What do Kurt Russell and Rihanna have in common? As far as I know, nothing except this blog.

Last night I dreamt that Kurt Russell, star of such films as Stargate and Big Trouble in Little China, led a group of animal rights activist/terrorists into my old home, where they released a number of small mammals and hid massive bees nests around the house. The bees stung me all over, as I frantically chased down cats and chipmunks.  It was an inconvenient detail that I was dressed only in my underwear.   An elderly activist/terrorist was also stung, and went into anaphalactic shock - I  honorably picked her up underneath her armpits, and tossed her outside into the snow, clear of the attacking insects, then in a sobbing fit of emotional rage tackled Kurt Russell down a flight of stairs, breaking his neck under my bodyweight.

The dream doesn't immediately lend itself to interpretation.

Show went well the other night; attendance was good. I covered Rocky Raccoon by the Beatles, inserting the first verse and chorus from Rihanna's Umbrella during the bridge; it was a hit medley.  A new song, somewhat inspired by discussion and consideration of protest music, specifically Dylan's younger years, and Working Class Hero by John Lennon, was also debuted.  Feedback was good.  After my set, I relaxed into a comfy armchair, and let  The Accident that Led Me to the World blow my effing mind.  I was privileged to play with them.   Later in the evening my friend Mike held a bonfire in the shallow woods by his residence, where I fell into an existential introspection regarding the divide between the music I love, and the music I make.  It is entirely impossible, though it can't stop me from trying, to objectively critique my own work as a musician.  Would I like it were I not its creator?

If the music I create is an expression of who I am, then perhaps it makes sense that I would have an ambiguous reaction to it: I am after all human, and rife with character flaws.  In a social context, I'm not ashamed of these qualities.  At times I embrace them.

 A friend of mine recently said, "Anything you can say about music, you can say about life."  A stubborn man could prove him wrong, but I understood what he meant.  It is quite weird, however, to investigate the depth of myself by analyzing the depth of my musical expression.  Perhaps I should leave it to the critics.