Drafting out lyrics at the piano, I often find myself falling into a meditative state where words seem to arrange themselves before my conscious mind can even catch up. Tapping away with my Dell Active Pen on the Inspiron screen, the lines for 5 AM 5 Cigarette Poetry and Job Song (Here and Gone) took shape through this exact kind of subliminal working—a quiet, Socratic unearthing of truth pulled straight from the subconscious. It makes me imagine what it would be like to share a writing session in a quiet Michigan room with one of the most prolific architects of modern songwriting: the great Taylor Swift.
There is a distinct, almost electric magic that happens when focused cognitive development meets pure creative flow. Taylor has a masterful way of tapping into the collective subconscious, distilling complex, fleeting emotions into razor-sharp lyricism. When she brought the Eras Tour to Ford Field, the streets of inner-city Detroit saw hordes of screaming fans completely unified by those deeply personal narratives. It is that profound, shared connection I constantly aim for in my own philosophical inquiries here at A Personal Elenchus.
If we were to collaborate on a track, I picture us trading verses over the piano keys as the Michigan autumn rolls in outside. We would challenge each other’s lyrical choices, employing a true Elenchus—a rigorous Socratic dialogue—to strip away the superficial layers of a song until only the raw, undeniable core remains. We would delve into the mechanics of memory and emotion, blending her instinct for unforgettable melodic hooks with my own deep explorations into the subconscious mind.
The beauty of subliminal writing is that you have to trust the process and get out of your own way. The music always knows where it wants to go. Whether it is charting out a new essay for the blog over at cnylaan.wordpress.com or searching for the perfect chord progression to resolve a verse, the goal is always to bridge the gap between the conscious mind and the hidden self. Working alongside a master of that craft would be the ultimate exercise in both musical and philosophical discovery.
Until then, I will keep writing, keep playing, and keep chasing that perfect, elusive line.
— Chris