I’m listening to “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd, during a point in history I wish I could coax into fadeout by way of extended guitar solo.

David Gilmore described the song as “the last embers of mine and Roger’s ability to work collaboratively together,” and I’m appreciating how rare it is finding that right combination of creative spirit and caution-to-the-wind-throwing scallywag, and how thankful I am Waters and Gilmore were as prolific as they were during the brief window in which they didn’t want to garrote each other with the E strings of their guitars.

I’m reminded that sometimes creating art is easy, but most often it’s not. It can be illusive and confusing and taxing beyond measure, bringing one to The Brink, unmasking a disarmingly confident inner son of a bitch.

But then I listen to songs like “Comfortably Numb,” a song that by all accounts shouldn’t exist, and I’m grateful for the lunacy.