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Sick Writings and Molten Morning Damage 

Spent a day and half or so holed up Howard Hughes-style in a Nashville hotel room, not really feeling well, filling up the trash cans with tissues, but happy as a clam that I got some writing done, no matter how little - object writing and the start of a new song.

And by the way, you know I'm not feeling well when I'm staring at a football game on TV for any extended length of time in the early evening.

New song started:

The definition of your tears
Is that the world can't keep it's hold on you
They'll scrub your heart to see a higher truth
[Insert acceptable line, at least for the time being, here]

The definition of your tears
Disguise a fighter who can take a punch
And plumb the depths of dreams with all they got


That's all I will reveal for now. :)  I would have sung a little for you, but see my sniffling excuse above.

And warming up......The word, "Eruption", unedited writing practice, 10 minutes, go!...

Microwave oatmeal decides to teach me all about a volcanic eruption. Pressures from within this water-drowned mass of pseudo-breakfast oats and scientific tasty hellodelights silently scream their way upward. I supply the words like, "Damn" and "Crap" with explosive exclamation marks. Totally unwanted lava drippings bubble over the edge of my crater paper bowl. Peaceful morning thoughts jump and flee, screaming, "Run for your lives"! Pasty disaster, glass plate stops it's rotation when I press cancel. I am suddenly like God who can halt catastrophe as I am doing now. But the molten morning damage is done.
Photo: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wmliu/2677577275/