For as many weeks, I’ve been the humblest of souls, searching for a sign as to whether or not I should continue working, pouring, obsessing over this little space of mine.

Since early 2006, Pulp and Circumstance has been my greatest bedfellow, my baby, a space in which to express my undying love for all things musical, and a way for me to exercise one of, what I consider, to be my greatest saviors: writing.

But to not just write for the “sake” of having an audience, or to hear my inner monologue on music dispensed about the wider web, but to catalog the greater part of what I’ve listened to, adored, hated, desired, weeped over, heck, danced like a maniac alone, or with others, to, musically speaking. It became a little library of loves, the perfect embodiment of where I am at a time, where I might be going, and where maybe, I’ll end up.

And yes, all through music that other people have created.

There have been many moments on this journey where I’ve wanted to hang it out to dry, give up, forget about the whole thing, but nothing has been as powerful as the silence I’ve endured over the course of the last month in order to sort it all out. Is this really my passion? Can I continue?

What many of you probably may not realize is that it takes unending time and effort for me to decide what I’ll post, and when, and how. What will I say about this piece of music without sounding like an asshat? And do I have to say anything at all? Does anyone even care? Do I care if anyone cares?

It’s a process I go through so that I can try and avoid being mundane, unfunny, long winded, or excruciatingly pretentious. I want to do justice to the music that has made my life feel….well, just invigorated, heated, downtrodden, or heck, straight up euphoric.

I hate endings. I wept like a spoilt child having a fit through the last 25 minutes of Control (and there’s proof in that pudding, I promise)–not only because Ian Curtis had ended such a prized life in music and writing, but because, the story was ending, too, and I was afraid to leave the darkened theater and forget how full Joy Division’s music made me; how the first time I heard “Atmosphere” at 15 years old, I thought it couldn’t be possible to listen to another band again, and felt downright cheated out of ever getting the chance to feel this band live, to maybe get close to Ian, to hold the ticket stub in my pocket, to place it on my childhood bedroom mirror after a gig.

But, what I’ve realized, is nothing really ever ends. I can’t give this up because its a cycle; its a course; its a track I’m on. It’s that mountain you climb, never thinking you’ll reach the top. But does there have to be a top? No, there can be valleys, and peaks, and dips, and turns. And there can be silences–small and great. And it doesn’t matter if anyone is listening to your echo. You are. And if it feels too quiet, you can blast Ian Curtis to get by.

And so, thanks to so many kind words from many of you, I’ve decided to plod along in this little musical writing endeavor. I can’t promise I’ll post daily, or even weekly. But I’ll post. About all those things I can’t describe, want to describe, those bands that are just doing stellar things, at least in my humblest of humble opinions.

So thank you. I suppose I’m no Dead Soul yet.