Something fell down somewhere in the middle of the night and made an unnatural sound. Awake but not in the darkness now I experience every failure of my life. It’s all so clear. I’m on the wrong path. Nothing’s going to work out. Very bad things are coming. How did I ever believe otherwise? I need to do something about it. Right now. Get up. I don’t.
In the morning I’m in the bathroom and notice there’s a shower squeegee on the floor, its suction cup detached by the drain. I didn’t know I owned a squeegee. I don’t pick it up.
I guess this is how I get myself back into ‘doing’ ‘creative’ things. Found this piano ditty tucked away inside the Logic Pro session of another song I was actively searching for. Derailed, sidetracked again from the main task (putting out an album no one will listen to). So I attempt to clean up the mix a little, not too successfully, and, you know, set it to an edit of The Virgin Suicides (dir. Sofia Coppola) because fuck it. Passes the time. Keeps me from thinking of badness for half a day.
I like the adolescent ephemera, the boredom, the blue hour melancholy. Tried my best to not show the guys in the film. Don’t know why. Someone hook me up with a scoring job or something. OK bye.
tw: suicide, feet, blondes
I am still revising my screenplay, and I want you to do all the music for it!!!!!!!!