Funeral Pyre - Phantogram Whoodeeni - De La Soul Featuring 2 Chainz I Put A Spell On You - Screamin' Jay Hawkins American Daydream - Electric Guest Speedballin - Outkast Lost - Danny Brown You're Dead - Norma Tanega
I’m not burned out. Maybe that is the most unfortunate part of this. I would feel better if I was completely drained. I know what that feeling is like. I also know what this feels like too. I’m bent over. I’ve spent the month on the road, on my couch, in my studio, and now I’m in my bed. No interviews this month, I’m just going to talk some things out. It’s not going to make me feel any better but, I’ve gotten into a routine. Obviously, that is a part of this feeling.
I still haven’t found a real job, meaning I spend 4 to 6 hours a day looking or applying or lamenting that I don’t have the means to make ends meet. Every day I have to wonder what the fuck am I doing this for. Every day I tell myself there is a nice warm center I am circling around and not some sink hole devouring all that I contribute to the world. Wouldn’t it be easier just accepting that at the end of this semester I won’t have the $1500 or so dollars I need to pay for my mandatory health insurance, and just fuck off now and maybe get a fast food job.
I don’t believe in a light at the end of the tunnel. I’ve had severe writers block for the last few weeks and outside of making artwork, writing is my other solace. Luckily I have force behind me pushing me to do that thing, or else. This is painful but necessary. I’m even looking forward to it. If anything is to be said about this time I’ve spent in my MFA I’ve worn my face into the minds of whoever I’ve worked with. I don’t know if that’s a good thing but the words will come next and in that hopefully a reprieve. So many days I think I should be doing something else, I guess now is my chance.
I am going to say this. This is the first time I haven’t been hungry in months. I even almost feel full. My stomach is rumbling but I don’t need to eat like I used to in previous days. My refrigerator isn’t full but it looks like I live here. It doesn’t look like I’m just passing through. I have perishables that are looking to turn, but right now they still have the color they should have. I’ll say that I feel like the soup of all the readings I’ve done and I taste just as rich as all the paper I have filling my studio walls and desk. Soon enough I’ll be painting the paper on my floor with the little ink I have left.
What will the story be when I’m found. There is a story in the news about Italian runners all going the wrong way and the winner being someone no one ever expected in the race. I am running out of time. Where am I running. I got some advice that I should work on one thing. I thought that was what I was doing this whole time. Would I be thinking this if I was anywhere near my stride. How sure can I be? Now that I’m breathing hard, I’m sure I should find myself. Surely I’m going somewhere. I’ve come so far, surely that will be said.
I can hear the light rail from my apartment even with all the windows closed and the door shut. I don’t know if I’m hallucinating this. Maybe it’s real and that after a while the anxiety of waking up every morning at 6 am to make the walk past the fire station and the meat market and the car wash and the empty buildings. I saw a stray cat the other morning sitting in the bank parking lot. I made a few noises to get its attention. It seemed to be sleeping but maybe I was imagining things. It wouldn’t be the first time and I’m guessing it won’t be the last.
These are the last days of the month. I’ve grown my beard back. I feel like myself. I haven’t gotten lost in my mirror. How could I forget this face. And even as much as I’m not attached to looking at myself, every morning, I know who I am. I’m more than halfway to nothing, and if that ain’t something. Here’s to a sweet November like the one in the songs where I am gone. Say what you will, won’t you anyway? This has been a recording.