It’s 2 AM and this is on my mind.
I just got done listening to an unedited interview of David Foster Wallace.
Trifon Nikolov told us all that the astrology of now mirrors that of the late 1960s.
He also mentioned over a year ago that there would be revolutionary changes when it comes to music.
What ISN’T having a revolutionary change right now?
To keep this manageable I’m only going to talk about the struggle of being an artist / musician in a slop-hound virtual reality dystopia.
Whether you realize it or not, you’re plugged into the same digital slop-house or you wouldn’t be reading these words so, buckle up bitch.
I say that with love.
Maybe this is best answered in partial poetry. I’ll share something of a piece I wrote tonight:
Get this barcode off of me I’ve been paralyzed in a waking sleep. We’ve turned humanity into gladiator games, Funeral pyres of bread, circuses and kerosine, Welcome to the graveyard of dreams. Get this barcode off of me They want artists to destroy themselves to gratify the shared celebrity of collective suicide Maybe we’ll get flowers when we’re dead But flowers, even then, are an IF.. Death, is always, a WHEN.
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