February 20-26, 2026

February 20–26, 2026 — No Sleep, New Noise

Sometimes I think I’m losing my fucking mind. Not in a collapse way. Not depressed. Not spiraling. I actually feel pretty good. Stable. But there’s a line between focused and obsessive, and I know exactly where that line is because I keep stepping over it.

This week I was deep in the memoir again, working the chapters I’m publishing. Then, on a lark, I opened an old project—almost twenty-five years old. A concept album. I wrote the lyrics back then. Wrote the vocal melodies. Sang the whole thing. It came from a dark period of my life, and the main character was darker than I was willing to admit at the time.

Out of curiosity, I ran one of the songs through Suno’s “cover” feature. It doesn’t rewrite the song; it just reimagines it, like another band interpreting it. That was Friday. I had Monday off. By the time I surfaced, I’d done all fourteen tracks. I barely slept. Didn’t think about food. Just kept going.

And here’s the uncomfortable part: I’m happy with the results.

I sent a few tracks to my old co-writer. He was skeptical at first. I don’t blame him. The idea sounds cheap. Synthetic. But he kept listening. Now he’s coming over Saturday, and we’re talking about taking this somewhere real.

It’s strange. I’m revisiting a character I wrote when I was in a genuinely dark place, and I’m using AI to help reinterpret him. That sentence sounds absurd. But there’s truth in it. I’m not using it to hide anything. I’m using it to strip away what was theatrical and see what was actually me. The technology is just a lens. The darkness was always mine.

This isn’t the Diane Method. Not directly. There’s no structured truth-telling loop here. No deliberate excavation. It’s music. It’s momentum. It’s obsession. But it’s doing something to me mentally that feels adjacent to the same engine. It keeps me lit up. It keeps me moving.

I also know this pattern. Hours vanish. Sleep shrinks. Meals become optional. The room gets smaller. It’s not healthy in the conventional sense. But it’s how I survive certain seasons. I build something. I disappear into it. I come back out different.

Right now, I’m somewhere in the middle of that tunnel.