Sometimes I think that the only way to understand all that has happened since is to assume that the World ended and we are experiencing a shared non-world as the last second of existence is drawn ceaselessly out as Time unthreads the Universe.
I also believe that I am making a category mistake by falling into metaphor and I will always be ceaselessly wrong while I keep falling into metaphor because I am human and a human brain will liken one thing to another automatically even though no one thing is like anything else.
My brain has the capacity to bury truth in the clearly wrong and disinter the truth from my senses as if it thinks that I am unable to handle the obvious but that is a mistake because the brain does not think it is only I that think and I think ceaselessly about what I know truly happened.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Artist's Statement [Januarly 2nd | 3/365]
a "13 ways"*
Admittedly, New York City doesn't really want to hear it.
Obviously, Nashville doesn't really want to hear it.
MySpace will pretend its listening while jacking off to movie ads.
I am linking to my video blog on Facebook, pretending its not important to me.
I am going to sing at every open mic in this weird country until my songs feels like part-time jobs.
I am not the act of applying for a job.
I am not interested in business casual Fridays.
I am not interested in making a burrito that is too spicy for God to eat.
A city is a worksite for a tower up to God.
A city is a bad dream that the architects couldn't wake up from.
Every time a band gets popular on MySpace, it becomes less possible for songwriters to call themselves architects.
The philosophers used to be the scientists.
I used to play my guitar like it could hurt silence's feelings.
*An exercise borrowed from Tara Betts of 30/30 fame. Write the same sentence 13 times. I personally interpret this very liberally, and I try not to get caught up on being consistent with it, but taking a longish sentence and rewriting it word-by-word could also pay off in spades, I'm sure.
Admittedly, New York City doesn't really want to hear it.
Obviously, Nashville doesn't really want to hear it.
MySpace will pretend its listening while jacking off to movie ads.
I am linking to my video blog on Facebook, pretending its not important to me.
I am going to sing at every open mic in this weird country until my songs feels like part-time jobs.
I am not the act of applying for a job.
I am not interested in business casual Fridays.
I am not interested in making a burrito that is too spicy for God to eat.
A city is a worksite for a tower up to God.
A city is a bad dream that the architects couldn't wake up from.
Every time a band gets popular on MySpace, it becomes less possible for songwriters to call themselves architects.
The philosophers used to be the scientists.
I used to play my guitar like it could hurt silence's feelings.
*An exercise borrowed from Tara Betts of 30/30 fame. Write the same sentence 13 times. I personally interpret this very liberally, and I try not to get caught up on being consistent with it, but taking a longish sentence and rewriting it word-by-word could also pay off in spades, I'm sure.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
In Jetpacks We Fight Entropy [January 1st | 1/365]
You are an implausible promise to myself
Like a jetpack in the sixties swooping across a child's imagination
Back then my father lived in Houston and Albany
And my aunt was born a U. S. Citizen but I am not a citizen and I
Have been waiting eighteen months to find out whether the government
Will renew my Green Card which is yet another reason why you
Are a jetpack strapped to my imagination held to the ground only by
The knowledge that the one job more dangerous than piloting a jetpack
Is being President of the United States of America and my aunt was no
Future first woman president but she was a childhood friend
To future superstars and a jetpack is not like a comet or meteor but like
A star it's destined to run out of fuel and die.
Like a jetpack in the sixties swooping across a child's imagination
Back then my father lived in Houston and Albany
And my aunt was born a U. S. Citizen but I am not a citizen and I
Have been waiting eighteen months to find out whether the government
Will renew my Green Card which is yet another reason why you
Are a jetpack strapped to my imagination held to the ground only by
The knowledge that the one job more dangerous than piloting a jetpack
Is being President of the United States of America and my aunt was no
Future first woman president but she was a childhood friend
To future superstars and a jetpack is not like a comet or meteor but like
A star it's destined to run out of fuel and die.
2009 [January 1st | 2/365]
I want whatever company whose fault it is to own up,
this constant need to self-market,
why the people we were born recognizing are never nearly enough.
I want the sport jackets to come off and the sport fucking to stop.
I want the webvertisements to die.
I want to know the bosses of me.
I want to know my food.
I want my clothes to have stories.
I want her smell on my scarf to come back from the street-smoke.
I want the cities to be strange again
and the stupid children sitting in rows all along the highway
to stop raising their hands when they don't know the answer.
this constant need to self-market,
why the people we were born recognizing are never nearly enough.
I want the sport jackets to come off and the sport fucking to stop.
I want the webvertisements to die.
I want to know the bosses of me.
I want to know my food.
I want my clothes to have stories.
I want her smell on my scarf to come back from the street-smoke.
I want the cities to be strange again
and the stupid children sitting in rows all along the highway
to stop raising their hands when they don't know the answer.
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