My mother introduced me to early form of accompaniment when she did what many musically inclined mothers do: signed her son up for piano lessons.

It was here, diffused within minor and major chords, that I learned about accompaniment, or rather, about being an accompanist.  Back then it was all black and white.  The goal was straightforward: Play music to support another, and when finished, smile--or nod.

Stories are also a form of accompaniment.  They tend to stick with us, especially the narratives that hold substance, and by substance that may very well include libations, or the people that

The only mission behind this space is what any online collection of considered words hopes to do--mean something.  Or, in the least, it's an organization of things I've written, things other people have written, and a space filled with beautifully suspect analogies, and, on occasion, childhood superhero references. 

Many thanks for visiting.

-A