Koala

Music is a Koala. You climb and you climb – up up and away. Sharp little claws digging into the old tree of life. Muscles tense, teeth clenched, hanging on. Leaves swipe you in the face, as everybody else scurries up their own tree. Underneath the soil, the same roots, interwined, hopelessly, beautifully tangled.

Halfway up, you start to feel lazy. Lethargic, the energy sapped from your arms, the fire cooling down in your heart. Closing your eyelids, let the breeze of the concrete jungle swirl around your skin. Downtown LA skyscrapers in paradise — clinging onto some palm tree of your youth.

Music is a Koala. When you are, it’s life. Joy, sustenance, daily bread. Not musicfriend, not music business, just music. Take a munch on some leafy greens, feed the soul, nourish your body. Exhale, the breeze leading you to your muse. Let the pressure fall to the ground, floating like a kind leaf.

Music is a Koala. Soft, furry, fuzzy. But if you force it, prod it, poke it the wrong way, put it’ll turn ugly. Animal ugly – fangs reared, paws swiping, blood drawn on a canvas face. Music is a Koala.