Episode 100 (april) - me beside my mother, in the pre-apocalyptic hotel
I started this podcast about 20 hours of recordings ago. The act was meant to chronicle how my life seemed to continually fall apart…in the hopes that my cave drawings of a lisp might be remembered by someone else after I was gone.
It was also meant as something hopeful–that recording myself in the worst of times meant there would be good times past it, that the reason to keep such a record was to mark when life was “different”–we could look back together on the dark in more halcyon days.
I believe art is just communication. And man, that took me a long time to figure out. But if that’s true, than it means communication can be art. Something I still struggle with on a daily basis.
There are no such things as halcyon days. Now I record knowing it marks nothing except a different darkness, and in that I take solace.