Where was it that my feet fell off and I was running around on stumps and nerves like all quite on the western front sort of shit?
I remember flying out to Florida for chris’ wedding, and him living in that small little apartment with Tiff. Radiohead’s Amnesiac just came out and we would listen to Packt like Sardines and the whole time I was like “what the fuck is that noise, is it a steel drum, a bell of sorts, something nautical and lighthouse-ish?”
Walk was there and he seemed so fucking alien to me, I mean I knew him and got him, it was just the “like what the fuck, radiohead why the fuck are you rapping?” but it was fun
I don’t know, I was young and stupid and in the now.
My life has always been what I can film, never editing, just filming the now, I was never really meant to be anything, just a recorder of sorts. I would watch and listen and conceive. Almost like I was afraid to take control and steer the ship, afraid to be my father.
When my feet fell off, I documented it all, I filmed the gang green riding up my leg on an easy ticket. I filmed the people’s reaction to my destruction. And nothing ever changed. I still liked the same tunes, in the now, just my mind in ways. My body a necklace skin suite. Always my mind watching and observing. Streaming.