Then I see it. Sitting on a stool in the corner with a hundred years' worth of dust and dead bees on it. I'll brush off the corpses and pick up the book- it will have no title- and, breathlessly, I will open it. The first page I see will be somewhere in the middle: it will be blank. Confused, I'll flip through the rest of the pages and discover that, yes, all of them are blank.
I'll sigh, disappointed. After all, this is my Bible- I had expected something amazing. I'll buy it anyway, just for the hell of it, but I'll forget it at a coffee shop a few minutes later. After I leave, the barista will notice it, grab it, and run out into the street to give it to me (she thought I was cute, it was one more opportunity to get my number) but I'll be gone already. So she'll take it home, discover it's blank, and spot a pen on the table. "Oh, why not?" she'll mutter, and write a few stories that float in her head, stories of princes and dragons and all the wonderful and terrible things she's heard and thought and felt. The next day, she'll forget it at a restaurant, and a friendly waiter will notice it, grab it, and run out into the street to give it to her (he thought she was cute, it was one more opportunity to get her number) but she'll be gone already. So he'll take it home, discover it's blank...
...And so my Bible travels. It never seems to run out of pages, and it has a habit of getting forgotten (curiously, it also displays a kind of aphrodisiac effect among food-service workers) and finding a new owner. It's filled with stories of every kind, breathtaking and dull, thoughtful and pulpy, hilarious and heartbreaking. And one day, it will find its way back to me.
Or maybe not. I did say "probably" at the beginning of that, y'know.
Anyway, I finished two songs! One is an adorable love song with some fun finger-picking. The other is about Lovecraftian horror. I'm pretty sure I am the most confusingly versatile artist in the world. But mmm, songs.
