an economic collapse.

i keep this distance
to dwell this close

so nearly home
my home's home changes
but here i'm constant

four walls that melt and move
but to a moveable feast of flesh

a reminder;
alone in physical integrity
maybe delusionally transcendent

so long as it does not touch me
and i am yet untouched
front page news or your lost limb
in truth, calamity's a sideshow

but if we pretend
and we all feign hope
what am i to you?

on the evolution of products and production.

i know i've been on this rant for awhile now, but here's a tidbit: producers are the new musical artists, and all your beloved pop artists are just curators (some better, some worse). if you're into a song, forget the artist. find out who produced it, and then go find more. i've been doing it on the reg, and so far so fancy.