I’m not rewriting it – it still says what I want it to say.
Originally posted on VinceT.net:
All the lonely people where do they all come from? All the lonely people Where do they all belong?
I was reading an interesting piece in a local arts magazine earlier today
the title of which was something along the lines of: what do all teenaged mass-killers have in common?
In summary – they were male
and they were
[Originally published June 2nd, 2011]
[and again on December 24th, 2014]
Lots of people taking sides on who shot who, why they pulled the trigger, were they right, were they wrong…
At this time of peace, I keep getting drawn back to this meditation, written in response to an atrocity in Syria, but applicable to so much happening in our world right now
LIKE TAKING A GUN – VINCENT TUCKWOOD
It’s like taking a gun and pointing it
Meet me in the silence in the stillness in the breath
This moment where I’m open you of welcome made
Meet me in the melody familiar tone coda and twist
Meet me in the lyric its story fickle universally made
Meet me in the silence where music swells song, breath and being
Meet me in the silence where you and I we merge
Vincent Tuckwood is a story-teller working
The reality for most independent musicians is that each record is a commercial still-birth by any reasonable measure; people just don’t prioritize the purchase of music
[I don’t know that they ever did at the local level]
and perversely that seems even more the case with people we love and who love us – while I often give people free copies of stuff, very few of the people I know have ever purchased one of my books or records
[those that have are a blessing f
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations- though their melancholy was te
Over the course of the summer, I’ve been in training for my 2nd degree karate black-belt test
[two weeks from now :) ]
which has entailed digging out of a deep, slothful hole – last year was a write-off in terms of fitness. Running has played a large part of my return to fitness and, as ever, I’m enjoying the process as well as the benefits.
A couple of years’ back I shared a number of videos that helped me improve my form and stamina.
If you read the post, you
I woke up today to a request to share some of the background to Rough Diamonds, track 7 from Turquoise Cyan Sapphire. So, here goes…
Rough Diamonds was originally written and recorded in about 1998, and started off with that main picked guitar riff
[for those playing along at home, it’s my ES-335 fitted with Seymour Duncan P-Rails playing that part throughout the TCS version]
once again, the riff is a function of my broken hands, so lots of drone strings – though
10 years ago, bloated bodies floated in the water of NOLA as Hurricane Katrina’s storm surge overcame the levees.
I dreamed of drowning; water as emotion, emotion as water.
With so many brothers and sisters from Louisiana, I knew that unlike other tragedies, I would be unable to look away, unable to avoid the reality of what was happening in a city and state that has brought me great friendship and love.
I faced the deluge with my eyes and heart wide open.
Just Love is the sixth track on Turquoise Cyan Sapphire, my record of “nearly blues”.
Though this record saw me revisiting some older material
[as I did on Grope]
there are several completely new songs written while tracking the record, and Just Love is one of them. It arrived while noodling on my Cole Clark Angel in my dining room, which is rapidly becoming a songwriting hub for me
[ley lines, I think]
the first couplet providing th
Today, for the first time in almost a year, I added new words to RUFUS, one of my novels-in-progress.
I’m going to let that sink in for a moment
[for myself, more than for you, sorry]
The longest I shelved a novel – or at least one that got finished – was the 5 years when Do Sparrows Eat Butterflies? sat at 60 pages. I’ve written about the whys and wherefores of that block several times before, so I won’t cover the ground again. Besides, it’s hardly