FOGGY'S MENTOR

I am an idealist. And a loathed person.I dream way too loud.I break things in myself all the time.I believe. I choose to believe this all happening.And that some of it may not be as it seems.That this (your view of a world in a cosmos) is a construct. I am a relativist though and I DO NOT have time for string-theory or that hippy bullshit from the cuff "New Science" b.s.Its about gravity.Its about light.and its about matter.It is not the NOTHING in space causing shit, it is the SOMETHINGsI would prefer to be like the somethings. Like the stranger more undefinable cosmic events. Or maybe even a bit like my hero's. They are the people before us who dared to be a little bit less afraid of what other people thought and a little bit more willing to put their nuts in their salad.You know- people who really laughed, and not because that was expected.I see them everywhere.From the guy that sings chinese songs to me when I buy Ginseng on my block, who knows instantly what things I should put back, and knows I am fragile, without me saying a word, to someone like Marc Jacobs, who is obviously a genius and doesn't give a fuck, for giving such a fuck about everything. I may be an idealist,but that is my job.I used to dig ditches. That was part of plumbing, and I was horrid at that too.Now I dig ditches in me. I tear myself into shreds in hopes I might find something useful that might explain a joy, or a loss or a pain that someone else might have trouble analyzing. It is hard work. It really messes me up. But I love it. It is honest work. Because when you stop the research and start bullshitting, people know. You aren't helping them.And, at least with music, there has to be a story, a mystery, and a truth before it all. And I don't care much for my music but I try and build songs as simple as card houses, with only truth holding them up.I think that is something hard and interesting to do.I hope I don't lose all my hearing too fast. But I will be happy to find work anywhere, and would take as many pictures and make as much art as I do now.Did you know I always worked this much and made this much stuff. No. How could you. But I did.My grandparents ran out of drawers for things I made.We needed lots of refrigerator space and I used to get asked questions like, "David Ryan, how big do you think the universe is?" while playing hearts at the kitchen table, backdoor open, screen door closed to keep out the mosquitos, and things like, "What do you think forever is?"I loved that. I think i might have been born in the woods by werewolves. Maybe I am from outer space, but in the coastal south, the night is forever, and those questions are welcomed for those long damp moments in time that hang above you as things simmer on the stove.I guess I am an idealist.I believe things MEAN stuff.This mean my chances of survival are very slim.But, for every single dream I dreamthat I diagramand turn into a thingI have wonIf but a secondA game We are all playingWith a very volatile cosmos.