And once again, it’s Russia for the win, with MOTORAMA. It’s that far off, coldwave, darkwave vibe. It’s like Joy Division on mellower drugs. It’s The Cure with less melodrama. It’s easy, with only a quiet tension, like driving at night. It’s peaceful as fuck but you still have to watch the road carefully in case something jumps out of the shadow. It’s perfect for a dark November morning. It’s great for the short days and long nights. I don’t mind any of this at all.

It’s a strange spell out here in the world headed into the winter in New York City. I feel like I’m in acting school looking at a script I can’t comprehend. What’s the conflict here? What’s my motivation? I’m not feeling my lines. They just don’t feel natural. Can I improvise? There’s an overriding sense of what the fuck am I doing here? Not here on this planet in general, but in various roles that make up my day to day life. I keep saying it’s time for changes but either I can’t figure out what needs to be changed, or I know and I just can’t bring myself to admit it and just do it. Either way it just leaves a sense of restlessness. Restlessness should feel natural by now, right? How long does it take to break in a pair of boots? Unless they were never the right size to begin with.

Restlessness… It’s probably just a question of needing to get up and move and that is actually happening, so… for the moment there is Motorama. There are people soundtracking this strange existence. I find something of beauty and/or fascinating ugliness every day. It remains a world of wonder as long as you don’t waste your time looking for some ultimate truth, or god forbid meaning. So many people are looking for one consistent thread of truth or meaning and that seems to me to be a recipe for dying unhappy, or at least very confused. Let go or be dragged. Those quixotic journeys will kill you before your time and they’ll tear you apart along the way. It won’t be quick and painless.

I’m okay here in the vacuum.

I do want to add here, the lyrics to the last song on this album, called Write To Me. It’s not a pretty song, but man I do appreciate that someone was willing to go here with this. There are so many dopey love songs but few that approach the honesty of where to people can get with each other. Leave it to the Russians. They are precious.

Write to me, write to me
Write to me, what I want to hear
I’m sick of talking
Don’t want to hear
Unbearable talking
I had blatantly redundant year
Write about me, write to me
Write to me what I want to hear
Don’t say a word
I’m sick of talking
Unbearable talking
I had blatantly redundant year

[Chorus]
Voice makes no sense at all
It is disgusting for me
I feel fantastic without it
I’ll make a confession tonight
You have a silly voice
I feel fantastic without it

[Hook]
Write to me, write to me
Write to me, what I want to hear
I’m sick of talking
Don’t want to hear
Unbearable talking
I had blatantly redundant year
Write about me, write to me
Write to me what I want to hear
Don’t say a word
I’m sick of talking
Unbearable talking
I had blatantly redundant year