Haven’t written in a while. Fi-
gures. It’s weird, because I a-
m by myself right now. Listeni-
ng to music. Writing this. Tha-
t’s what I’m doing. I’m appare-
ntly writing to you. You are r-
eading this now. But I’m typin-
g this now.
There is only one me. But, who
am I writing to? How many of y-
ou are there? I start wonderin-
g. I saw my album cover collec-
tion received several hundred v-
iews. There is something alarmi-
ng about that.
It’s one of those things, you k-
now. You write about things hap-
pening, and then those things h-
appen. If you’re reading this n-
ow, you have to assume this is
real. It’s a real review of a r-
eal piece of music. You’ve read
this far. It’s real.
But, I don’t really know what I’m
going to write. I don’t know when
you’ll read this. It might be six
months from now. Or six seconds.
I don’t know. I feel like there i-
s something I should be telling y-
ou. Something you would enjoy rea-
ding. Something I’d enjoy writing.
I’ve enjoyed writing this.