I usually don’t do this…
Started piano lessons when I was six. Did it for a long time. Got a keyboard when I was 12. Played in first paid band at 15. Sundays at the South Inn Bar in Bay City, Michigan. Haly Quartet. Bluegrass (with electric bass). We played Bill Monroe, Bela Fleck and Dead tunes while my dad sat proudly at the bar with a glass of beer. Started smoking weed and stuff later. Played in jambands. Went to college. Toured in jambands, reggae, latin, ska bands. Played in black-box orchestras, backed up singers, scored films, hosted shows on student and public radio. Emailed my old piano teacher a few years ago and she stopped responding after I sent her a video of me playing.
Had Mrs. Harrison as a creative writing teacher in 9th and 10th grade. Wrote poems and met other people who wrote poems. Read a poem about taking a shit and Bob Hicok said “nice poem.” Learned from people who wrote poems. Read a lot of poems, published a few. Got peoples’ poems into magazines, edited the shit out of peoples’ poems. Spent a lot of Uncle Sam’s money learning about how to teach poems. Glancing at poems these days. If Pete or Fitz says I should check it out, sure, I’ll check it out.
Found a camera. Took a couple of pictures. Started trying to figure out how to take photos.
Found a camera again. Figured out that I should stop trying to figure out how to take photos.
Stopped learning how to take photos, which reminded me — stop learning how to write poems. Stop trying to write a song. Spend more time dusting your piano and less time letting it sit in the corner like an unwalked dog. Get it some new strings. Take it for a few chords.
A hummingbird doesn’t care which kind of sugar it gets. All that’s for sure is that a hummingbird needs sugar.