The Depths

I feel like our brains are sometimes like a CPU hard drive. Saving and copying and backing-up information. Always writing and adding new shortcuts to memories and policies, and dress-codes, and prayers, and recipes, and pains, and ecstacies, and profanities, and eulogies, and sports stats, and calorie counts, and whatever the fuck it is our eyes, ears, nose, and touch process to fill up the database. I think the everyday American fills their hard drive up to the brim with shit. Meaningless, meaningless shit. We've been programmed to think that even that which is perceived as important is important when it's really just shit. What does it matter if you move 15 units of SoBe Life Water from the shelves at HEB? What does it matter if you form two new engine parts for the transmission on the new Toyota Tundra? What does it matter that you inputted 4,000 client contacts into your company's sales server? What does it matter that Tide came out with a new Febreeze scented fabric softener? What does it matter that your tortilla soup had too many corn kernels at Cantina Laredo?

It fucking doesn't. But we're told it does. We're programmed to think it does. I think these things own space in our hard drives, and I think there's a limit to that hard drive. I also think this is scary.

I wish I had enough time to do shit like this....to think like this, in frame-of-mind-day-to-day-streams-of-conscience....to roam freely and get scary....


F.Y.I. from Ryan Adams on Vimeo.

Lucky fuck. Lucky insane fuck...