ieatpants on the strugle of art music sea life or some dumb crap like that

ireland is nice, tho, right?

time keeps passing and not in the good way — like when your listening to some minimalist drone hits and as time moves forward you fall deeper and deeper into a transcendental state of bliss and/or seething sea of rage? that’s the good kind of time. the kind that reminds you that it’s impossible to be happy or content or to have fun without moments passing you by. and with reflection on those past moments the present is empty. that’s like a textbook definition of bliss, amiright?

but i digress.

what i’m trying to say is that ieatpants lives in west  ireland now. along the the atlantic ocean. it’s the closest i could get to brooklyn while still being in europe (don’t @ me with fact checks, yo). throw in a raging toddler and it could be said that i am on unsure footing. and as time crawls by, passing in front me, it carries with it chances to write music and sing songs. lately time feels like opportunities lost to the past and nothing more. regrets piling up tossed under my bed. it’s a bit dusty under there and the apartment gets moldy and gathers mildew. we’ve got to keep those areas properly aired out. let some of that ocean breeze into the flat.

life is different here and that’s something to write about. it could be said that i’m on my way to fixing things, but we’ll only know for sure some time from now.

ieatpants is not a musician

i work in an office and i come home each night to a tiny nyc apartment. the walls are closing in. this is the only theme of the music–there are songs: love songs, songs about celebrities, long drawn out poop jokes, instrumentals inspired by films.

but always, in the background, hidden under the half-size fridge–or between the hotplate and the ikea wall storage–is fear.

paranoia.

a dark cloud hovering over my head.

it all bleeds into my microphone.