My fucking short attention span

If I was ten years younger and my parents were lazy, I'm sure I'd be put on a course of Ritalin. My attempts at playing more music have been achieved in many ways. I'm playing my guitar for a matter of minutes, then mucking about on Ableton and just before I came on here to write about it I got bored of my computer's pathetic memory speed and played around with a remix of Black History Month on DSS DJ. I'm playing music, but apart from a crappy drum and piano loop: I haven't come up with much.

And so I'm stood in the kitchen at 2.40am smoking a cigarette and writing.

Now I'm back in bed, slouched in a semi-horizontal position which is probably the cause of my latest back problems. (I'm such an old man. It's embarrassing.)

I want to be able to sit down and produce something vaguely artistically valid. Perhaps that's why I've diverted my attention to the warming text box of Blogger. Blogger doesn't freeze as soon as you enter some text. My computer can cope with Blogger. It doesn't demand too much from my head to try and think outside of the painfully simple (ergo useful) minor pentatonic scale that the neck of my guitar demands. Just tap away and try not to think how late it is and how much all this shit sounds like everybody who has ever been before's shit. Damn, I've fallen into that trap again.

All I wanted to do was change the world, all I managed was to change my underpants.