progress is not linear
however our current expected
artistic process stops for nothing
it looks like
hurt to
twist to
mimic to
contain to
sell
it looks like everyone singing about a breakup for years
so many pathetic passes at political stance
apathetic whiteness and micro-trend nostalgia-mining
it looks like avoiding poor people black people trans people
working in tech or living in a van or building a studio
and having an artist mixer next Wednesday
always the folk rock post punk
the new country solo on the pale fender
the shoe gaze the shoe gaze is in
sounds like
the duplicator losing quality
making a legend wear shein and letting him go thirsty
don't even ask him how his day was
don’t go to New York you’ll never play
get all your friends to drink
get all your friends to smoke
have to take a bump to play a show
it looks like cutting a slab of your soul
throwing it down to plate
asking for less than a penny
write a song
and then what?
get a band to play it
then what?
beg some anti-labor fuck to think you’re well-liked enough and safe enough to be booked
and then what?
scream it on a stage
then what?
put it in an album
and then what?
by the way release show on October first
talk about it all the time
and then go on tour
and then what?
and then what?
have a child born into dust and gravel air
who you will have to see drown
burn like an egg on the pavement
and then what?
continuous engagement
that’s what your fans want
spineless men who spend their earnings on defense technology
who do you sound like?
how warm is your sound?
what else can I do?
joy is plagiarized and consumed
my art is re-creatable, commercial, and provocative on banal value terms
I see the mill-churn
the milieu of hundreds of thousands branding themselves
the scent of rotting flesh reeks on the stage
I am not willing to fashion myself into a worthy inheritor
I cannot continue to pimp myself out to myself
I cannot bring myself to chase 15 seconds of attention
and yet still here I am
nothing risked
nothing risked
nothing risked
and nothing lost but time time time
in the face of everything
I am refusing
I refuse
I have lived in comfort for too long
I must find others and cling to them purposefully
and reject the realism
reject inevitability
reject consistent age-ed structure
do not acquiesce my love
do not let them steal a healthy life away from your children
do not let them kill you
how hard alone is it to make meaning of your minutes
your life
and then to rearrange and synthesize into something you’re proud enough to sing
and now you must beat out everyone
claw their eyes out in favor of The Castle
the call center
the likely scam
like A Night On Bald Mountain
they take your money
they take it from every inch of the path they’ve laid out for you
the toll the toll the toll
i am america's last great export
i am a dry turkey
i am so marketable you wouldn’t believe