Motivation appeared to arise from the ceaseless encroachment of boredom and the rejection of his seemingly purposeless existence. Nevertheless, his heart persevered in its rhythmic pumping, and his brain persisted in maintaining awareness of both inner and outer surroundings, conjuring creations seemingly out of nothingness. And so he did. Like a simplistic, pre-programmed robot, he followed his script: breathing, eating, defecating, writing, singing—engaging in whatever was expected of him from one moment to the next. Choice never entered the equation. He embodied the type of person who embraced this reality.
He was well aware that there would be no payoff. He understood that his dreams would inevitably grow overpowering, their fulfillment unattainable within this dimension. With the passage of time, he realized that his creative energy waned, his motivations dwindled. His consciousness extended up to a certain point, where he recognized that the realization of his full potential would forever elude him, gradually eroding his soul. Perhaps in an alternate universe where circumstances aligned differently, he could achieve it—but not here. No. His role in life would endure as just another obscure, inconsequential musician in the annals of musical history.
"So what?" he pondered. Human musical history merely constituted a minuscule droplet within the vast cosmic expanse. In the blink of an eye, the contributions of Bach, Beethoven, Beatles, Cole Porter, Stravinsky, Monk, Taylor Swift, and their ilk could fade into oblivion—already forgotten or soon to be.
Yet, for a fleeting instance, he held onto the belief that he, like those who had influenced and inspired him, could dispatch his music into the boundless vacuum of space through radio waves. In that domain, at least, the signal would traverse eternity, conceivably reaching some distant alien receptor, baffling the unsuspecting listener with an organized cacophony. However, reality debunked this notion. His feeble broadcast signals degraded rapidly over a mere light-year, indistinguishable from the static echoes of the cosmic background noise emanating from the fabled big bang. Essentially, his musical ingenuity became a “get it while it’s hot” endeavor, with only a scant few ever grasping it.
And so, that was that.
credits
from Artificial Tales Of Gleep And Whimsy (Vol. 2),
released November 6, 2023
JT : Programming, Mix
Judy Stench : Voice
Recorded and Mixed at Suburban Hermit Studios III, Ronkonkoma, NY
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