Most of the landscape is turning into a wasteland terrain, but I am a solar spot on the face of the sun who rides above the squalor. I can dream of greener days, mired in the fuzz of time elapsed in the type of temporal construction that only we higher animals can string together. Let it happen slowly, as if sleepwalking in a chronic, dying world.

I think the best thing about deactivating my Facebook is no longer being easily enabled to cyber stalk people I don’t really know about details of their lives they never should have been sharing in the first place.

I quit Facebook last week, so now I compensate the extra time not spent on social media by researching the history of artificial intelligence and comparing it to the long-standing efficacy of Issac Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics.

Eating Skittles, drinking pineapple juice, and writing the outline for a paper on why the Shoah was 1. a betrayal and 2. a fulfillment of modernity.

  • Distortion of Enlightenment political theorists (Rousseau and Locke): 1. Natural liberty replaced with civic liberty. 2. Property rights –> suffrage worked against European Jews. 3. Aryan blood, in lieu of consent by inclusion, became the signature on the social contract.
  • Science as a utilitarian pursuit of progress (Bacon): rational questions with “final solutions”
  • A Protestant work ethic producing “specialists with spirit, sensualists without heart” (Weber): workers predisposed to finding the moral value of their existence in the technical performance of their labor with little to no consideration of the moral outcomes of actions.
  • Industrialization as a vehicle for human debasement: technical division and specialization of labor resulting in the commodification of man by other man to be bent and wielded to his purpose, ultimately losing his fundamental right to life.
  • The zeal of religion transferred in the French Revolution to one of unbridled modern nationalism – retaining the force of cohesion for a population.

It’s 1:30 am, but I’m more happy about this assignment than anything else I’ve done for a grade in the past 6 months.

That is all.

  • Track Name

    Black Motorcycle

  • Album

    The Emirati Album

  • Artist

    Jon Thompson

People often are disappointed when they ask me to play “Someone Like You” or another song making the popular rounds these days. I have to tell them, politely but firmly, that I don’t spend much time concerning myself with how to play the music of others.

Songs, after all, are stories. On one hand, you can spend your whole life learning someone else’s stories, mastering them to technical perfection. Or you can create and tell your own – a dangerous proposition, I know, since it involves getting messy and taking risks that might result in failure. 

To me, my status as a musician has always had so little to do with technical proficiency and so much more to do with creativity and freedom. I probably feel more free at the keyboard of this Kawai grand than I do anywhere else on the planet. And here, I conjure up and process the memories I don’t know how to label.

I have to remember that I came into this world in the arms of my mother, have since laid more than once in the arms of a lover, and one day I will die in the arms of still another. I have to remember that I’ve sinned and cussed and drank and smoked, and yet I still have a baby face and a childlike innocence by some divine grace smiling down upon me. I have to remember that I’ve fumbled away a thousand opportunities but I’m still working towards a brighter future after today. I have to remember that I am inherently flawed despite my thirst for perfection. I have to remember it all, and I remember it by bringing it to life on a piano.

I glanced at my music library the other day. It turns out that I’ve recorded 24 unique hours of my own music in the past four years. I’ve probably written 100+ songs. I’d call that a pretty solid output. 

I like this song too. It came directly on the heels of Narcissus, and I mean that I recorded it in one improvised shot within minutes of finishing the previous session. An outgrowth of a little pain with a lot of inspiration is what this is. It’s titled Black Motorcycle, because it seems solitary, sleek, and could carry me across a continent if you add saddlebags and a bed roll.

Let’s ride.

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