Edition #35
A Stream of Creative Life
My dear brothers, sisters, friends, and loved ones, I hope you are all doing great, and that you had the opportunity to enjoy a little of the new year’s colors in the otherwise busy streams of your lives. I’ve been deeply touched by your words regarding MacKaye’s passing, reminding me that not only I wasn’t alone, but that I was affectionately supported and cherished beyond grateful words… Thank you sincerely.
Nature Always Finds Its Way
I’ve been quiet recently, besides spending more time alone than I should probably have, sparing some instants observing nature’s metamorphosis, discovering the new “creatures” who elected their residence over my land, from a couple of red foxes now living in my backyard, a black bear who had enough hibernation sleep, an impressive pack of 12 to 15 deers swapping from my distant neighbor’s land to the front of my home, up to an impressive herd of wild turkeys and countless rabbits. Most of the migrating birds aren’t back yet, but it shouldn’t be that long anymore… I can already see the early burgeoning phase of the trees… It snowed a little before the temperature hit 20°C only two days later… The creek went from being a frozen figure to a cascading enthusiast just as fast. That’s what I like here; it’s a reflection of life, tangling and unfolding again and again. It has its own rhythm and always redefines its cycles in a mystifying style… Observing its generous grandiosity helped me maintain a certain form of interior balance in the face of everything I recently had to go through. I would have never guessed just how much of a benediction it would be for me to root my heart on this mountain. It has been as unexpected as its wilderness.
As I’m Moving Away From Home
I’m currently in the puzzling process of packing stuff for what will be an extensive period away from home. I’ve been emotionally absent since MacKaye passed away. There are rooms in the house that I haven’t gone back to ever since. There are just too many souvenirs, memories, and toys lying around, reminding me of just how much I miss him… Everything is kind of in a standstill mode. Even Leonard’s otherwise upbeat personality hasn’t truly been the same. I guess we’re both floating in a current of affective detachment. One thing is for sure, my home has never been that empty and quiet. I’ve been working endlessly, like I usually do, in order to avoid having to deal with the pain my soul is bearing. As I wrote to one member and dear friend of my new management family, it’s an unhealthy way to process the whole thing – I know, I used to be a social worker. You have to appreciate the irony in all of this… At least I kept a certain sense of humor.
I haven’t led MacKaye to his final resting place. Maybe that’s what’s hurting the most. His ashes are with me, in the box I picked up from the funeral home weeks ago now. I even have two urns… still boxed as well. I know I can’t push back the issue any longer as I’m leaving tomorrow, and there’s no way I would let his remains like that. I never thought I was that damaged, or maybe I never wanted to admit just how much I was. Another irony I suppose, especially that it brings me right back to what I call my “bleakest space”, which is a place made of mirrors projecting layers and layers of my life displayed in multi-angle overlays in a slow torturing manner. I’m not one to blame others, circumstances, or the universe for whatever I am going through or might think I am or not, but I do overly scrutinize and excessively analyze myself… incessantly. My father was the same… It almost killed him, and he did try a few times before he found answers in his transformative faith in Jesus. He finally passed away in an incredible state of peace and elation… There’s hope, always… and that’s me being ironic.
Packing, I realized how much of the same things that I have – still wrapped. If I thought I wasn’t crazy enough, here are a few more clues! I found that I had something like more than 20 pairs of the very same model and size of jeans I’ve been wearing for the last 20 years, most of those lying down in the “touring” section of my closet. All the classic shirts and polos lay there with those jeans, added to a large pack of the same black t-shirts and underwear, along with an impressionable variety of Stance socks of all colors and pop culture designs. Shoes, shoes, shoes… The same brand, the same models. All “touring” stuff, reminding me that I’ve been a nomad most of my life, a transient of some sort, leaving a carry-on behind me everywhere I went, as if they were proof of my passage in all those places. I didn’t leave carry-ons behind, it’s a metaphor, but one that does have a vivid symbolism nonetheless. The silver lining in seeing all of that “touring stuff” is that it’s been “stored” while my life was standing in a sole traveling luggage before, and maybe that’s what explains why I’m unready to leave Virginia… The first place I ever considered my home. Not the band’s home, not a community home but My place, my refuge, my personal sanctuary…
Having several copies of the same items also came with the benefit of not having to worry about the matter of self-identity projection. Growing up in a financially precarious family setting, I used to be beaten regularly after school by the rich kids for not wearing cool brands. You don’t need to attend a social economy class to understand how the world is structured when you feel like having to shovel your wealthy friend’s driveways all winter to buy a single piece of whatever is in fashion… Now that I’ve been offered to be paid to wear stuff, I’m just grateful that I’m in a position where I can decline. It would be ironic if there weren’t as many kids as I used to be, still being beaten for the very same reasons every day. I appreciate not having to think too much about having to put on a public uniform every time a picture or a video is taken. I prefer self-integrity over estheticism display. So it’s funny for me to pack my things up, especially knowing that most of the upcoming creative sessions will be filmed for a potential documentary following the whole journey. I’m more worried about being asked questions on the meaning of what I’m dwelling on and having to explain the significance behind whatever I do. I often think that I’m the most boring artist you can follow during the affective gestation process, the voyage being a succession of emotional gritty steps all lived within, from which the true value remains interiorized until the spark of life suddenly blooms on its own terms. I’m as surprised as everyone when it does. No wonder why I mostly wear only black; I’m seeking colors elsewhere, and I’m rarely responsible for the nature of those pieces of brightness. I’m the explorer, amazed by the astonishing essence of the characters I discover. I also realized that I’m bringing more books with me than clothes…! It might be part of my pathology as well if I’m refusing to conform to any possible creative patterns and never trusted what came roaming in my mind so willingly when I’m writing, nor do I want to submit my spirit to any type of structure. I do have my own moments and reading is at the center of those. I’m a very slow reader, I like to construct my own images out of what I read, to give words a scent and a diverse scenery to the contexts. I let my imagination redesign the story, redefine the topics, and rewrite the antagonists. A book is like a canvas offering infinite possibilities, a bewildering world entangled in an infinite universe of reinterpretations… Like a sound assembled from the layering of waves reaching out to shine beyond the hesitations of my insecurities that used to keep them captive of their own rumbling deep down beneath me. If it’s confusing at times — my bandmates might say most of the time — it will all make sense when their “voices” will grow and mine will diminish. That’s why I’m so easily obsessed with a single word or an uncanny sound. It all goes back to those moments of solitude, it’s where and when a song, poetry, visual art, or else will silently start to manifest itself. I have to be inclined, as silence and solitude help me discern through the invisible of those instants of meditation. That explains the “more books than clothing” as I’m moving away for 3 months… It makes sense, right?!? Don’t answer…!
I haven’t led MacKaye to his final resting place. Maybe that’s what’s hurting the most. His ashes are with me, in the box I picked up from the funeral home weeks ago now. I even have two urns… still boxed as well. I know I can’t push back the issue any longer as I’m leaving tomorrow, and there’s no way I would let his remains like that. I never thought I was that damaged, or maybe I never wanted to admit just how much I was. Another irony I suppose, especially that it brings me right back to what I call my “bleakest space”, which is a place made of mirrors projecting layers and layers of my life displayed in multi-angle overlays in a slow torturing manner. I’m not one to blame others, circumstances, or the universe for whatever I am going through or might think I am or not, but I do overly scrutinize and excessively analyze myself… incessantly. My father was the same… It almost killed him, and he did try a few times before he found answers in his transformative faith in Jesus. He finally passed away in an incredible state of peace and elation… There’s hope, always… and that’s me being ironic.
Packing, I realized how much of the same things that I have – still wrapped. If I thought I wasn’t crazy enough, here are a few more clues! I found that I had something like more than 20 pairs of the very same model and size of jeans I’ve been wearing for the last 20 years, most of those lying down in the “touring” section of my closet. All the classic shirts and polos lay there with those jeans, added to a large pack of the same black t-shirts and underwear, along with an impressionable variety of Stance socks of all colors and pop culture designs. Shoes, shoes, shoes… The same brand, the same models. All “touring” stuff, reminding me that I’ve been a nomad most of my life, a transient of some sort, leaving a carry-on behind me everywhere I went, as if they were proof of my passage in all those places. I didn’t leave carry-ons behind, it’s a metaphor, but one that does have a vivid symbolism nonetheless. The silver lining in seeing all of that “touring stuff” is that it’s been “stored” while my life was standing in a sole traveling luggage before, and maybe that’s what explains why I’m unready to leave Virginia… The first place I ever considered my home. Not the band’s home, not a community home but My place, my refuge, my personal sanctuary…
Having several copies of the same items also came with the benefit of not having to worry about the matter of self-identity projection. Growing up in a financially precarious family setting, I used to be beaten regularly after school by the rich kids for not wearing cool brands. You don’t need to attend a social economy class to understand how the world is structured when you feel like having to shovel your wealthy friend’s driveways all winter to buy a single piece of whatever is in fashion… Now that I’ve been offered to be paid to wear stuff, I’m just grateful that I’m in a position where I can decline. It would be ironic if there weren’t as many kids as I used to be, still being beaten for the very same reasons every day. I appreciate not having to think too much about having to put on a public uniform every time a picture or a video is taken. I prefer self-integrity over estheticism display. So it’s funny for me to pack my things up, especially knowing that most of the upcoming creative sessions will be filmed for a potential documentary following the whole journey. I’m more worried about being asked questions on the meaning of what I’m dwelling on and having to explain the significance behind whatever I do. I often think that I’m the most boring artist you can follow during the affective gestation process, the voyage being a succession of emotional gritty steps all lived within, from which the true value remains interiorized until the spark of life suddenly blooms on its own terms. I’m as surprised as everyone when it does. No wonder why I mostly wear only black; I’m seeking colors elsewhere, and I’m rarely responsible for the nature of those pieces of brightness. I’m the explorer, amazed by the astonishing essence of the characters I discover. I also realized that I’m bringing more books with me than clothes…! It might be part of my pathology as well if I’m refusing to conform to any possible creative patterns and never trusted what came roaming in my mind so willingly when I’m writing, nor do I want to submit my spirit to any type of structure. I do have my own moments and reading is at the center of those. I’m a very slow reader, I like to construct my own images out of what I read, to give words a scent and a diverse scenery to the contexts. I let my imagination redesign the story, redefine the topics, and rewrite the antagonists. A book is like a canvas offering infinite possibilities, a bewildering world entangled in an infinite universe of reinterpretations… Like a sound assembled from the layering of waves reaching out to shine beyond the hesitations of my insecurities that used to keep them captive of their own rumbling deep down beneath me. If it’s confusing at times — my bandmates might say most of the time — it will all make sense when their “voices” will grow and mine will diminish. That’s why I’m so easily obsessed with a single word or an uncanny sound. It all goes back to those moments of solitude, it’s where and when a song, poetry, visual art, or else will silently start to manifest itself. I have to be inclined, as silence and solitude help me discern through the invisible of those instants of meditation. That explains the “more books than clothing” as I’m moving away for 3 months… It makes sense, right?!? Don’t answer…!
Next Studio Sessions, New Album Transitional Phase
Going back to the band’s studio HQ has the absolutely opposite effect on me. The place still holds the stench of many sufferings, disappointments, friends’ treasons, and the end of my naive utopia regarding the blessing that comes with living in a community, I suppose. It’s not as heart-wrenching as it was before, but the specters of that former existence of mine are still roaming around at some degree or another. “Why go back there to work on your next record?” you might wonder. I think it’s part of the process for me… Not the sufferings, but the emancipation from those soul-haunting ghosts wandering around when I’m questioning myself or feel like I’m in a transitioning phase. I’m not into regrets and remorses, I’m a positively-open type of cartesian person, or so I want to believe. Therefore, the vision of spending the next 3 months in a place where I can’t stand being for more than 24 hours at a time in order to write my next record is not only beautifully appealing, it is right where I know I should be in that very significant moment of self-evolvement. It seems paradoxical on so many levels, which is exactly the point of the whole thing. Doubt is a paralyzing agent, much like fear is a retrogressive one. And to discover what I want to channel in the next writing sessions, I have to rebuke the comfort of creative exploration and completely abandon myself in what I’ve always been the most terrified of; senselessness. It’s something I’ve learned to live with for so long, but is the biggest lie one can convince oneself of: that one needs to embrace when wanting to survive the paradigm the mind has constructed over time to face tribulations and hardships when the reality of emotional numbness doesn’t produce “protection”. It’s quite the opposite… It only brings the abnegation of self-fulfillment, nothing more. It’s the fear of being. At least it is for me.
It will be the first time for me to immediately dive into a completely new creative endeavor before the one I just completed a few days ago has even been pre-released. I was even supposed to have started working on that unformed piece of clay with my album producer as we speak but decided to push it back by a month before the Christmas holidays. If MacKaye looked like he was leaning towards remission, I had the strong sensation that I nonetheless had to push back. I dreamed about it actually, which probably was the unconscious projection of my deep worries and anxieties towards his condition. Knowing how the story unraveled, I’m incredibly relieved that I did follow my instincts, and much more grateful that everyone involved agreed to change the course of their own life schedules to support me on the matter. MacKaye’s sudden departure broke something pure within me, and I don’t think I would have been able to carry on and fake my way through such an intense process, would it had happened when we would all be at the HQ Church Studio. That’s the last tangible gift MacKaye offered me, one that allows me to envision what’s coming up with less of a blurry perspective, with a better appreciation of the light slowly glowing on the morning of that transformative season already unveiling its subtle and delicate outlines. It’s a fascinating impression to witness its fragile but steady candescence blossoming before my weary eyes, which sadly become uneasily impressionable over the years… Hope comes with the fact that wonders don’t need to be contemplated, nor even to be yearned after, they will illuminate your soul through a comforting blaze of their own as you often least expect it. Another piece of miracle that doesn’t need faith to appear, to be given.
The producer will join me in three weeks, along with a studio engineer. It will be the first time for me to work with someone with whom I’ve never artistically given life to anything before. It’s surprisingly me who wanted that type of uncomfortable setting. If I had the utmost admiration for the producer’s singular work, I became even more admirative of the person himself when I spent a week with him, his wife, and their son in Tangier last October. So much occurred in such a short period of time. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was sharing my views on what I want to lose myself to. As concerning as it might be for the others involved in the project, I see it as a good thing. I didn’t want a pre-established scenario or some sort of pre-existing road map. Well, I’m served now. We’ll peel the darkness out of the album canvas together and discover whatever lies underneath. That’s as much as I want to know at this point. I’m not even sure which of the actual or former Long Shadows members I foresee partaking in the process… that’s how open-handed I am writing to you today. Some would freak out, but not me… There is an emancipative dimension to where I presently stand. Everything will make sense in three weeks and even if it doesn’t seem like it does… it will.
It will be the first time for me to immediately dive into a completely new creative endeavor before the one I just completed a few days ago has even been pre-released. I was even supposed to have started working on that unformed piece of clay with my album producer as we speak but decided to push it back by a month before the Christmas holidays. If MacKaye looked like he was leaning towards remission, I had the strong sensation that I nonetheless had to push back. I dreamed about it actually, which probably was the unconscious projection of my deep worries and anxieties towards his condition. Knowing how the story unraveled, I’m incredibly relieved that I did follow my instincts, and much more grateful that everyone involved agreed to change the course of their own life schedules to support me on the matter. MacKaye’s sudden departure broke something pure within me, and I don’t think I would have been able to carry on and fake my way through such an intense process, would it had happened when we would all be at the HQ Church Studio. That’s the last tangible gift MacKaye offered me, one that allows me to envision what’s coming up with less of a blurry perspective, with a better appreciation of the light slowly glowing on the morning of that transformative season already unveiling its subtle and delicate outlines. It’s a fascinating impression to witness its fragile but steady candescence blossoming before my weary eyes, which sadly become uneasily impressionable over the years… Hope comes with the fact that wonders don’t need to be contemplated, nor even to be yearned after, they will illuminate your soul through a comforting blaze of their own as you often least expect it. Another piece of miracle that doesn’t need faith to appear, to be given.
The producer will join me in three weeks, along with a studio engineer. It will be the first time for me to work with someone with whom I’ve never artistically given life to anything before. It’s surprisingly me who wanted that type of uncomfortable setting. If I had the utmost admiration for the producer’s singular work, I became even more admirative of the person himself when I spent a week with him, his wife, and their son in Tangier last October. So much occurred in such a short period of time. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was sharing my views on what I want to lose myself to. As concerning as it might be for the others involved in the project, I see it as a good thing. I didn’t want a pre-established scenario or some sort of pre-existing road map. Well, I’m served now. We’ll peel the darkness out of the album canvas together and discover whatever lies underneath. That’s as much as I want to know at this point. I’m not even sure which of the actual or former Long Shadows members I foresee partaking in the process… that’s how open-handed I am writing to you today. Some would freak out, but not me… There is an emancipative dimension to where I presently stand. Everything will make sense in three weeks and even if it doesn’t seem like it does… it will.
About My Soon To Be Released Multi-Disciplinary Project
You were numerous to ask me when you would be able to know more about the album and motion picture project I’ve been recently sharing about. It shouldn’t be any longer now, as I completed every visual design early last week and defined the records’ specific identity I foresaw for each of the albums in what has become quite an extensive endeavor. A little more patience, trust me, it’s absolutely worth the wait!
Again, thank you for your kindness, always. I’m honored that you welcomed me to be a part of your journey with so much openness and generosity. It’s an indescribable blessing for me to know I belong with people of that rare empathy and benevolence.
I will share some more with you all in a minute… or two 😉
Much love,
Alex
Again, thank you for your kindness, always. I’m honored that you welcomed me to be a part of your journey with so much openness and generosity. It’s an indescribable blessing for me to know I belong with people of that rare empathy and benevolence.
I will share some more with you all in a minute… or two 😉
Much love,
Alex
PS: I finally waited as long as I could before opening the bag where MacKaye’s ashes had been delicately put, in a beautiful marine blue velvet pouch. It was incredibly difficult for me to hold him like that. I was sitting on my bedroom floor, like we so often did while playing, realizing that, while I wished with all I had that my love could have healed him, the only thing I was hoping for at that very moment was to have enough strength to carry on without him, if only for a little while, regardless of how exhausted I am. I stood there for what felt like an eternity before painfully placing his urn in my writing room where he kept dragging me every single evening around 9pm, where he would lie down on his favorite couch, listen to music, and attentively look at me hitting my keyboard like a walking military regiment. All that until he figured it was time for us to go to bed. He was quite a unique character, to say the least… He was the rock star 😉
I’m headed to the airport in less than 2 hours. It feels like I am leaving a bigger part of my heart behind than I initially thought I would. Going away has always been the hardest part of our special relationship. So I kissed him goodbye like I used to do every time I would depart – may it be for an hour or a month – thanked him, and reminded him I would be back soon… I thought of bringing him with me but figured it would be better for him to stay home than join me in a place that never felt like one to us…
And just like that, it’s time for me to make new layers of noise now, with only Leonard at my side.
Rest in peace MacKaye, my lovely boy, you’ll always be in my heart, wherever I go…
I’m headed to the airport in less than 2 hours. It feels like I am leaving a bigger part of my heart behind than I initially thought I would. Going away has always been the hardest part of our special relationship. So I kissed him goodbye like I used to do every time I would depart – may it be for an hour or a month – thanked him, and reminded him I would be back soon… I thought of bringing him with me but figured it would be better for him to stay home than join me in a place that never felt like one to us…
And just like that, it’s time for me to make new layers of noise now, with only Leonard at my side.
Rest in peace MacKaye, my lovely boy, you’ll always be in my heart, wherever I go…
