I’m never going to get it right.

Anything I do is tied to the tired notion of the disarming yet deceptive world of music, and how to communicate out about it.

But I must admit all I use is hyperbole, alcoholism and a blind will to squeeze out another fleeting moment between the bass and the tile floor of some sad dancefloor.

I know I can be something, enough here in the sounds of a rosy love story, called The Nation Ocean.

Please don’t take it seriously. I get super passionate, and have a very strange writer’s voice when I go down the sonic rabbit hole.

Forgive me if I go off on tangents and side stories. So many music rags these days are so goddamn boring, and I’ve attempted too many times to try and fit into their molds, only to fail so boldly.

So this is my little space to play in. My sandbox to kick and build from.

It’s a time I have all by myself. It’s place I can be me without excuses. Just stream of thoughts and a swagger track by track.

Won’t you join me on this misadventure?

I promise you nothing but the imperfect accidents and all the flaws you can’t handle.

Kiss my ears and then wait for the next song to tell us if things are all right.

I hear the hum coming through the speakers now.