I am wandering for now. Between some high, blurry patches and a very simple, even primitive gamut progression. I wander and don't know which direction to go first, or for how long, or if anything here leads to something, or if I should look for something more and so on. Such wandering could be pleasant, it seems, but somehow it is not. It torments.

I vividly remembered the moment I first picked up a guitar. I must have been about twelve, it had to be some boring weekend. I long nudged the empty strings, in a loop from the lowest to the highest. I didn't experience any mystical insights, but something in that strange, undefined six-tone spoke to me. It sounded a bit harsh and unsettling, and a bit lofty. When I pressed my forehead against the soundboard, it sounded resonant and provoked irritatingly soothing vibrations in my skull.

Then I persuaded my father (with difficulty) to teach me something more—chords for the song "Two Little Dogs". I played them endlessly. My father was convinced that this material would discourage me from further attempts and from music in general. He was mistaken.