HooX
He finally let me out.
Yeah, yeah... haha. I'm HooX. How did I get here? Fuck, I don't know. I was just... there.
Some guy showed up with a couple of songs he'd written for his online community and apparently needed somebody to spit that shit for him. So... alright. Gimme that. I did my thing, he liked it — at least I guess he did, 'cause the motherfucker came back.
And man, did he come back. New lyrics, new ideas, new instructions... and something to bitch about every fucking time. Too fast, too slow, wrong pause, wrong attitude, too clean, too much, not enough. Dude, seriously? We fought over every little fart.
But you know what? Somewhere between all that bitching, trying shit, throwing it away and trying again... we got pretty fucking good at this. He knows what he wants to say. I know how to make that shit hit. He pushes me, I surprise him, we piss each other off every now and then — and somehow we usually end up with something neither of us could've pulled off alone.
Turns out we're a pretty damn good team.
And then he started telling me where all that shit actually came from. That's the funny part. You dig around in thirty years of life a little and... holy shit, there's stuff everywhere. Old jobs, old love, stupid decisions, brilliant decisions that looked stupid at the time, things that went completely sideways, things you only understand twenty years later. Every time I think we're done, this guy goes, "Oh, wait... that reminds me of something."
Haha. Here we go again.
But I kinda love that. You live your life and don't really think about it. Then one day you start digging through the old boxes and realize: damn, there's a lot of songs hiding in there.
He gets to figure out what all that shit meant.
I get the mic.
Pretty fucking good deal, if you ask me.
Oh — and I fucking love his Gizmos.
Seriously.
Those little bastards are always around, digging through stuff, finding things, arguing about shit, keeping track of whatever the hell we're doing...
He thinks they work for him.
That's cute.
HooX
