There was probably a point sometime around last year where i stopped being a writer and I started being a musician. And then I realised with not a little surprise that it was the same thing. The only thing which keeps me going at all this is that spark of wonder that wakes me up in the morning whispering 'Inexplicably, I am alive. I don't know why. But is it not beautiful?' It is beautiful, oh it is beautiful.

Inexplicably we are alive. Somehow we fumble our way through the recesses of this world, clueless as to where we came from. We cling to each other, quite afraid. The highest faculty we possess is empathy (Phillip K. Dick got this one right) - the ability to recognise that same wonder and fear in another person.

Inexplicably we are alive. Consciousness is a nested existential crisis. I have no reason to exist. If i did not exist, I would not be wondering why I exist. I respond with fear. I respond with wonder. The world has no explanation. It is wild and beautiful.

Inexplicably we are alive. Individuality is the only undisputable fact and the only insoluble mystery. Is a person more than the sum of his parts? I am proud of myself because I exist. I have no reason to exist. I have no reason to be proud except my individuality. I am separate from you, I am sovereign. You are sovereign; you are my brother.

Experience is sacred. Art is the worship of experience.

adam