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If you want to know where I’m from, all you need to do is listen to my music. I don’t hold well to the idea of mere geometrical placement but the land is one of long rains and low clouds, stolen from the past and lurching unsteadily towards the future. In fact, the place of my childhood no longer exists. It’s an old brick building that has since crumbled. It’s a framework upon which I hang my thoughts and my feelings but it’s impossible for you to see just as my own vision of it has grown dim and unreliable.
My haunts were junk stores, old movie theatres, used book stores, rooms containing boxes and bins of old records and the people who would hang around looking for something exceptional in those dusty catacombs. Most of it was garbage but occasionally the needle would slip into the groove and colorful flowers of music would grow right out of the speakers. The clock would stop and so would the rain and monotony would cease to exist for a while. Most of my life happened internally and this is how it’s always been. I was never interested in competing with my peers in the way of sports or classroom activity. I wanted only to learn how to make the things that I imagined.
I lacked the words to express myself and it probably would not have done much good had I known what to say. There is often nothing you can say by way of explanation. It’s as silly and futile as trying to justify the food that you eat to sustain yourself.
I taught myself to think in the form of verse. I would spend days going through piles of records as if in a dream that caused me to wonder at all the immense possibilities of a world in which one were not subject to the rules of conformity - a world ruled by a deeper sensibility.
I have spent my time in the pursuit of that deeper sensibility. I have searched all over and I have seen its shadow around many a corner. I have no confirmation of my seeking or it’s value. I do not care to register my words for authenticity or meaning; I am a man. I am old and I am young and will continue regardless.
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