I made a new album. I hesitated to release it, but I did. It’s called “A Thousand Coins, A Thousand Fountains.”
Over the past eighteen months I have made two full length albums and two EPs, over forty songs. I have also designed and knit forty or so hats, scarves, and other such things. I enjoy knitting and making music, regardless of the quality of the results. Something compels me to do these things, some lizard brain reaction to forces beyond my understanding. I just nod graciously when people say they admire my dedication to my art or are inspired by my work ethic. What I really want to do is spit on the ground and say, “bullshit.” If I had anything resembling dedication and work ethic, my life would look very different. No, I produce objects, songs and hats. I produce them as a means to process emotions, to maintain a fragile balance, to survive. The problem is that they are just things, with little surface value beyond the utility of the hats.
I pride myself on the things I produce. I think they are pretty great. Yet I feel like I am desperately splintering my identity as a human, like I am breaking off bits of myself to send into the world as emissaries while the shrinking whole hides in a cave. I wish people could hold these bits, wish the splinters could provoke emotions, wish that if people would choose to be close to my things they would be close to me. It’s vain and lonely; it borders on dark and evil. Horcruxes. I sit around all day making horcruxes, and I can’t stop. Oh well. Fuck it. Here are twelve more.
https://giantmoose.bandcamp.com/album/a-thousand-coins-a-thousand-fountains
giantmooserocks 