january 22, 2018 12:43 am

Added on by mitch.

the oven heats up too slowly. this makes planning meals more difficult than it needs to be. thinking ahead, doing math, guessing how hungry i'll be by the time it finally reaches 400 degrees. i think it might be broken because when i turn it on i can smell gas all the way upstairs while i'm working. how long has it been? i check the clock constantly. time passes differently when you're this tired.

i didn't sleep very much last night, only managing to collect a few scattered hours. but, despite all of that, today was mostly good. it was one of those days that trailed on quietly, lead onward by lingering footsteps and foggy thoughts. moving forward at such a careful pace that it was almost as if it hadn't been moving forward at all. before long you wonder how it got to be so dark and why it is you haven't eaten. it's because the oven heats up too slowly.

nothing happened today but i did more than i thought that i would. i cleaned and put in the laundry and assembled packages. in between, i took out my camera. click, another shot. another part of my life, documented and shared. click, another piece of myself, given away to anyone who will have me. raising the viewfinder to my eye, i see something beautiful and try my best to capture it. i'm convinced that life is safer here, inside of this little box. but that's a thought that i'm not supposed to have anymore.

lately i've been thinking about the early days of existing as an artist on the internet. there was this website called cllct that was kind of like bandcamp but much smaller and more community based. bandcamp for bedroom artists. we sat there, creating music in our homes and sharing it with one another. nobody was worried about stream revenue or album sales. those were concepts too out of reach for us at that point. we were just creating things.

toward the end of its lifespan, flatsound was one of the top artists on the website. at the age of eighteen, i truly considered this to be the pinnacle of indie musicianship. sometimes i would go to the popular artists page and just stare at it. the feeling was so particular. tonight i looked at the old website via the wayback machine. most of the pages were still there, dated and archived, with missing pieces in their structure like gaps in a memory. every broken image existed as a test. do you really remember what was here? i swear i do. i clicked the popular artists page. there they were, artist that i used to interact with almost ten years ago, frozen in time. people that i hadn't thought of in years but had never forgotten. among them was my old profile. i stared at it for a minute. it still felt the same. 

i want things to feel like that again, i just don't know how to make it happen. not being on social media helps, and as a result i feel like i've been having deeper connections with people one-on-one. speaking to them on the phone rather than via text. i've been stripping down my website so that it feels more bleak. there's no longer a picture of me on the about page, and the only contact information is a physical address. i think that this is good. i think that sometimes the best way to add to something is to take away from it. i want to write people letters. i want to interact with them in a way that isn't for anyone else. i don't want this all to feel so passive. i just want things to feel special. i think the world needs that right now.