Saturday, 7 February 2009

SIMALCRUM



I enrolled in clinical trials for depression. I have to pretend to be depressed so some doctors pay me to take pharmaceuticals, but as I am actually depressed in real life this starts to turn into a meta-reality, a postmodern, pseudo-authentic, Baudrillardian simulacra of depression which is, ironically, real. How depressed must I profess to be? Real depressed or fake depressed? Which will earn me more money? I have started getting phone calls asking me if I have considered suicide or harming myself in the last seven days. Despite being made by a robot, the concern expressed makes me feel relatively loved.

I am playing a show tomorrow. This is exciting and terrifying, as it's the first time I've played with someone else since I left my soulmates in New York. Reflective and reflexive. 
Should I write lyrics? Inadequacy and expectations. 
Hahahahahahahaha, I can only write about deer now anyway. 


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