Things of the past on

Opening up an old journal to figure out what year my 7th avenue photo was taken, I think to myself
when was the last time I wrote anything in a journal. The one in question is a travel journal that starts with my road trip with Nate and Curtis in 2000 to Chicago. The drink, "broken down in Carney" came to life, I think it was mountain dew and Siroc vodka. The backlot, the wedding, the endless prattling about some silly girls, the poetry, the sketches. It's like having your very own history book. The history of me. Much of it would be far to embarrassing to share publicly. I was thinking that this blog would become somewhat of a journal, but when you are writing something that only you will see, there is a huge difference. I reminisce in the colors of my sketches, my view of the Empire state building out the 7th floor window, the hot sweaty nights in jazz clubs and the even hotter sweatier nights in bed with what I think was West Nile that I got from mosquito bites while crossing the Brooklyn bridge on foot. I was in bed for nearly a week and have never had such vivid fever dreams. When I was awake, I watched dvds on a huge projected screen from Zoriahs bottomless collection. I remember the music from the opening menu of Caligula, having slept for a whole day with it running on a constant loop. The melody is dissonant and still haunting. I nearly jumped off the balcony, convinced by the fever that I could fly.
Ahhh to be 24 again, knowing what I know now and all that other folk wisdom!
I start to wonder how many private journals are still out there. Are there people under the age of thirty that still practice that archaic ritual? When I was 24, I would stop and meet with other artists who also carried their journals and sketchbooks every where they went like a safety blanket in awkward should slung taches or more practical backpacks, like the one I took every where for about 10 years. We would sit in cafes over espresso's or bars over beers discussing our philosophies and world views. We would share our art and often exchange it.  I got lost in the feelings I had back then and yearn for those simpler times. I also yearn to pay $350 a month for rent. I can't escape the thoughts that not only am I mourning the loss of my youth, but more importantly, I am mourning the loss of that that whole culture. The information age has brought about a great many things, but I don't see anyone carrying around all their paper and ideas anymore. I don't hear younger people debating philosophy or art in the cafes any longer. I don't hear people in bars discussing what is wrong with the world and how to go about fixing it. No one carries a typewriter. No one has a parrot on their shoulder and a cloak. No one has or does any of the strange individual things that were commonplace in my life twenty years ago. The paper culture has been replaced by the information culture.

I did a performance art piece in a dingy half assed gallery in a burnt out ghetto warehouse, in a neighborhood that is now gentrified million dollar flats and farm to table restaurants, many years ago. The focus, I now realize, was that transformation. I had a vision jerking coffee at the Market on Larimer square. A major backdrop for the paper culture. At the tables in front of the espresso bar sat people four or five years younger than I. At every table there were two people and both were either on a cell phone talking to someone else or on a laptop beginning the culture that would come to destroy mine. They all sat for over an hour in this manner, barely even recognizing their companions actions. I came to find that most of them didn't even know each other. In my vision I saw nuclear Holocaust, the war machines of the earth, destructive pollution and radiation, a changing climate, and even direct physical threats to the people seated, plugged into their devices. They remained plugged in and oblivious to the nightmare all around them. I had to describe this physically so I had friends reenact the coffee house scene while a movie I put together of ultra violence played out behind them and loud dark music blared (Low). At the time, I was trying to communicate my vision of a careless society of automatons that couldn't see what was right in front of their eyes, wouldn't hear the cries for help because their ears were glued to phones, couldn't wake up and smell the undrinkable water beneath their noses. Now I realize. I was also warning my brethren of the destruction of our lifestyle and our assimilation into it.
I sit here and type on a humming luminous screen that makes my eyes tired, what I used to write by hand or type on a typewriter. I spend more hours than I ever have in my life binge watching netflix or dvr'd shows when I would have been creating.
Not only has the information culture destroyed the paper culture, it has replaced it in many socially acceptable ways for people like me. I can barely remember who that kid was that drew those sketches and took those color film photo graphs. I can barely read, decipher, or understand a lot of what I had written. I can't remember my plans or motivations. I can barely spell any longer with out a spell checker and wonder how I ever used a typewriter. My mind has certainly dulled in some very notable and noticeable ways. I have become a part of the thing that I feared the most due to many moons passed that place a person into a repetitive complacency.
I am very happy to break out of that here!
I still read and write music. I still play music. I still make art. I still write, but I don't do any of those things on the level, frequency, or with the intensity I used to. That used to be every thing to me.

That other guy wrote about having those check points. How will I get through this?
How will I get to this? Then what will I do?
The wear and tear on the soul of many years has replaced those destinations and hopes with utter complacency and comfort.
I have created too many things that need to be taken care of regularly to remain in that comfort zone,
it's neat yeah yeah yeah. (sorry for the inside joke if anyone else is actually reading this rabble)
I wish to go back to simpler times where I didn't need cable and netflix. I yearn for the days when I never had a phone chained to me at all times, or even had a phone, or felt the need to check in or check out things online.
I am crying out for the return of the paper culture.
Calling all poets,
all painters,
all sculptors and makers.
Let's take back our culture.

This has been a message brought to you by me telling me to put the remote down which I am still reaching for at this very moment with my mind. It's time to do some unplugging.