From Alan Lomax to the commercial art and now the money machine.

At the turn of the century; when sound recording 1st became available to the masses, recording a song was an opportunity for folk to reach out; and tell the world something up front and personal.
It meant that people were able to put themselves on “The record” A way of leaving a permanent audio statement, an epitaph, an audio sound bite immortalising ~ life, mood, emotion captured and bottled for all eternity.
(A medium that conveyed messages from artists and storytellers of all kinds)

A recording was also a great addition to "The family album" something more tangible, a window to a real person, with a real life, a message and a point of view; a legacy, a blast from the past.
Few people expected sound prints to be re-designed, homogenised, formulated, copied, repackaged and that art and the message would be played over and over again by new artists in the form of "cover music" or that the style of the messages would become secularized, seperated into distinctive groups, or constrained by an elite clique or commercial genre.
Labelling and streamlining art & music mostly benefits the commercial art & music industry; and no longer the artists and creators.

I've no problem with good business, or the multi-billion pound industrys that have gained commercial success.

However the process of mass homogenisation, product synthesis, marketing, streamlining and then packaging fashion, sound and synthetic culture to sell a product, leaves very little room for creative people to just be creative.

A medium originally open to many for self expression, a historical record, an archive, a voice, a personal message;
Is now just a vehicle for advertising and perpetuating a genre of nonsense, so much so that there is now more white noise immortalised than messages.

To re-cap ~ I Think that creativity and expressionism; like story telling conveys moods and messages from the present and past!
Artists and musicians should have the opportunity to create and produce more information than they copy; thus creating a richer more colourful tapestry, whilst not devaluing the message of their predecessors!

Purcy Flaherty.

what is going on?
really, please tell me.
inquiring minds need to know
as in me, im the inquiring mind.
im struggling to find my own self
you see,
I've built this persona , right?
so you may meet me and perceive me some way that fits into your mind
or the other hand
you can know me for awhile
and
built this persona of me, slowly yet surely
so you understand
except I seem to surprise you
I take you by whim
catch your breath kinda thing.

ah, so you don't know me?
or you thought you did.

question..

here is your info..

two sided individual
anti social introvert
unknowingly kind
yet blunt

so which am I?
today?
tomorrow?
the next 5 mins.?

tell me,
what do you think of me?
do you have me figured out?
what is my persona?

One last step
Through the forest before the trees are cut down.

One last flight into space
Before the the satellites keep us in.

One last read
Before the library cuts the sentence by toll.

One last champion
Before his logos show.

One last man.
Before he places the devil around his neck.

One last word.
Before they charge me for every other after.

Freedom doesn't have "a last".
Freedom is lasting.

Here we are again. A place I’m all too familiar with. My bedroom. Late at night. I’m sitting here upset at something I saw on the Internet again. Or something someone said again. Here I am laying in my own sadness and depression, laying here in my own disappointment. Why is it like this every single ******* time?

I lay here and just try to fall asleep, but instead I want to fall off a cliff. But instead, I try to fall into a song. I fall face first into some deep-**** lyrics, and heart first into a melody that can move tears down cheeks and mountains both at the same time. I keep hoping that the music will take me away from here. Take me away from this information that makes me want to scream and shout and cry and ***** all at the same time in some weird, guttural image that would put Picasso out on street corners begging for eyes to gaze upon his art. But is it too much to beg for eyes to gaze upon a heart?

Maybe my heart is just lonely and needs attention. I’ve never been sure if I give it enough myself. But there’s only so much one person can do for something until it needs a second pair of eyes, a second pair of hands, a second opinion, a second dose of love. Maybe my twin size bed is keeping that second pair of eyes, that second dose of love from having any room to squeeze into my heart. Or maybe I’ve just never been good at sharing. I always eat more cookies then I should. I want the whole pizza to myself. And don’t even get me started on music selection.

I’m rambling again, but I think I’m just distracting myself from what I saw again. Or what I heard again. I’m trying to distract my mind because it doesn’t know how to process what it’s just seen, what it’s just heard.  I don’t know how to cope with being let down. I don’t know why, because I’ve been let down so much you think I’d have chosen a final resting place by now.

It’s too dark in here to see what I can do about this. So, I just do what I always do. After listening to my music, pity *******, and crying trying not to be heard, I lay down and try to rest.

Maybe I’ll fall asleep, and in the morning, it’ll all be better.

Or maybe I’ll fall asleep, and in the morning, it’ll all be over.

I’m not sure which thought is gonna help me get to sleep.

Hidden information
Stuck in my head

I do not get it out because the chaos takes the lead.
Get a half understanding and a laugh to please
I want to give you whole but I don't know what that means.

too many souls
live life like
it's a test
always rushing
to absorb the
i n f o r m a t i o n
nothing is
in  f o r m a t i o n.