Fader

Today I worked on a few scholarship essays when I woke up. Shouldn't even have attempted to, since I have no appreciation or drive for a finished product. My writing's always half- baked, which is not ok when money is involved. Anyway, the first question was

Imagine that you have just found out that you have 24 hours left to live.
Tell us what you plan to do in your last day on earth. (80 - 120 words)

And in formulating my answer to this question, I got really down .. and really excited. What does that mean? That I fall apart without deadlines? Or, most of us are too busy to notice how miserable we are. I was. What is this, the rich, middle- class kid syndrome? Or is it just another stupid American affliction. I see a scale: People who are poor (-5) only see far enough to realistically aim for 0, but I feel like not many people go beyond that into the positive realm (+). There are too many choices in life, as if choices set us free.

Also today, a misplaced story. My brother Sam and I were going on an evening walk around the neighborhood because it felt so deliciously chill outside, like Seattle or Montana up north. We ambled a bit near the elementary school across the street and came upon this swaggering old man. It looked like his bag, which must've been heavy for him, was swinging him this way and that. The crossing of our paths was inevitable- he proclaimed an atypical version of the fire-and-brimstone speech: "Let me give you some advice. Jesus Christ is returning soon with all the aborted babies. And they are going to KICK ASS! ..blar..blar..nice couple like you .. in hell.. I love you.." My bro was a bit taken aback, but as we brisked past him, I wondered aloud what the guy was doing outside of Austin. Because that's a pretty weird occurrence for a quiet, Dallas suburb.

Girl crush:
NEKO CASE
I'm a fool for missing her in Austin last month!!

P-fork: From Fox Confessor, on a song like "Star Witness", I'm guessing there's a car accident involved but the details are sketchy.

Case: I spent a while on that song. It's about an actual event that occurred in front of me. It wasn't actually a car accident but someone being shot to death. That was a real event that happened in Chicago.

P-fork: What happened?

Case: It was one of those things where there's gang violence and somebody gets shot right in front of you, and you live it and it's horrible. And, of course, it doesn't make the news because the kid is black. Nobody gives a shit except for his family, and you see how much nobody gives a shit and it's fucking heartbreaking. He wasn't even the kid they were looking to shoot. He was just some kid who they mistook for somebody else and they shot him. I saw it happen. I didn't make the song about me either. The song is pieces of different people but the event is in there.

Full interview













Boy crush:
Sufjan Stevens (of course)

P-fork: You say "these songs sound like songs I wrote," as if that's a surprise to you. Are you getting tired of your sound?

Sufjan: Yes. I'm getting tired of my voice. I'm getting tired of...the banjo. I'm getting tired of...the trumpet.

P-fork: Do you think that's because you've been so prolific over the past few years, or are you just getting restless?

Sufjan: I'm writing too much, for sure. I think it's important to get a season of rest, and I'm not so sure I've done that. That's why I'm not touring, I'm only playing one festival this summer. I have the summer off. I need to ride my bike more.

Yeah, me too. But it's in Austin.

Full interview













Listen to this song and think of adjectives, like high- soaring.
*S*t*a*r*s* - Set Yourself On Fire

I don't mean to end on a happy note, despite Suf's playful "last look" and the innocent poppiness of Stars.
And hey, no need to knock my affinity towards practicality. It's not a requirement, but I do find that newly acquired possessions lose their luster much more quickly if they're not really that useful. No company will ever manufacture an article of clothing sublime enough to hold all of my devotion. Everything you own gets old, so it might as well be somewhat practical in the long haul. Alright, I'm out for another lame essay.