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September 17, 2012
All that are left are old battles, old pathways that have been trodden many times before.

These fingers have flittered over those keys, those notes. Worn down the plastic until smooth and dull. Worn down the same solos until dulled and dusty. Until they crumble into emptyness.

Originality has dried up. Evaporated. The ruts have been too well-dug to allow further movement, further creativity.

All I can do is play that lick again, move those fingers that fast again. Use that major seventh, that flattened third, just like you always do. Play it, just like you always do. Play.