The Times

If you read a newspaper here, you’re liable to realize that there is an economic crisis going on. There are various ways of viewing this.

Meanwhile, I sit in my apartment listening to music with glassy vocals that sound like a wall. I say that because there’s a wall of sound–I believe it’s made of platinum–and it’s shiny. Can sound be shiny?

Apparently so. I also have come to appreciate how listening to music on high volume can assist. It can assist the soul to feel how one ought to feel.

I also realized that my postulations at various times reflected exactly how I was feeling at that moment in time.

Nothing I write is intended to provoke. I’ve realized that, too.

Never to provoke, never to incite, never to rumor. I guess that’s what art is, right?

It’s funny how what we call art has changed.

We call art anything that determines its own meaning. But who knows? Maybe art is something else. Or maybe it will be something else.

I quickly got bored of the reports I used to write here.

They were too formulaic.

The shiny reports I used to write were a reflection of times past.

I am now a more complicated man.

I listen to music with synthesizers in it. I am more complex.

I once promised I would write a blog every day.

Hopefully the day I start doing that, I will not have anything interesting left to say.

Or rather, that might be true. Interesting things are only proportional to the frequency of time you use to separate events.

To be continued.