Six and six

Is twelve.
Enough said.
The mystery life and wife of abstaining from full mental conduit has been a' running and a' mucking. The proverbial moon honey is still sticky, for sure, but wedged in bald tires somehow doesn't make for the best hard street curves and grinds. Not so tough a day as expected... I realize persistence with art practice-- even if it's the last thing you wanna be doing that day--isn't such a bad thing; even doing th' stuff when you don't have any desire to be doing it is still better n' going on accepting a deadening life of keeping up with all the suckerfish. I hold tight to my breath and dreams these days. Today, Jérôme and I set to rehearsing our opera with electronics; earlier, Rhys and I get a shitload of material runs done, not to mention a few tweaks to the installation. I'm also preparing for my own workshop tomorrow on mic-building, so a batch of cables get their skins stripped and readied. After dinner, it's a fun workshop on impromptu songwriting and diggit: choir! After that, some quick video footage grabs, tech discussion (we're pushing 11pm at this point), and now a moment to drift... did I mention the wedding I'm presiding over on Friday? Ooeesh!
I need a week to assemble the ass end detail minutae; saving the conceptual overhauling (the nitty gritty teethsinking) for last. It's the best part, the Oreo vs the afterdinnermintonyourpillow. Port vs a crappy gin drink. I detest gin anyway, so no lost battles. But it's the conduit: this week is workworkwork. We'll get it done in one form or another, fingers crossed, eyes tied!

(eyes used for tooth support)