Friday, September 28, 2012

"I've made a terrible mistake."

There are approximately 17 steps from the entrance of my apartment to the front of my door. This is the amount of time it takes to walk up those 17 steps, in a manner that would become a metaphor in a Camus novel, maybe. It's a pointless drawl, with little to no intention. By the third time around, I am out of breath. I can't control my airstream. It sounds like shit and I'm not happy with it. It's probably the worst thing I've ever published. But I only had 20 minutes to write about 17 steps, 20 minutes before the 18 bus leaves me at the stop. As stubborn as I am, I won't re-record the mistakes. This is it. The first take. The truth. The ugly, naked, honest truth. That I am erred, that everything I write sounds the same, that I don't venture from my comfortable compositional techniques, though I know what I am capable of doing and creating. It is a genuine disrobed falsity. It is me without the mask I'm about to put on before acting the part necessary to survive in this world. It is my artistry with no meaning.

But it is a real feeling, and everything imperfect about it is what makes me human.

I am sorry.

Download:
A Walk Up The Stairs