synecdoche

It’s so much harder to post these days because I’d have to redact everything. I want to tell you my secrets. And I want to talk shit but unfortunately I can’t because I’ve made a commitment to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me god. So help me, God! Talking shit is sometimes necessary but it isn’t always the truth. So instead I stay busy and buzzing.

I prep for my album rollout. I do seven loads of laundry. I put out calls for extras on my instagram. I reply in endless email threads. I meet with my lawyer. I go to analysis twice a week. I sit in long meetings every day, sipping lemon tea on Microsoft Teams, tapping my pedicure on cold wood floors. I love the feeling of having a lot of things to do. I love the feeling of preparation. 

I think I am preparing for something big. Bigger than last time. And wider too. Deeper and more colourful. Even if it only matters to me. Even if I am the only one who can see the glow. 

The other day, I tweeted that I think every artist gets one masterpiece per lifetime. You get many great works but only one masterpiece. This is a great work, and maybe it will be my masterpiece. The only way to know is in the retrospect. The only way to know is at the end of it all.