by Patrick Pilch (@apg_gomets)
It feels we're in a post-sincerity era which means it’s probably as good a time as ever to start a classic rock band, whatever that means. Everything is shit, bought and sold, on a budget or otherwise, whether we realize it or not. A reference of a reference of a reference. Something about how it reminds me of being a kid. Is it cool to care? Probably, but careful now.
“Get serious now,” you say, “No fucking around,” sphincter winking at the sun. “Do you like music?” I don’t know anymore. Is it the cool guitars? Or maybe a nice melody! Something about how it reminds me of being a kid. I can’t stop listening to ASSISTED LIVING, but that doesn’t mean you have to start. “I want to tell you/I can’t take it anymore/I’m at my wit’s end,” truly, “my friend.” If I can call you that.
Last night I dreamt I was at an old friend’s birthday party. In the dream we’re the kids as I remember us best. And in the dream I missed the birthday party because I fell asleep. When I wake up I call my friend; it isn’t his birthday, I didn’t miss anything. I call my mom crying, “I don’t know what’s real anymore.” Then I wake up and take a piss and stub my toe on the way to the toilet. My dog looks at me.
“I’m gonna move to Hollywood/And I’m gonna sell my cartoon.” When I send this to my editor I say, “I think this is the realest thing I ever wrote.” You don’t have to be nice to me. “I’m gonna move to Hollywood/and I’m gonna make some sandwiches.” Full of shit? Now I am: a reference of a reference of a reference. This is my shit, ASSISTED LIVING. Something about how it reminds me of being a kid.