It's something much heavier and darker than that, although I feel light and, er, light. Strange!
I'm still open to offers. If someone's got a job for me, or a place to live ... I'll seriously consider it.
Otherwise, I'm utterly GONE(!)
I'll say it again: I'm not a dedicated musician. I'm snapped. I'm broken off. I'm removed. I'm floating in a new reality.
This must be how the Krishna guy felt.
My hand is a bit better than yesterday. I'm sure it will be okay by Friday. Then I'm going to play my guitar until my fingers bleed. My guitar will be red. Physical evidence of how GONE(!) I am.
I'll record Shady, Dodgy, Shifty ... and This Love, too.
I'll be on Twitter twelve, fourteen hours a day ... I don't know. Whatever it takes.
And if I'm forced to leave London for Cornwall ... which I suspect I will be ... I'll play the guitar for twelve, fourteen hours a day.
Maybe I'll become as good as John Frusciante. I'll have nothing else to do on a rock in front of the sea.
And then I'll play all day in the streets.
And when I can charge my phone ... I'll be on Twitter.
And if I have to die ...
I will die clutching my guitar.
