jon_quixote

SEEKING

Band to Join, Vocalist, Lead Guitar, Bass Guitar, Drums, Keyboard, Background Singer, Other, Electronic Music.

ABOUT

Everything's gone wrong and I'm tired of pretending it hasn't. I'm sick of hateful fascists. I'm sick of billionaires algorithmically perfecting the exploitation of the working class. I'm sick of spending so much time and energy trying to keep my head above water I have nothing left for anyone else. I'm sick of sleepwalking into a corpo-fascist dystopia. I'm sick of pulling punches. I'm sick of playing nice. I'm sick of trying to make myself palatable, tolerable, marketable. I'm sick of languishing in fearful, impotent anger while the ruling elite rape and kill and grin like demons.

Let's make music that's practically criminal. Let's spill our guts out on the floor. Let's try and get laid after the show. No particular order.

I have ADHD and I don't remember what the absence of depression feels like. I'm some amount of queer. Between oppressors and the oppressed, I side with the oppressed. I'm too old for this sh*t. I have no direction, no motivation, only some vague notion that I need to do something, and an even vague-er hope that the universe will throw me some gang of lost souls whose broken pieces will fit well enough with mine that we vaguely resemble at least one fully-functional human being.

I play guitar and sing. I try to write but tbh I don't think sitting in a room by myself is conducive to anything other than masturbation. Let's make some noise in a room together to drown out the noise in our heads and write down what's left.

Idgaf about "genre" but like half my pedalboard is dirt and I aim to use it. I like analog. I hate perfection. Or maybe that's a lie I tell myself because I'm incapable of it. But I'd rather be creatively challenged by people with different sensibilities than me than circlejerk to same-ness. fu*k ego, fu*k creative control, fu*k painting inside the lines, even if they're MY lines. fu*k ME. The fu*k do I know anyway?

If you're angry and you know it clap your hands.

burn me child at gm ail