cellllll le brate half measures, c'mon!

It's hard to watch. You hate to see it.

Hard to watch what's out there, what works. Folks. Just plain folks. With sleeves of sophistication - people I know. It's hard to watch even people I don't know. It's also hard to watch just about any movie, even though I'm bathing in them lately, cause there's always these attractive people, characters fucked up beautifully, larger than life, reminding me how small I am. Whatever emotion I get wrapped up in as portrayed by a director and an actor in some character -some character wrapped up in some hollywood actor- whatever that emotion is, it's pathetically vicarious, can see it but I can't be it, can't apply a molecule of that flavour to the modest things I want. For myself. Why not go whole hog, damn the metaphor, never mind the style, just go, do it, just, do it, just do it, but you hate to see it.

This Child of the New Dawn says: the screens mirror the radio waves I send out into the universe to scan for something I can use. I say "this child of the new dawn" to distinguish from "those children of the new dawn" the ones who signed on to stick around failed folk singer Jeremiah's "beautiful dream he's having" and participated in murder and self-inflicted games of russian roulette. I won't bother with the special words anymore, it can be as vague or cryptic as I want, to hell with everything else. I know there are hard limits on any potential sociopathy, no need to worry, it's all done for love, in love, with the half-dead companion who's hovering above the abyss, hanging onto the cliffs by a couple fingers. I'll use anything, throw everything but the kitchen sink at the wall, see what sticks, where my enemies are dead, still in a line against. I'm not going for some brand of rage and hatred, that's not me, never been me, not my parameters - just self-respect, in as ugly a manner as I can dredge out of me, like a fuck-off aesthetic, the only voice that's right for this epoch. Fuck off. But not really.

All the songs are gonna be about the same thing now. Until I get what I want, that's how I'm creating a hostage crisis. It'll be like a cartoon-writer's strike, no one will care. I'm really my own hostage and my own ransom. So I will care, greatly. I'll care so much, I'll make a masterpiece out of it. Or a garage, where I write all of Weezer's songs before they do, but never get success. But in that alternate universe, I don't require any tradition to define success for me, and the physics of this universe allow me to fit in just well enough, while preserving and enhancing the charms of my eccentricities and imperfections, to feel good, to not feel the void almost all the time. But thank heavens for my anti-depressants and the pharmaceutical mega-corporations that oversee their manufacture, even if they're evil, because they're a rope stretched over the abyss beyond the black rainbow.