i’m nineteen years old now. pure fucking melancholy, heartfelt analog, or why i want to make music through the wonderful medium of a messed up portastudio from the mid-80’s.
because of my belief in analog. tape. physical. reality. carving something as abstract as sound into a soft material by use of sheer force. soundscapes. love. everything all of the time, a portable way to conserve memories, some song that sucks because i can't write songs when i'm drunk after some horrible party where i've failed in all things love and perhaps gotten punched in the face by some asshole who is into cars and homemade booze. then when i'm fifty i can dig up all my old tapes, listen to them all weathered and messed up and try to decipher what i'm trying to convey. my purpose. i'll make my own mystery, and it'll be exciting because i'll try to hide it from people i love. maybe i'll even be happy. jobs, economy, social status, sleep, coffee, more jobs, education, more jobs, indoctrination. i'll suppress memories, and i won't even remember what i was on about back when i was nineteen and had my vision clouded by the sheer vastness of the world suddenly thrown at me.
because it is being thrown at me and i'm not ready for it at all. going to the army in august because i don't have anything else to do.
jesus
fucking
christ.
because it is being thrown at me and i'm not ready for it at all. going to the army in august because i don't have anything else to do.
jesus
fucking
christ.
Fri, Jun 6, 2008 Permanent link
Categories: Philosophy, Society, Future, Madness, Despair, Anger, Angst, Help
Categories: Philosophy, Society, Future, Madness, Despair, Anger, Angst, Help






