irsinkast

I lie to myself. Pretending I don’t care whether anything happens or not. That it’s ok if no reaction ensues. But that is a lie, and it is an outrageous one. I feel that there are inklings of moments at the questionable juncture of wayward emotions where nothing matters more than something coming through. A yes. A no. Any word would do. Like you, I am desperate for an echo, a result or a reverberation. I want an outcome. Something that supports my sterile sense of dimension and that allows me to keep drifting on this feeling. This feeling outside of life that at times feels like the only thing keeping me afloat. I know it is but a reflection that bears no resemblance to whatever I need. But wanting and needing are often unrelated and it turns out I need my wants as much as I need my needs. Some of these wants are underpinned with reality. Others are wanton and highly delusive. I’d settle for confirmation

I have lost my appetite for many things. Many things of which I thought they had  various degrees of importance at one point or another. Some seemed vital even though they now are less than irrelevant. Immaterial. Ever since I embarked on this makeshift voyage of letting go, ever more things have lost their appeal. Their lush intent,  once so clear and apparent and charming to me, just faded. I’m looking forward to reaching twice my current age to experience the quality of disinterest I have accomplished. Will I be abundantly empty? Or will I just realise how foolish my pursuit has been? Will I have replaced it all with another artifice? Up to a certain, and I can’t remember which, age I pined and craved for more. I was in constant search of something definitive but grossly undefined. Even though my mind was reasoning along a more moderate even minimalistic path, my deeper subconscious being was tacitly in control, as it is in most of us. So I looked and looked everywhere but as m

My recently discovered American connection Daniel Miess asked me to write a bio so there’d be some reference to the posts of my work he may be including in his poetry project. (Don’t feel obliged, by the way, Daniel. I know that most of my work would not qualify as poetry when scrutinised) I’ve written some biographies in the past. Mostly for one of the bands I was playing in. And next to doing performance video shoots it’s probably one of my most hated parts of being in a band. But it has to happen, because the audience wants to relate to the musician or to the author or to the artist. But you have to understand that it really sucks to be at the centre of things when you are actually too introverted to occupy such a space. It was never the reason I started writing or making music. Quite the opposite really. Because I don’t like it at all, I will do it in the only form that will give me some fulfilment. Here goes: I