until my whole head fills up with water, and there are enough tadpoles and pond scum in and around my larynx that i can not sing
and enough algae in my ears that i can not be forced to hear the already immortalized forms of my recent vocal expeditions.
Singing into a microphone that picks up every tiny eeny weeny little fraction of my voice
that is then blasted back into my ears the very second my lungs get it out of me
makes me want to be a really tiny little person and crawl into my throat
and sit amongst that tall jungle of sound to get intimate with the cracks and tones of my voice in good humour and good fun
instead of having to fret that this is take 20 000 and i am no closer to a non-disgusting take than i was 20 000 takes ago.
getting home and lying in my bed with my headphones on...
having the pleasure of listening to these songs that now are more like friends to me...
so close to my heart-
listening! without having to even move a muscle: pure bliss.
to have them sung to me! makes me a puddle of relaxed and satisfied melted joy with a headache.