Grief Point

The journal starts late

Six weeks into the making of Grief Point

First off is Mayday

A song in honor of May 1st and the workers

Can you still be against a strike that only strikes for more pay?

By you, in this instance, I mean me

There is a certain kind of person to

Whom things come with great facility

They say this is the noise that gets made as my life is lived

So be it

But don't feel the need to record it

For a second I thought this meant that

They were not interested in history

But that's wrong

Wrong, wrong

A bad reading of the situation

The right reading is that I just don't understand it

At all

Grief Point, and Mayday by extension, suffers from the same old shit

A potential complete ignorance of ambience

Real ambience, in that

Can you really construct it, every last bit of it

And just let the listener feel its effects?

And is this the right treatment?

Always the same question

In this case I would maybe say yes

Just because it forces form onto the thing

The thing is a bunch of words, two melodies

And the words sung in a handful of ways

Between J and D of course, the same old war rages

One into a tight and perfect digital

Palace but super true to the genre

The other wanting to throw in actual sounds, mix it up, humanize

It's cool how for my part, the sleight of hand

The trick of making something confounding and

Great and potentially horrible drawn up from air

All this is no longer of any interest

In fact, even seeing things in this light depresses me

And so I often come home at night depressed by what we have done

What we are doing

It's good, it means I've changed

I have lost interest in music

It is horrible

I should only make things I understand

I should only make things I know how to construct, however imperfect

It's not even like dictating to someone

It's less than that

Mayday itself is pretty cool, I have to admit

It condemns the world at such an easy pace

I intend to tell T it is like a happy shooting rockets

A disgusting description of anything, to be sure

I think the world does not like me grim

It likes me melancholic, but not miserable

English on the Mediterranean

Which is, oddly enough, some of the worst people there is

At some point when it is made I will explain this record

Word for word, swear to God

An ape with angel glands

When I know if that is good or bad

I'll know what is good and what is bad

The answer to the making of Grief Point

Is picnic baskets filled with bloodTwo it's nothing at stake

If blank had to write lyrics for his songs

They would be cumbersome pale blocks like his riffs

But pale

So instead he went out and found a whaler

Too stupid to commit to a single thing

I assume not lighting up at the sight of your mother

Is a sign of madness in an infant

Patina no name for a baby

Your first born before they threw you from the bridge

Wagner wrestles his dogs to the floor

Such a beautiful scene for some

A rare place don't perform them

The message from the critical reception of dreams

Was quite clear

We will not be listening to you any further

Of course some tension is created

Cosmonaut in a breadline etc

I watched a pig devour the classics just to get to you

The barge endlessly circling

Your mind finds out

It is done