| : 7 . 30 : today ... i am upset ... angry, sad, confused ... for many reasons ... 1st, i feel like a hypocrite ... i sit analyzing my life ... my opinions ... the things i stand for ... the things i profess ... then i look around me ... the people i associate with ... the people i hold in my heart ... the world i live in ... and i feel frustrated ... i consider myself a feminist ... yet, those close to me sometimes take on the identity of the enemy ... they willingly slip into this cultural costume of mutual conformity to feed their need for status ... eagerly accepting tiny crimes of the elite as standard social practices and convention ... i have also made known my position of opposition against the tobacco companies ... and yet, 2 people in my band are persistent chain smokers ... and 1 person very very dear to me just recently found the courage and strength to finally shed the cloak of cigarette addiction ... and yes, i live in los angeles ... surrounded by models, actresses, stylists, underground pharmacists, writers, producers, thinkers, those that need to be seen, hipsters, artists, porn queens, pill patients, the untamed & undisciplined, seekers, para-military people beaters, street philosophers, hustlers, gangsters, killers, the homeless, the insane, tourists, ornaments, slave traders, wife beaters, freedom fighters, and professionally unemployed serial club addicts ... i sleep in a soft world of cold violence and perfect faces ... the air is thick with the toxins of the working class ... the sky is crowded with creation ... this is the mecca of entertainment ... a tyrannical empire of industry ...my beautifully twisted, sinful city by the sea ... i am in love with its contradictions ... it doesn't pretend ... it is what it is and its goddamn motherfucking proud of it ... and then there's the symbology of presumption ... i know people listen to our album and experience our collective brutality ... they see our innate savagery on stage ... they feel our rage ... they know our pain ... they see my strength of voice and soul ... and yet i still suffer from generalized anxiety disorder and small bouts of depression ... paxil, xanex, poetry, performance, sketches, love, & friendship ... that is my sure cure ... my primitive science of certain healing ... and then i think of my duties as an artist ... am i creating enuff? ... is my writing pure? safe and untouched from the lethal metabolism of obvious humanism? ... and what of my performance? have i reached my absolute depths? ... found the primordial bed of chaos sleeping savagely in this nest of molecules called ME? ... am i giving every fucking piece of my fire abilities to the screaming paganized herds that chant our name before every ritual? ... have i found the lost keys to the kingdom? ... is my alchemy dangerous enuff? ... why have i stopped reading? ... why have i forgotten the profound sounds of the deep, dark wilderness? ... i must go further into the great abyss ... must absorb the light ... shake the world tree from its foundations ... shame the vegetables ... again. |