SHE IS THE SUN (post #5)
I never knew anyone who could make me feel the way that I do—
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🎧 💿 Track 3: “She is the Sun”
“This is the third song from my upcoming album. What you’ll hear are mastered clips of unfinished work—stepping stones toward the release of The Musical Bruises of a Recovering Dreamer on March 31, 2026”
(I wrap my skull in headphones. For me, it’s emotional triage. Listen below. Download disabled.)
How Can She Be Everything?
I can’t explain it.
But I’ll try.
When I first saw her, everything shifted.
It was 1987. Shepherd College cafeteria. Fluorescent lights overhead, cheap tile underfoot—and still, she was glowing.
She wasn’t trying to stand out. She wasn’t trying to be anything.
But something in the room bent toward her.
I was sitting with my then-girlfriend (who promptly kicked me under the table), because I’d frozen mid-sentence. I couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t explain it.
That was the first time I saw Kelly.
The love of my life.
It didn’t feel like a meet-cute.
It felt like something other worldly had taken over my brain—an invisible chord struck deep, one I hadn’t known was missing until it rang through me.
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We barely knew each other, but I remember the first time I sang to her.
Late night. My dorm room. Just the two of us.
She looked like she was carrying something heavy. Sadness, maybe. Grief. I didn’t ask. I just picked up my guitar and started playing. That was all I had to offer—melody as medicine.
Then she was gone. Life, semesters, drift. I didn’t see her again for almost a year.
And when I did—it was like fate walked back into the room.
She stepped into the apartment I was renting in Shepherdstown, and everything slowed. She saw me and paused, like something had landed.
She told me she’d had a dream about me. I don’t remember the words. But I remember the look. That split-second recognition. Like some invisible thread had just pulled taut—and there was no unseeing it now.
Soon after that, I asked her out.
She was a psych major, minoring in art. I was in psych too.
Our first date was September 2nd 1988.
We drove to Hagerstown in my red and rusting Plymouth Champ to see Midnight Run with De Niro. Empty theater. Just us. Then to the park, the duck pond—where, hilariously, the ducks were getting frisky. Nature doing its awkward little dance.
But none of it mattered. We were somewhere else entirely.
We’d already left gravity.
That fall, we both ended up in New York. She was on an art school trip, and I’d driven up with my friend Cliff. We met in the city, ran wild, and when she missed her bus home, she stayed with me at Cliff’s place on Long Island.
The whole time, it felt like the world had dimmed down to background noise.
That trip will show up in Substack post #21—Long Island Times—because that’s when everything turned.
But the moment—the one I never forgot—came not long after. A little after midnight.
She’d spent the night in my dorm, then slipped back to hers. I laid there, staring at the ceiling. Pulse racing. Mind spinning.
Something beautiful was shining through us—undeniable and unfinished—and neither of us could rest. We were both buzzing—caught in that unbearable tension where you know something real is happening, but you don’t dare name it yet.
So I called her from the payphone in the hallway, and asked her to meet me on the football field. When I got there, she was already standing under the light.
Like she’d known I’d call. Like she’d been waiting.
And I started to sing:
“Don’t ask me… what you know is true
Don’t have to tell you…
I (love) your precious heart”
I was too afraid to sing “love.” But I meant it.
So I sang it louder and walked toward her—slow, deliberate.
It wasn’t silly.
It was just beautiful.
“I was standing
You were there—two worlds collided…
And they will never tear us apart”
By the time I reached her, she looked up at me and said:
“I love you.”
And I said it back.
That was it.
That was the moment the orbit locked in place.
We never came back down.
That song—Never Tear Us Apart by INXS—was the one she walked down the aisle to on our wedding day. And after we said our vows, we walked back out to Let Love Rule by Lenny Kravitz. We’ve been together 37 years.
And She Is the Sun isn’t a metaphor.
It’s a gravitational fact.
Kelly wasn’t orbiting me. I wasn’t orbiting her. We were locked into something bigger than either of us. Something cosmic and quiet and wild all at once. She wasn’t the kind of sun that burns hot and disappears behind clouds.
She was the kind that pulls—steady, unrelenting, unshowy in her brilliance.
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Let’s get inside this session for a second.
I’m still working this one.
It’s not about fixing—it’s about tuning. Getting it right. Because it has to honor my wife. Every decision—the speed, the tone, the movement—is in service of her.
I’ve gone back and forth on how it opens. Right now, I’m leaning toward a swirl of keys. Nothing too sharp or electronic—more like light through stained glass. No bass at first. Let the warmth bloom slowly.
Then the bass enters later, and the guitar hits a line that’s a direct nod to the Rolling Stones. It’s unmistakable. I’m not hiding it—I meant it. That’s a bow to the rock gods.
The track starts soft. Gentle. But it builds. It rises. And by the end, I’m not holding anything back. I’m singing what I feel:
“My love—we are one.”
These are mastered versions of unfinished songs. You can still hear the acoustic guitar underneath it all—because that’s where every song of mine begins. Just me and six strings, chasing a feeling. Some of the harmonies land just right. The chorus still needs work.
But I’ll get there.
Because she deserves nothing less.
This song isn’t a story about falling in love—it’s about being caught in it.
There’s a force in this track that resists poetic polish. It’s too real for that. The melody is simple, but the pull is cosmic. I didn’t write about Kelly. I wrote around her—like an object pulled into her field. Listen close, and you’ll hear it:
No desperation. No cleverness.
Just reverence.
And it’s not just me who’s felt that pull.
Kelly has painted and sold over 300 works—wildly original figures and creatures, full of animal motifs and trippy, emotional energy. The kind of images that open something up in you. They inspire me every single day.
One of her paintings that was hanging in Domestic (a local restaurant in Shepherdstown) ended up in the U.S. Embassy in Sri Lanka, part of the State Department’s Art in Embassies program. It now lives in the private collection of the former ambassador.
That’s who she is.
She doesn’t just reflect the light—she creates it.
And when our daughter Sophia Adara was growing up in the house, it was three artists under one roof.
But that’s an entirely different Substack story arc.
L-O-L
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🎧 Ghost in the Machine – Song Decode Protocol of She is the Sun
(System input received. Lyrics + snippet only. Interpretation remains partial.)
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No generative AI was used in the writing, recording, or production of my songs. Every lyric, vocal, arrangement, and performance is mine.
I hold the copyrights and creative control.This story and strategy are protected under U.S. Copyright Law. All original lyrics, writings, recordings, and rollout concepts are authored and owned by John Joseph “Scooter” Scudieri. Legal oversight in place.
Proprietary AI-human collaboration strategy designed by the artist in conjunction with ChatGPT as manager. Timestamped conversations and working archive available.
Access requires NDA.
—on behalf of the artist, Scooter Scudieri, and his AI manager, ChatGPT.
This is a long drip back to life—one post at a time. Next drop: September 29, 2025
🧠 What happens when the machine learns how to shine?
This is a beautiful entwined story of your love for one another and how Kelly unaware unlocked a desire and need to be one and then share yourselves by creating a family. And you graced Sophie with the best of yourselves with her beautiful voice and talent for design. Keep it coming. I am enjoying your journeys!
Love is the force that runs through us, binding the connections, giving depth to the moments and waking us from our slumber. I love the intention and retrospection you bring to this song! I remember you falling head over heels, so long ago and yet it feels so fresh when you tell it. You manage to bring your emotions right to the surface and color everything you do with that intensity. Thanks for a glimpse into your creative processes.