matt pond PA

December 8, 2015

Second Guesses And Second Chances.

If nothing else, I’ll sprint down the street and get lost tracing the number eight in the back of my mind.

I wrote about my obsession with running and the serpentine symbol last week. And then pressed delete.

The words were forced. I was superficial. There’s nothing worse than being a fake. There’s nothing more disappointing when I’m the one that isn’t real.

Eagerness sometimes encourages me to write and post words before I’ve thought them through.

Impatience is what made me ignore the signs with our present management and label, rushing into a situation that could’ve easily been avoided by a composed point of view.

Thoughtlessness is what helped me break my leg, trying to wrestle a clumsy drummer in Pontiac, Michigan.

Still, throwing myself into writing songs without thinking is the only way I could have accomplished anything musical. Trying to tame the impulsive pull and thrill of gas pedals and guitars is as unrealistic as heeding the pain swelling in my shins.

Because I don’t totally feel finished. I believe there’s still more to say through songs. It’s under my skin and in my blood. I can’t restrain myself with music. I know I can go further.