Bug Bus Piano

@ruminoid All my writing and music has an implied first person. Therefore I guess it should be read, "My life's"

I think life is about a lot more than that personally

@ixosyd Recently returned from hugely succesful Japan tour, and today filmed music video in the woods

@CarrisWheel what have you been up to

@serf_avenger @PaupersWeight I think, as Kidlat Tahimik would say, you have to find and start listening to your sariling duende- your inner elf. Inner creative voice that lets you tell your own unique story at all times

@CarrisWheel @PaupersWeight how do i get mine back

Bug Bus Piano is the last person in the world that possesseswhat I would call the soul of an artist

Life's about being haunted by images and memories forever and kind of just spacing out through the present

Journal entry, talking to myself- no one read this please. Personal history repeating itself, tearful goodbyes, in the rain, in a car. Just like when my dad saw Nemo19 for the last time. The same driveway even, 30 years ago. We don't know what happened to him, maybe he's dead now

@joyous_was_he Omaha, Nebraska.

My last meal here, for a while. I might be leaving soon. This place was always my favorite to eat in Sunnyside, Queens. It's kind of a personal thing, an "If you know, you know" kind of thing. Sorry. I can't really tell you. Just know it's some of the best food out there.

Really fucking weird vibes at this random house party

@ockyway "Bridge Building Mix" - coming soon when I move out

And there I was now, Alone. And there were the people coming, to eat the cream out of the containers, Before security came and took them out. And there I was, Alone in the rain, Just like before. Rebuilding my cardboard door.

That rain, dripping from hair. Those cables, strewn across the room. Rebuilding my cardboard door. The militarized QFC: And there I was, in the yogurt and ice cream aisles all over again. Just like before. So many different moments in time. With so many different people.

We were the only thugs in the Dearborn Goodwill parkinglot listening to Lamp in the whip with the windows down. We were all crying. Or, at least internally.

I tried to have my wish- that I'd "sail the darkened seas on a great big clipper ship"- my "two years before the mast". But the captain took one look at me, and I was sequestered away to the galley. A seasick pot-washer scrubbing and puking all day and night.

Any time I can identify a contemporary visual or musical trend in your work, that's when I become disinterested. Because I stop thinking you are expressing something related to yourself or your life and instead start thinking you are trying to make something like something else

That dream again where I hear my dead friend's voice. Down a calm bridge. Then I see my kindergarten teacher, her wintergreen 90s colored sweatpants, All that I remember from my life then. Her song on a cassette tape with Teacher Wendy written on it in my mom's perfect cursive

When I came back from my two years at sea I had a whole new set of skills but I realized that I no longer felt like myself anymore. And then I started to wonder what I ever was anyway? Or what I thought I was at least. Some image of myself in my own mind only.