to stumble and fumble into dance

to awaken into dreaming and take the bigger chance

to take yourself by the hand and begin again the sacred romance.

Retro East Coast hiphop + pseudo-evangelical rhetorical extravagance + my Persian دوتار and the ney I made from discarded steel conduit.

My voice grew confident. All concerns for innovating in the purely technical aspects of music seem trivial: what matters is that my words get across, that my voice is precise in emotional coloration, that the imagination trembles, that the nerves and muscles mirror the verbal undulations.

"The fiery gate, disillusionment. The power of a question mark, hanging all over what you love."