Every couple of days or so, my mom calls me up to see if I have written a new album yet.
I tell her that I am pretty busy as it is with the songs that I have already put out into the world. For example, see this world exclusive interview with Hey Boy.
Other days my mom just calls to see if I have been checking my myspace account.
What I mostly actually do with most of my time is yoga. I saw a picture of a piece of art somewhere, which was a huge sign in the windows of an office building, and the sign read, FUCK YOGA. That sign makes me pretty happy. So does doing yoga.
I think that if my mom had a list of things she doesn’t like, that I do, it would go:
1. When Khaela uses the F-word.
2. When Khaela doesn’t check her myspace account.
3. When Khaela’s hair looks careless.
I don’t know if she would say that my not making a new album is something that she doesn’t like, necessarily. I think it’s more just something that she doesn’t understand. Usually, when she calls to check if I have written a new song yet, she is calling me from her office, where she goes to do her work, and so I guess it’s a camaraderie sort of thing; she just wants to know if I am also doing my work. It took a long time to get to the place where she respects that my work is making things, and that it’s a reasonable profession, as well as a valuable service to offer to the world. She likes the recent songs a lot. It seems like she doesn’t understand why I don’t just sit myself down at a desk and write ten more new songs, just like the old ones.
I’ve have only half heartedly tried to explain that the actual process of coming up with something that is worth offering out to the world is significantly more complicated. I don’t think she’s terribly interested in hearing how it is actually valuable work for me to lay in bed until 10:30 talking to myself. There are many hours which I spent engaged in various leisure activities, which all added up to getting my heart severely broken, which I could punch onto a time-clock as relevant research for making my last record.
But the thing is, I already got my heart broken once, that way. Nobody needs to hear another song about how it felt to get overwhelmed with love and get dumped and get over it. So there is some other kind of prep work to be done, at this point, for whatever it is that I am going to make next. Since I’m not in any mood to get my heart broken, it’ll just have to stick to the small tasks for now- babysitting the old songs, washing dishes and filing old papers, reading about the American civil rights movement, trying to get my feet right in the mountain pose.