Greetings earthlings,

Here's a thought I’ve had for a week. I’ve bounced it off a few people, seems to ring true, so I figured I'd type it out for this fine fellowship. As always, at the bottom, you’ll find the secret exclusive art you signed up for as an enlightened panpsychist messiah. Happy Wednesday.

For long periods of human history, people could live the same lives as their grandparents. They farmed; you farmed; your kids would farm. Maybe the mayor would be bad for a decade, better for a decade. Maybe there would be war and some people would get conscripted. Perhaps a plague if you're unlucky. But generally, life would be, or at least could be, predictable. It might have been painful, but it was simple. Easy. Peasy.

That assumption is about as realistic for us now as imagining America will have drinking water next decade. Or that Instagram’s formula would have remained the same in 2019. Or that iTunes would stick around forever in 2009.

Or assuming that ChatGPT will function the same as it does today, five years from now.

Not going to happen.

Hence, my thesis: we are entering an artistic renaissance. We live in such a transitional time that our imaginations are a requirement for creating our lives. And because our imaginations are required, art becomes utilitarian, not merely aesthetic. The visions you ascribe to are necessary if you want any sort of control over where your life is headed. And more importantly, we need new art.

We cannot rely on the art before us because, by and large, it is simply irrelevant.

 The things we are grappling with are so different and strange that most older works do not address the emergent phenonmenon we are faced with. Nanobots. Neuralink. Algorithms. What????????

Of course, there are metaphors we can draw from art, from history. Frodo’s ring is like the smartphone. Trump is like Vecna. The French Revolution happened amid a wealth disparity similar to that of America now. Luddites destroyed looms the way people reject AI, (though no one has blown up a data center yet, unfortunately). Press gangs are like ICE.

Yet none of these are truly accurate. We are living in unprecedented times. The things that are timeless, those rooted in nature and the human condition, will remain and be reinterpreted through new works. But as our environment changes, and as our situation changes as a civilization, we are brought to a crucible where new creation is required.

So this is a time to step deeply into your artistry. Assess what you value in the art you consume. I’ll add that the line between art and all forms of media, news, podcasts, blogs, posts, has thinned. Media is increasingly synonymous with art. I’ll come back to that later.

This is a time to think deeply about what you want your life to be, from first principles: food, shelter, water, environment, education. As you explore the infinite terrain of creativity, appreciate that life is an artistic practice. The curriculum of your life, the paint on the wall, the food you eat, the books you read, the videos you consume, the music you listen to, these are all mediums. All built on a utilitarian and visionary foundation.

This is why paying attention to artists you personally enjoy is more important now than ever. Because they will pull you into the life that you and your children will live.

The popular lifestyle will not serve you here. Entertainment intent on satiating greed, lust, wrath, envy bears even less relevance in a time when we are focused on how we will live. Listening to Taylor Swift, Drake, anyone who was popular in the past, is the same as following Trump because he was a prominent financial figure and therefore must know how to run the country.

It’s putting the cart full of shit before the horse. It’s ass-backwards. Those people, propagandists, are not connecting the present to the future. They are grabbing attention not because they have a message or a direction, but simply because they want something now.

This is not breaking news. The infrastructure and institutions that have brought us forth are inherently corrupted and corrupting, designed to trade the well-being of future generations, us, for the indulgence of the present. In order to transcend that, and we must, for material reasons that grow more dire and urgent every day, in order to bring forth a paradigm of peace, sustainability, and community, new, intentional, visionary art is necessary.

Thankfully, there are thousands, if not billions, of creatives already contributing toward this new age through every medium. Engineering, agriculture, music, every facet of existence is being engaged with creatively. We are living in a renaissance the likes of which we have never seen before.

So. You.

This is the call. Bzz. Create. Bzz. Participate. Bzz. Join us. Shout from the rooftops about decentralized governance. Throw wildflower seeds into the wind. Behold, and be a genius.

You are already involved in this wretchedly beautiful, infernally enlightening system of creation and destruction and everything in between.

The only question is how you will show up in it, and which parts of the show you will attend.

Phew. On that note, here's the pre-save link to my new song 'FINE". I hope it helps you find what being fine means to you.

— aaaaaaand here it is early, for those who are in the mailing list: 

(EMPTY CUZ THIS IS THE BLOG)

I love having you guys here, listening to this stuff early, reading my words. It's like I'm leaking the Epstein Files. Except it's shoegaze music about heartbreak and inner peace. And anti-imperial propoganda. Way cool. 

I've said enough, I'd say.

Enjoy yourself, 

Panpsyche

PS. When I hit 10k on Insta I'll do something outrageous

Well,

With all the charm of an anti-capitalist wearing a bear costume, I've somehow attained millions of views on a video on Instagram.

This wasn't on my New Year's resolution list. My resolutions entailed finishing my book Darklight, along with several others, publishing poetry, and releasing a new album. All of these have been put on the side for the last week, as I grapple with the apparent value of my absurd, bite-sized takes on the internet.

That said, I'm putting the bear hat down as I write this, to share that the new audience has made me incredibly grateful, and I'm really keen on stepping up and sharing properly, in long form, as I am here.

Life has been pretty interesting lately. I had a night without power and heating, coincedentially on the coldest night of the year so far. Made me quite sympathic to the people enduring harsh conditions in our city. I heard there's a movement motivated to house people in The Path overnight, which I am all for, going to try to reasearch it and put a link here:

I researched it, and found nothing. It must have been a dream I had. Or a shower thought. 

Still: seems insane that people have to sleep outside in the winter when we have an UNDERGROUND city that I know lies empty. I'd like to know who to petition about this.

That aside:

One thing that has been on my mind, and exemplified through the last few weeks, is the balance between structure and flow. Form and essence. The ability to have a short formula: weird take, three points, close, has allowed me to make continuously engaging videos on the internet. It's something I've been conscious of in music for a while: intro, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus (or something along those lines) and I've recently started integrating it into my writing, outlining my new stories and writing outlines for the stories that I have already begun to write. It offers a lot of clarity, but most importantly, it lets me mess around without feeling like I have no idea what I'm doing. As an ADHD juggler of every known medium who possesses a persisting delusion that I can learn the inner workings of physics, chemistry, biology, and pretty much every subject, this has been key for me. I dream of an outline for life full of blank spaces. 

A structure that's completely empty of structure. 

To be free to act so I can act freely.

Anyway, I'm realizing more and more this is how success manifests at scale in our world. It's what allows entites to pivot and maintain simultaneously. They don't teach us this on a personal level in any particular place. It's something that I lost when the days of the week became meaningless during Covid, and it's returning slowly but surely, in a way that allows me to push myself out of bed at 5am to go write until the sun comes up, to post three times a day, to set up my music to release every two weeks, etc.

All this to say, reflecting on your own about the type of rules you'd like to impose upon yourself might bear some fruit (every time I say bear now, it's a pun, by the way).

In other news, I joined a community called Pluto in Toronto. Membership is a little pricey and I'm not fully committed on staying, but I'm thinking I'll offer a class or two there, regarding music and writing, more of a communal circle for us to reflect off of. 

If you're in Toronto and interested, keep me posted. If you aren't, maybe I'll make it remote compatible. 

Whether or not I stay at Pluto, I'd like to be able to host containers consistently for people interested in the community going forward, so stick around and I'm sure we'll be co-working on art soon enough.

Being at Pluto was great, because I met some published authors, some poets who are vying to begin writing formula… every point along the spectrum you can imagine. 

And the interesting part is that we're all interested in community. No matter how far along you get, feedback from other human beings seems to be immensely valuable. Whether it's non-fiction, a puppet play, or essays seems beside the point.

I'll leave you all with this: I have a new song coming out for Valentine's Day, which I hope you enjoy. 

You can find it here early (mailing list only)--  (Told you there was a point to joining the mailing list)

I'll be hosting a gathering at Pluto shortly, which I will of course provide here, on the site, with a discount code. Hopefully it'll be next to nothing. I detest paying to play.

Toodles,

Eternal Dave

Pardon the serious tone of this one; I must have been going through something: 

Nothing means more in the end than memories with a friend.

When I first moved away from my parents I felt like I was on top of the world. I was finally free to smoke weed when I wanted, living with musicians, reading anything, saying anything.

The question of home didn’t really come into my mind until fall. I went away to where they were for a while, out west in Victoria. 

Then I came back to Toronto, kept recording, but the question pressed deeper into the winter.

I found myself looking to where my parents had moved as home. But that wasn’t home, I thought… I don’t even live there. 

I poured into the dream of building a home with the girl I was seeing at the time, taking us forward down the path with the desperate hope of “getting there.” 

There were fleeting moments when it actually worked, and I felt at home. With old friends shouting about communism to the treetops.

Recording myself singing freely, with my sisters from The Ancient Youth, and it my brothers each battling demons and bringing glory.

In the small, stoned, esoteric quiet between the scenes of black and white Russian films, 

 during dinners and bike rides where prolonged discussions about where the line between free will is drawn.

But more nights than not I’d fall asleep aching, yearning for a place with no name.

It wasn’t until I was in the depths of Japan that I really grasped the truth of home, as memories of all my friends and family and things that I love, that were foreign there, flew through me like the monkeys in the trees, like the sparrows by the sea, like the wind. 

Home is where the heart is, and that heart is in you.

There is no home for me until I’m at peace with who I am, my mission, my dharma, my past, my  heartbreak,  and my hopes for the future. 

There is no place outside the heart to find the belonging we seek.

That’s what this song is about. I hope it helps you find your home and realize it was there all along.

The fridge is still broken.

I wouldn't normally mind this except for the fact that it's hot and I want to make chocolate bark. 

The book is done being drafted for the first time. I remember starting it four year ago in Banff with Nolan. Buddy, if you're reading this, answer your texts. 

I didn't smoke weed and I mixed three of my own songs to celebrate. Hopefully by next round I'll print a few beta copies and hand them to the well-intended friends who don't know what they're getting into.

I wonder if people will really read it. I hope so.

In other news, the new studio is going ahead. I might actually start making money again instead of living off of savings. Possibly even attaining some level of stability. Kinda a lifelong dream of mine. So that's quite nice. 

All those people who have dedicated their lives to creating esoteric musical instruments have just gained another person to smother them in validation. Kickstater-Reverb.com-old-friends-who-don't-use-their music equiement-back catalogue here I come. If you're one of those, reach out.

I went to a festival and might have started to fall in love a little bit. To be fair I think she might have started it. Still,  wasn't supposed to do that because I'm already in love. Agh. Probably shouldn't talk about it. But honestly, everyone involved is handling it like a champ. It's amazing how honest we can all be when we honour each other's boundaries. If I can learn anything it's that women are emotional intelligence gods and I can do nothing but admire and respect their ability to understand things.

Anyway me and the girl are moving out of this apartment at the corner of Dundas and Carlaw in like 10 days. 

I'd like to say I'll miss it, so I'll say it.

I'll miss it. 

The restaurant + street traffic + police siren noises were enthralling for the first hour of being here.

That said, after months you start to question if your nervous system knows what relaxation is anymore. No amount of Pokemon and Studio Ghibli stuffies can bring the peace that silence can (shocker, and also true if you inverse it)

Sonic Springs was great. Shoutout the team, the guy who lent me a mattress, jeremy who drove me, everyone.  If you're in Ontario, come next year. Many people say it's the best festival they've been too. It defintely has inspired the festival scene in One. 

So many people are into Solar Punk there, it's amazing. 

Anyway, bed time. Starting a writing class at UofT in two months or so. Follow your dreams kids and listen to The Perfect Girl in every possible remix form you can.

Night Night

I'm on the plane back to Toronto. Guy next to me moved to the back of the plane cuz the baby in front of us kept crying, but now the baby stopped, and I have two seats to strech my lanky legs in. Endurance is key.

I'm somewhat concerned with what will happen once this plane lands. 

I've been gone for two and half month and have completely changed and also not at all, and I'm wondering if I'll fall back or forward, or a third direction people have yet to fall in.

The upcoming move, the new songs, the book, the epic awesome cuddly girlfriend, the calendar which i will actually use… these all have to sum to something. I've got the goals! 3 tiktoks a day (ugh) write everyday, new song every three weeks, work with four people on their music a month. it doesnt need to be more complicated than that, right? Right???

Rightttt.

Got tickets to see ivri. Got some almonds stuck in the back of my teeth. It's a good thing I'm going to see a dentist, but let me tell you I do not envy being in his position. And thats not a knock on dentistry as a sector, that's empathy. It's good to have things to look forward to.

Rubbing those two remaining brain cells together, the level to which social media distracts me is the biggest obstacle. My wavering singing voice, object impermance, the three hours of jet lag, they've got nothing on the bright buzzing dopamine sucker. I've been saying it for a while but I'm going to try to limit my phone to like two or three times per day, and that's it. it's an addiction, it's wild how many backflips the clowns in my brain will do to get me to pick that thing up and start flicking my thumb and drooling. Truly a marvel of modern engineering.

Anyway, as I look out the plane window, some of my climate anxiety is reduced. Ironic I know. But this place is just so darn big. 

It's really big.

Big.

Enough from me. Go do that thing you like to do when nobody is watching. 

Also, join the portal. I don't think anyone has joined yet. You can be the first! Maybe I'll mail you a ribbon.

Well, I've been thinking more about games again.

I wandered by the sea, at Cattle Point, Victoria, BC, past the beautifully out-of-tune piano and the less beautiful yet glorious wizard player who is going at it for as long as I was there.

My grandfather has gout in his feet, and can't go for a walk two days in a row, so I was left to my own devices to ponder in the sea air. I did yoga to attack some the chronic pain. I brought no electronics and stared at things that don't flash.

I stretched, wrote some poetry, smiled at strangers, notice the waves on the waves in the waves in the sea, then got down to the deep business of thinking the same thing I thought yesterday, only with the slight intention of being less wrong.

*     *     *

The way I see it, there are thousands of games out there to play. Every sport, every trade, every profession. They've got strict rules most of the time, some leniency and creative license around the edges, but for the most part, you don't get to decide if you win or lose. That's the proverbial referee's job, the boss, the customer, etc.

Then there's making art.

Seems like being an artist is the game where really, there are no rules. This sounds really great for about 5 years, and then you realize you have no idea if you're playing tag, or manhunt. Are you chasing things? Are they chasing you? Is this good? Bad? A success? A failure?

*crickets*

The only rules, are the ones you impose upon yourself. 

It's around right here that I like to ask myself, would I lock myself in jail? Fire myself? Disicpline myself? Of my own volition?

Rules are as real in art as the rest of the rules in this world. 

They're real because someone has a gun, or access to clean water and food, and will give you those things, based on how well you do. 

Only here, the person is you. 

(Well, maybe not as real as the rules for engineering a bridge. Or being a doctor. Bridges fall and people died regardless of who's pointing what where. But I digress.)

Am I saying starve yourself or shoot youir toe if the painting is bad? Absolutely not. 

But these rules are real in so far as, by their definition, there is a real failure or success, and the consquences that come from that, are as evil or glorious as you choose.

 If the rule of a successful song is, is makes someone cry, if it doesn't make someone cry, it's a failure. What you do from that point onwards though, is where the reality of the rules comes in. Maybe you cry. Then you win.  Bad example. Maybe you… make yourself write another song. That's probably the healthiest way to punish yourself. 

I've always been a carrot over the stick person (said every person who has the choice.) So I guess, it's more like, here are those choclates I love, or a beautiful date with myself. Or a fat bowl of black tar heroin.

If that's your reward, please fail.

*     *     *

Maybe the consquence isn't the important part. It's about the metric mannnn. If that book becomes a new york time bestseller, if the song must hit 1,000,000 streams! The painting must be indistinguishable from a photograph!! The vase must be perfectly symmetrical!!!

But the question is: then what? That's the question. Without that, a lot of the momentum and direction and feedback for a path gets lost. If you go off the path in the woods, you get the visceral feedback of blackberry thorns tearing your clothing. You win by getting to the end. I love the hiking game.

Feedback from art, is self-imposed. I kinda already said this, but that feedback is key to steering the imaginary ship through imagination land.

If it is, then it's good. It wins! If it doesn't, it lost. 

I geniuenly think this is important and figuring out those terms is something artists need to do, if they aren't experimenting. I also think it's important to fail. To love failing. To take your losses gallantly, like a champ. being a good sport. All that jazz. Except jazz doesn't have wrong notes. All the classical.

I'll take this moment to reinforce, please take a healthy path from failure. Maybe its pushups. Maybe it's humilation by singing at Union that you're making new music that's going to be better. Just don't be violent or indulgence or… idk a member of clery is probably better at telling you the wretched punishment. Anything that's in hell, don't do.

Sidebar, my grandparents are so cute and sweet. My grandmother just start pointing out this mug I gave her, that says grandmother: Never far in thought, always close at heart. She is the most lovely.

When you get old, you start reverse aging spiritually. My grandparents occasionally sound like two kids on the playground at daycare. It's the bees knees. I strive to be like a child at daycare, making sandcastles in the sand, jumping up when they are finished and dragging the closest person to come look at them (except for me it's an album or book). That kid is playing by some sort of rules, but only God knows what they are. I'm sure the kid doesn't. The kid doesn't know why someone almost dies, or doesn't die in Lego-Thomas the Tank Engine crossover. They just do!! Because!!!!

*     *     *

Anyway, I think I'm narrowing down my goals. The sign of a good game, is when you give the person just enough to barely win, if they play their cards right. That's the kind of game I'm trying to lay out for myself, knowing who I am, which I just started kind of doing while on the road.

I'll end it with this; if you feel like you're losing, or lost, reassess which game you're playing. You can always play tic-tac-toe, and hint: if you start first, the worst you can do is tie.

Hey friends,

This is my first time writing something like this. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve probably written a few hundred things like this, brain dumps with the intention of enlightening the world and making everyone comprehend the boundless love living within us all. Maybe thousands. You'd be amazed at what addiction to social media will make a man's notes up look like.

But this is the first one I’ve done on my laptop. And this is the first one that I’ve done to share on my new blog. So there.

*     *     *

I launched my mailing list last week. I’m kind of proud of that, and kind of frustrated that it took so long. I looked at some new hyperpop kids who are doing house parties at 17 like I was, and I’m kicking myself. If only I’d started my freaking mailing list at eighteen! tonser, if you’re reading this, start a freaking mailing list man. 

Anyway, I now have a mailing list, where i share my reccomendations. And there’s 46 of you in the first two weeks. 

Not bad. 

Actually, one person is good. Great. Godly. I remember telling that to other people more successful than me back in the day, when they got hundreds of thousands of streams in seconds (or so it felt) and I really hope I remember it as I go forward. The notion of helping people stems from what I wish I could give to just one person.

*     *     *

I was writing chapter 30 something of One, when I realized my grandparents were starting to watch their mystery without me, and i upped myself from the bed, to give my presence to my grandmother. She is hosting me, her eccentric grandson who helps her with the garden and writes for odd hours of the day. (i write a lot in the bed. I’m writing right now in the bed. The Bed TM. Not really, any bed will do. Or won't do, the same amount. Things you get used to, being 6'5.)

I’m glad I sat and watched a murder mystery on Tv with them. Actual Tv channels. I'm vintage.

*     *     *

Sometimes, the things that seem to be the biggest wastes of time are the most precious moments. In fact, i think that is exclusively the case. The idea of wasting time feels like late stage capitalism wormed it’s way into my brain and ate the apple and is steering me like a fungus in ht elast of us towards another apple.

That said, if I had real scarcity, I would not be so cavalier with the notion of wasting time, I’m sure. Privledge at every turn.

Is privledge a product of capitalism? Was the garden of Eden ever real? I struggle with that concept often.

I think back in the good old 150 tribe days when we lived around the equator, there might have genuinely been enough fruit for us. If you dodged the carnivores, heatstroke and plague, then yeah. Garden of Eden. And we were all naked.

Seeing my grandparents, they seem to have their garden figured out. And they still have clothes on.

I think for them, they’ve met their basic needs, and now engage in the struggles of their choosing. Some of those struggles are struggles they’ve learned to embrace, (I’d like to see someone try to order grocereis to my grandmother’s door instead of her going to get them in Oak Bay.) 

Whereas other games they play are more freewillynilly. 

Struggles that are self-imposed are called games. When that clicked, I had a whole bunch of reveleations. Maybe playing games in relationships is good. Maybe that’s why I like sucking at things and getting better, when it doesn’t matter. 

It kind of turns hustle culture on its head, because hustle culutre kind of assumes that the struggle is imposed externally, when really, the motivation to win a game and not lose blossoms in acknowledging that I wanted this, and i want to win. i guess that’s why the term “It’s just a game” never really lowered the stakes for me. 

Anyway, time to fall asleep reading Pillars of the Earth, and yearning for something my mere mortal mind will never comprehend (my girlfriend)

Thanks for being here, 

David