This must be the placery.

Just a lil mix this month. I’ve been struggling to find rhythm in new music. Drums are too rigid to be real: electronic fenceposts or buried by the weeds. The beat is an LMM. In the future (the future is now), rhythm and writing are bespoke.

Spent a week in Columbus enduring suburban patriotism. A float-building block party, White Claws, Busch beers, kids’ bikes rowed on the sidewalk, men-gineers, wifeys being wifey, a solitary black deejay under a tent, tossing out tunes from his laptop. The parade was painful, high school classes towed on trailers like farm animals, military rah-rah. They quit tossing candy to the kids years ago, afraid they’d get run over. The suburb has been overrun by golf carts, some three rows deep. I was raised there but didn’t grow up until I got out. I’m still growing up.k

In your old bedroom you go to sleep grateful for the pains of life because it’s made you care about other people, and not just your tribe, but everyone, everywhere, every living creature who like you has captured enough energy to blaze on this planet for a brief moment in time. It takes a lot of courage to be alive.