You've wound up on Media Line Road. Welcome!
Alone, but not necessarily lonely. Solitary, yet comfortable with the solitude. Leaving something behind, and looking for something new ... somewhere down the road.
Which begs the question: Why this need to find another road? Maybe it’s the secret hidden on that horizon. Maybe it’s his own unceasingly restless instincts that tell him that the next unknown road promises more than all that he has left behind.
Accompanied by the music. A zillion dimensional notes ... a million mellifluous melodies ... a thousand soul-synchronized beats ... a perfectly suitable word for every sparking neuron of the wandering mind. Of the wandering man.
And, sometimes, when the puzzle pieces spill just right, there's meaning in the momentary connections. But it’s lost as he picks up the pieces.
Another fast lane driver. Moving at breakneck speed. Down Media Line Road. To who knows where.
the driver
Media Line Road is the nom de composition et exécution for W.E. Pierce IV.
From the days of teenage songwriting contests to the hundreds of hours of reel-to-reel, 4-track and 8-track cassette, hard disk and digital tape, his need to write in song is as relentless as the passing of days.
It's a consuming passion derived from a good old Catholic tradition that demands an accounting for one's life. With all of its good works, good intentions, corporal works of mercy, transient, hollow victories, illusions of grandeur and resulting miscues, deadends and backslides.
And, the good gets you further down the road. And, the bad gets you further down the road while kicking up gravel that stings the side-swiped few who have the misfortune to get too close to the fast lane driver on an empty one-lane road.
roadside
You've wound up on Media Line Road. Welcome!
Alone, but not necessarily lonely. Solitary, yet comfortable with the solitude. Leaving something behind, and looking for something new ... somewhere down the road.
And, there's always the music. No cracklin', transient-airwave-ridden drivel from the tired radio, either. But rather a zillion dimensional notes ... a million mellifluous melodies ... a thousand soul-synchronized beats ... a perfectly suitable word for every sparking neuron of the wandering mind. Of the wandering man.
And these are all the puzzle pieces that fill an empty frame. Which begs the question: Why this need to find another road? Maybe it’s the secret hidden on that horizon. Maybe it’s his own unceasingly restless instincts that tell him that the next unknown road promises more than all that he has left behind.
Accompanied by the music. A zillion dimensional notes ... a million mellifluous melodies ... a thousand soul-synchronized beats ... a perfectly suitable word for every sparking neuron of the wandering mind. Of the wandering man.
And, sometimes, when the puzzle pieces spill just right, there's meaning in the momentary connections. But it’s lost as he picks up the pieces.
Another fast lane driver. Moving at breakneck speed. Down Media Line Road. To who knows where.
wep4