There are days when it seems like there is some light at the end of this tunnel (these days more so), reaching back a few weeks the initial memory is so strange now, as if we just stumbled or fell blindly into this gigantic pit and a singular tunnel was the only way out, along the way lights of rumor or cures have lit up hope, and other times days bumbling about in the absolute dark, sometimes afraid to even move, listening carefully for any glimmer whisper, trying to imagine where the horizon is, where or if the dawn will come, wanting to move in that direction without harm, using distraction to pass the hours, and hours, and hours, wondering if everyone you talk to is a carrier, or are you the one who will cause others to be infected, two fold parallel paranoia cascade that slowly chews at your exterior, bit by bite, one bite is no big deal but the accumulation begins to feel more real, especially as the days move on and stay grey, rain, rain, just the sound sometimes is enough to know the sun is done for the day, and obscured light, deprives hope of needed sustenance, realization is a rock, a foundation, a tool, a better one than distraction, which is only fleeting and needs constant reconfiguration, realization that there has to be an end to this, the unprecedented ‘this’, well, at least for this generational mix, the analogy we are sold is war, but no war has been battled here, on this ground, on our turf for so long, except for the wars in history books, and reenactment hooks, those seem unreal, you ‘know‘ they were real, but the feel? to be honest, is just not there, even Washington crossing the Delaware, right here in my state, and I have been there, the very spot, seems like a fairy tale or a children’s book, when our states were not even a states as we know them now, hard to imagine those days, we are of course a product made of our own time frame construct, this is our when and now, and this is for us to endure more as a whole nation than before, so we are struggling to emerge from our sudden subterranean existence, to find and clutch that beloved normal terrace once again, even if we will be miles of locations from there in the end, as normal will move to a different point by then, “cautiously optimistic” the mantra, the meme, repeat it with me now, I do not want to be a doomsayer, or a naysayer, nor a smiling glowing peach blowing smoke up the collective posterior, somewhere in-between I think, signs of life seem to be emerging, is this just the manifestation of spring? my imagination? a combination thereof, or is this all some strange fantasy playing like a simulation in my mind, the days have seemed brighter as of late, there is still this strange silence at night compared to my memory, and still a colder than usual temperature stowaway hiding onboard, maybe I feel the weekend peeking around the door, or sense the pulse of the pending holiday, the traditional signal of summer, Memorial Day, a dinner bell to the beach for the masses, lines of cars reaching miles back on the Driscoll bridge, a time to break out the swimming pools, some fake sand and out of place palm trees, burgers and dogs on the grill, all these things float like dreams out there, beyond the tunnel end, but I think I can catch a glimpse of them, hopefully, not a hallucination after wandering these some months in a tunnel, that seemed to have no end…

totally unrelated audio, aside from the name, a band I always loved, call it sludge, call it metal, sloppy bass heavy metal with near scream vox, that is fudge tunnel, sometimes you just want to let loose and groove, lyrics? who cares, feel?  yeah… and hell yeah… groove on down the road, they got chops, and the bass sound is sick, so deal…