From my upcoming book:

The ringing in my ears just wasn’t going away. It was with me when I laid down every night and it was there, faithfully, every morning. My first and last thoughts of each day were eternally punctuated by this persistent (yet nonexistent) tone. Most of the time, during my normal activities, it wasn’t an issue: only in silence did it emerge, quietly reminding me of every sound I had ever heard.

Last night, I had the freakiest dream in which my car broke down. Something tells me this is going to become a problem as things draw closer to completion…

Two bands with the same singer that I can’t stop listening to: House Boat & Barrakuda McMurder

In exactly one week, I will be getting oriented with my new school. Art school. Weird, right? Back to School? I hope they still sell those folders with paintings of crazy dudes doing extreme sports… (somebody please remember those. Maybe that’s what I’ll make in school.)

SAIC is an expensive place to learn, so in these dark economic times it’s important for me to know exactly why I quit my stable, well-paying job to come here and do this. As an Artist Against Art (who wants to join my club?), it could be said that I am wasting my time and money on an activity I find to be slightly ridiculous.

To that I’d respond that I am also a Living Thing Against Life (drafting members for this one too), and that I find EVERYTHING to be a waste of time, so why not waste money at the same time?

Seriously, though, what does it mean to be an artist who doesn’t quite believe in art? It’s not such a unique position, really, as there are plenty of artists out there who basically reject things like museums and galleries, formal training, and hygiene in search of a more pure form, a true expression of human culture. For reasons sometimes personal, sometimes political, sometimes out of necessity, people are always finding creative ways to express their creativity outside the bounds of traditional art institutions. Hell, most famous artists got famous because they rejected whatever was going on at the time anyway. See: upside-down toilet.

But I’ve been thinking less about how to progress art or advance my own agenda and more about what art means, what place it holds in today’s world. In conversation, I’ve been telling people that I’m not sure of art’s relevance anymore as its own entity. Baudrillard talks about how America’s culture derives not from its art museums and cultural centers, but from its supermarkets and freeways. Sure, you’re sitting there eating Doritos and thinking, “hey, fuck that guy, what does he know, I am cultured.” But when our society crumbles and humans are gone, I contend that it won’t be our Jackson Pollock paintings that interest the aliens. It will be our billboards for SlimFast. So why make art? Why spend money to learn about it?

With my thoughts frequently targeted on the end of the world and my own impending demise, I subscribe to one basic truth, which makes it just a little difficult to bother caring about the stock market or home ownership: We are all going to die, and sooner or later the sun will explode, and then anything we did will be gone forever. So, art may be pointless, but so is being the president of America.

I don’t know, obviously this is all half-serious, or I’d have killed myself already. Every joke still holds its truth, though, and I guess this is pretty funny.

In the end, I am going because I know art school will definitely be fun, and it will certainly be a challenge (in the traditional “school is hard” way, but I also expect these ideas presented here to be brought up, discussed, and challenged). My program seems like an ideal match for me, as it heavily integrates design and philosphy, two things I find as compelling as “art for art’s sake.”  I expect to leave there more capable of expressing my euphoric indifference toward all things “modern man.”

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I will close with an excerpt from an old IndyWeek interview with Torche singer/guitarist Steve Brooks (yes I love this band):

What’s the weirdest interpretation you’ve ever received from a song?

I don’t know. I’ve heard so many different things and they’re all funny to me. We have a new song “Sugar Glider” and someone thought I’m saying, “You’re so blow dryer.” I said, “All right, that sounds cool.”

What are you actually saying?

I’m saying, “Your sold, blown tire,” which is just as dumb.