Entertain, inspire and uplift before you go. Give em a show. The two minute warning before death. Get your shit together. We don't know about it because the only people who hear it. Die. Some asshole on the bus. Think it was a couch out on the town.
Use that time. To entertain. To leave something behind. Do something hey. Give a little two minute speech.
Tell them! It's your last time to tell them anything. Wax eloquent. Bring it to the rafters and at the last moment proclaim 'if this is not the truth may god strike me dead!'
Let me sleep now. Don't be loud up there. No stirring around like mixed drinks.
Music theorist
Wild fantasy conjurer
blow a kiss
let the wind
send it to her
a mighty force
behind the features
hates old things
anything old
just because we are a part of this generation
doesn't mean we have to let it consume us entirely
pop culture is garbage
shiny things in the sky
kick out your chair
hang out
there
beautiful music.
no one listens to music anymore
selfish and self-fulfilled
a nice and tight rhythm section
did not get numbers
did not get fame
I will live a dream on friday though
a house party show
hopefully good enough
sober enough
to play well enough
to be recognized
as something other than a blemish
on the landscape
but finally
but finally
although there is still so much to do
remember.
tuesday - bass and paper and study and whatever
monday and wednesday are rat races
although tomorrow I have no 288
longer lunch break
work on something with that time
(do not let anything go to waste)
eat every part of the deceased
practice after. sober. read self to sleep.
oh othello, you moor of venice.
hear rhythms
fingers must hurt and wrists must be sore
must not be tired
nor restless
this is your life!
live to full capacity! god damn
everything everything
get good at everything
masterpieces and straight A's!
society and self. Succeed
at both!
earn sleep.
earn your sleep.
deserve what is handed to you.
pick up mail on monday.
make positive use of time.
tuesday and thursday are work days.
write that paper, buddy.
***
Sunday night insomnia. The thoughts tear me to pieces like packs of wild dogs. In the woods. I can't climb anything tall enough to escape. (A form of social control.) Wake and bake. All of the things. Chronicle the items in my apartment. No one has seen it! Wow! They would say! Wow! WOw! WOW! wo! This is a mess a happy happy mess. There is evidence of all kinds of demented actions. Drinking self into oblivion. Why is it okay to drink to drink to drink?
I imagined myself, in horror, laying on my back anywhere in the world and feeling the same sense of despondency. No matter what clouds or ceiling above. Everyone likes it here because of the weather. I just want to be surrounded by creative people. Not sun drenched morons, feeling up girls and looking for drugs. No culture. There is no culture. I am surrounded by sun beams, sure. These don't make me want to paint something or take pictures or videos or create anything in general. New songs. Evidence that I exist on this earth. Somewhere.
Evidence that I exist on this earth?
Where? How?
Give me a good night sleep and a content smile. I don't want to be in pain anymore.
I do not want to feel anymore pain. I do not want to drink it away.
I want to be silly and happy. Warm in the polluted confidence of an L.A. night. The sky rise and the eternal city clock ticking away. Everything expensive. Somehow destroying my sensibilities.
I need to explode with passion. Leave clues! Evidence!
maps and directions.
Paint or recordings. A knowledge of how such things work, oh my lord.
Stimulant drugs. Every day.
Fill the prescription and have the confidence to do everything ever like a supervillian wearing a super hero mask.
Have hope. Have excitement. Be passionate and show evidence. (I cared more about art and less about working out. But if my body is happy my mind is happy.)
Build a rocket.
All I feel is repressed. By me. By my environment. By everything and everyone around me. I don't even try to acknowledge recognizable faces anymore. I am a ghost and I will disappear from their lives in an instant or two.
No matter where I go. They will not think about me. There wheels will keep turning. This weather will bury you and someone you will believe all of the lies from various screens and voices.
Question everything. Nothing is safe.
How is it so easy to fold? To give in and buy into the bullshit we are spoonfed? It is shoved into us and somehow we don't notice. I need to go into the forest. Burn them down. There's proof! You assholes! You did this to yourself.
Someone will always always always argue. I am happy to be the voice of dissent but here that is extremely isolating because most are polarized, believing the simplest explanation and thinking so shallow. Dig your graves, boys. Dig your own grave.
