dirty laundry.

I like to keep my issues drawn
But it's always darkest before the dawn
Shake it out. Shake it out,
Shake it out... Oh-woah!!
  ~Florence + the Machine (2011)

When I was just shy of six-years-old I propped myself up on the counter of the second floor bathroom of the family's townhouse. Taking scissors in hand, I did my damnedest to straighten out and clean up what I perceived to be an unkempt mop atop my head. In the meantime since then I have spotted only a mere one or two ugly images from then bearing evidence that foretold of the sophisticated British hairline I would later develop.

Although these are hardly concerns I bother with given the '70's rock star beard and tresses I wear about town these days, the simple fact about hair cuts remains the same about many other aspects of life: there's no taking back too much.

The bane of the social media explosion of the past ten years is that of a pulpit open twenty-four hours a day. The expense of self-expression that unlimited is the construction of endless entitlement, whereby your concerns must be my concerns, your woes are now my woes, your sadness and dwelling shall be my cue to remedy, and so forth. I'm not above being there for a friend truly in need, but there's a harsher judgment to be shown toward those who have no ability to hold their tongue and must air out every thread of their laundry, no matter how snotty, how stained, how bloody, or seriously none of my business.

I take my art creation and consumption to visceral extremes, seeing the daring of new and unsettling exploration. I am not one to be easily offended by these things, but instead find the challenge invigorating. There is certainly a contradiction. I spent part of my morning performing an autopsy on our Amana clothes dryer trying to conclude what killed it. Maybe it's not so much what you do with your dirty laundry, as much as how often.