Vibrational Disharmony

 One of the reasons I've always sought out my own living place.   A cabin in the woods. An insulated home that only hears the sounds of nature and the silence of a recording booth is because of vibrational sensitivity.  

I don't know if it's a form of autism or just a strange fluke in my brains development but I'm very sensitive to the sounds of my  environment.   Particularly when I'm trying to compose or write.   

My writing process is weird.  It's more like composing than penning in certain regards.   
As I take in data, information, or set my brain on a path of creating a word scape you'll see me nodding my head, my fingers dancing in the air, and often times just trying very hard to tune out the things around me.   

And that's because I hear the words, feel the pen under my finger, feel the resistance of the keys.  So that when I do finally sit down with paper or keyboard the words flow with something more like a violinist running their bow of strings or a flautist keying out the melody of a concerto.   

So when, after a night of preparation I let myself drift off into what is never really a restful sleep but a constructive one that takes all of the random bits of information and snatches of tunes a formed piece, or sections of one, or a story will have coalesced into something comprehensible and I'll haul myself in front of my keyboard or pull a notebook to me and start drafting.    

The problem I have trying to write while living around other people is the interruption to the rhythms. Like having a wrench thrown into an engine running smoothly, or a runner in a sprint having someone stumble into their path.   

The damage is rarely irreparable but getting back into stride is a process in and of it's self.   

And right now, as with this piece that is largely complaining about the interruptions to the process I find myself floundering after being woke by thumping on the ceiling and tinny music being blasted to the point of ear damage a full weeks worth of prep is essentially set back to null.  

Now...fuck...gone...rhythm gone.