Static hums in the throat of the city, a low-end drone like God’s amplifier left on standby. Streetlights twitch Morse code to no one in particular—dot dash dot dash, SOS, or maybe just a knock-knock joke the universe forgot the punchline to. I walk past shuttered windows that once sold hope in Styrofoam cups, now just dust and nicotine stains. Dylan said something about tangled up in blue, but I’m tangled up in loose guitar strings and grocery receipts, knotted tight around my pulse. Somebody’s dog barks at the shadows, and I bark back, because why not—madness is just communion without the priest. We were promised flying cars, but all I got is this bus pass, still warm from the last broken soul who held it like it was a lottery ticket. If salvation’s out there, it’s hiding in a stack of mixtapes, dubbed over a thousand times, the hiss of analog static sounding suspiciously like a heartbeat.
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Tim DeMattio is the multi-talented creator of postrockalyptic musical, visual, and conceptual artworks. Fuzzy and fun-loving, triumphantly tragic, he perches in his laboratory and churns out all manner of multimedia concoctions. Becoming lost in this labyrinth of light & language will reveal and appeal to an appreciation for postmodern polymathic paranoia.
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