8526

carrying the cross of self-expression to the pearly gates. E23. michael jordan. NBA jam. 1995. saltine crackers with welch’s grape and skippy peanut butter. dead by high school. unload a thousand pounds off of a single shoulder. branded. someone has a plastic bag filled with ceramics in the overhead compartment. sit down. just to get my head blown off by a steaming vent of honesty. in some ways small lies keeps us alive.

in the absence of capitalism - legroom would be implied not classified. but here you must pay for sleep. the commodification of comfort. you would almost think you were being paid to fly. i would get up to go get my bag again but might get a strange look from a person i’ll never see again.

8626

triumphant return to the burnt plastic smell. generations of fertilizer and gods steamy gossip makes 95% humidity to create a lovely and toxic soup to follow your JFK appetizer.the audacity to charge $7 for a bucket of brown water or a replica of a cappuccino. winter cars once warmed up, now summer cars cooled down. tears of an alpha. omega-3.

8726

he removed his liver and attached it beneath the kitchen sink.

8926

arrested for attempted nothingness. the fire department is lit. Y2K. had a good talk with a handblown drinking glass. it had great thoughts on politics before it became a small lake in kitchen, USA. beauty devoid of function. a melasma on the face of the organization. god forbid i take a day after giving many away. above ground cemetary for underweight ghosts with private jetpacks. a carton of milk on an altar.

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81026

turned off initially by the enormous american flag but in the spirit of palette expansion a new favorite place has been uncovered.

81126

birdhouse at max capacity. had a popular DJ there last night. demonization of the sun to eclipse the death of the truth. yoga pants, earbuds and and dark sunglasses like a modern invisibility cloak. gender neutral sidewalks. sexist tree branches. racist lamp posts. moths flock.

81326

it is funny you have to give the land around your house a lil haircut every once in a while.

81426

alien raft. permanent resident sailboat. citizenship. presidential yacht.

81626

pavlov’s dogs just walked by. heavy duty chain link leash and collar. they howled everytime someone at taco bell, visited the liberty bell, wore bell bottoms or had bell’s palsy. two squirrels forming a yin-yang sunbathed on a doormat they thought was a tennis court. the andre agassi of the chipmunk scene rolled up with a peanut shell tennis racquet, new blonde extensions and said “wake up it’s time for work!” small mammal players are paid in grass. tournaments occur in the natural cadence of when the machines come out to trim their salary. the birds watch from the oak tree, rooftop, cartop and only the elites get to watch from the aptly named powerlines. they bet seeds and it often ends in bouts of chaos when they all flee at the sight of a human head or foot. matches are televised, the station operates out of the birdhouse nailed to the tree facing north. humans think it’s just twigs and cobwebs in there but those are wires and high-tech imaging devices. birdsnet central. if only they were real.

81726

insurance companies want you to live in the truman show.

81826

recycling bins like blue men begging for the passing cars to empty and fill them up again.

//////////////

A DAY IN NYC

i saw a man with an orange beard and white cylinder hat bowing down in traffic praying shoeless on a flattened cardboard box beside his bike covered in trash while they repaired the power lines above him.

i saw a perfectly vanilla blonde girl in all white sipping an iced latte walking by a mountain of garbage bags and moldy drywall smiling.

i saw a john varvatos store in the spot where CBGB’s used to be. i never saw CBGB’s so it’s always just been a fashion store to me.

i saw a mop-topped lethargic brat in brooklyn walk into moving traffic (my car) on his phone. he looked up just enough to not die and to see me making a mocking phone gesture then immediately looked back down.

i saw a coffee with ice and some alternative milk for $10 + tip.

i saw no sign clearly indicating the entrance for the lincoln tunnel so i had to go around the block which took 20 minutes.

i saw a slice of pizza seasoned with construction dust as it passed under scaffolding in the hand of its oblivious future eater.

i saw manhattan runners in stretchy clothes and earbuds pretend to be the only people on earth as they did more damage than good opening their lungs to receive the the exhaust of 1000 vehicles.

i saw a cool guy in large pants demonstrate his level of chill while i was stopped at the crosswalk.

////////////

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writing you from the porch at the best part of the day, 6AM. i see no people just their material representatives. i hear only birds. and it smells like Walmart™️. has anyone else every experienced this? the Walmart smell? it’s like a sweet chemical mold smell mixed with those toxic laundry dryer sheets. well, sometimes, outside, it smells like that and i don’t understand the phenomenon. if someone were to tell me that the USA is just one large Walmart™️ i would believe them. which would then explain the smell.

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i was walking down the street in philly yesterday and a manhole cover exploded out of the ground about 15 feet into the air. followed by a trail of smoke and flames. i thought i was alone in witnessing it but there was a gathering of 20 or so police offers in pink party hats on a balcony above. they all took out their phones and started filming it. i was closest so once the smoke cleared i peaked into the hole and there was a small volcano down there in the sewer. probably a foot wide and a foot tall. must have just erupted. one of the cops yelled down to me “yo be careful man!” then pointed up at the sky “they’re chemtrailing the shit out of us today!”.

what is the truth anymore? in a world of internet, AI and deeply unhealthy relationships to it all, i can say for sure it’s not here. it’s likely outside somewhere or even inside your house or even inside your own self while outside or inside. you would think the best chances we have for truth are raw sensory experiences but even those are filtered through each individuals lens of genetics, preferences and all that has ever happened to us. for one the food is too spicy, for another not enough. “holy shit did you see that?” “no i was on my phone, what was it?” a retelling + inherent trust = true. plus, somethings aren’t worth not just believing to save time.

you’d be damned to not formulate any insane thought or opinion (or invention) and not find at least one other person that has thought the same online. you can search for it, find it and validate anything you want to be true. in fact the more niche, the more powerful - one tweet from a stranger 8 years ago - “wow, only me and this one other person know the truth" meanwhile “the rest of humanity is ASLEEP.” and “only a matter of time until they WAKE UP.” and “i will be here to say ‘i told you so’ or completely disappear as if i never existed because accountability far and wide has mostly died alongside truth as well.” overwhelmed into nihilism.

look at your own brain. it’s a pathological liar. it generates thousands of false thoughts and anxieties about things that haven’t happened yet, daily. whether we choose to believe them is what often dictates the kind of person we are. now take all the human brains and all their individual lies and put them all together on a live broadcast and then tell me what is true. then take all the robot brains the human brains made and all the individual lies and misinformations it learned and have them dominate the broadcast. nothing is or maybe ever has been real.

the truth? very few things spoken are true. is truth only felt? pure love, emotion, genuine unmotivated kindness and care and then on the other end of the spectrum - pure hatred, evil and greed. feeling is a language, but it’s universal and humans didn’t design it. so maybe. as for words, “no one really knows anything” might be closest to the truth than anything else that can be said.

and you know what? that’s OK. it may be the stupidest timeline but “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

everything on the internet is a lie. even that sentence. even all these sentences. but! good news is the internet is and never was a place for truth. it is a place for communication and entertainment. “the sky is blue” - not where i’m standing, it’s gray and rainy. it’s all letters and 0’s and 1’s. words and symbols are inherently lies. they can try to convey truth but ultimately - just road signs to the real thing.

now, i understand the need for words and attempts to convey truth for a functioning (malfunctioning) society - the problem is that we forget that is all that it is. it’s gone too far. for 8 billion+ beings that don’t even know with 100% certainty their own origin or existence - we can chill pretending to fully know anything. look, lighter.

for many psychos this wild west of truth we are living in is just another opportunity. minds have never been more malleable. the only real tool we have to save us is the same tool we need for our very own existence and it is a gentle balance between function and understanding that everything outside of our own periphery should be taken with a grain of salt. bliss is in the unknown. it changes the way we approach everything and i think it’s healthier. it takes the weight off the 10382493294823 ideas we encounter daily. could be true, could be false. all i know is what works or feels best to me. meanwhile i will be the most loving, caring, kind person i can be to those i encounter as we share an entirely mysterious existence together.

music can feel like truth. behind it some narcissistic asshole who found a way to understand what people want, manipulate the psyche. their intentions could be fame and wealth dressed in a lowkey casual outfit. bullshit in a truth suit. welcome to the world of indie. at least pop stars are honest about their goals and aren’t pretending to want to change the world with hypersexual fun songs about the big party last night. in a way that is closer to the truth then some faux-intellectual downer dirge by some sociopathic social climber. at least people will dance to the first one. dancing is true. motion is true. motion is life.

by the way the first paragraph did not happen, 100% made up.

anyway, here is a song called “TRUTH”. the studio version of the “7am song” first written one morning in April last year. it will be out everywhere on 8/26 (pre-save here) but if you are an OG paid community member to this place you can hear it right now below :

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well only thing i got inspired to do was get the fuck out of there in less than 2 minutes and write this review.

for some background, this is the google self-proclamation:

“The Resource Exchange provides inspiration and reclaimed materials for creative and environmentally resourceful making, teaching & living our nonprofit thrift store, art gallery, and workshop space promotes creative reuse, recycling, and resource conservation by diverting valuable materials from the waste stream and redirecting them to artists, builders, educators, and the general public.”

let me translate that for you real quick:

the resource exchange trashpicks loads of inherently inexpensive utility shit and a bunch of pretentious drones sell it back to you for 500% markup so they can hang out all day and you can feel like you are saving the world.

want an old fucking dried out crayola yellow marker from 1994 one of the owners found in their dead grandparents garage for $3? want a box of USED PASTELS in a high security glass case marked as VINTAGE for $80? want a bunch of folded up trash scraps of joann’s fabric on a shelf with a sign that says PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH OR UNFOLD THE FABRICS as if they are remnants of nefertiti’s gown? want some old computer paper slightly yellowed from a smoke-full household for $1/sheet? want to get tetanus sifting thru a rusty cabinet of old pens and mechanical pencils from the burnt down school? how about an old notebook that costs $1 new but this one is $4 because it has the authenticity of the passing of time? want to rummage through the employees parents paper shredder? want to pay top dollar for all of this bullshit you already have accumulating in your own kitchen junk drawer or basement so you can “do your part for the planet”?

are you fucking kidding me?

this is the kind of place that causes republicans. this is the room where the socialism wants to leave your body. this is what fuels the fire of your uncle billybob in florida that spends his days on X “owning the libs”. it gives a bad name to the progressive. it slaughters the backbone of all the leftist self-righteousness. makes marxism want to kill yourself. shits on words like “collective”, makes cringe out of “nonprofit”. makes me want to go buy a 3-piece suit and join wall street. you know what? cancel cancel culture until this establishment gets cancelled first.

i despise an unethical billionaire (all of them besides lebron james) but i fucking hate this place more.

i wanted to see some inner city kid walking out of here smiling with a cardboard box of lisa frank notebooks and a cool binder. i wanted to see myself walking out of here with a bunch weird shit i could make into a collage tour poster for $3. but instead, just a joke.

i swear to god 90% of the stuff in this store should have been free. it should have had a small separate room for actual vintage furniture, cameras, etc. and the rest should be a free-for-all. or a “leave one, take one” situation.

at least when i see “VINTAGE MARKET” i know i’m paying $75 for a shitty pair of levi’s that were $19.99 when they came out.

but this was like a reverse trojan horse. a complete blindsiding presented as giving back to the community. this is goodwill for shit that goodwill wouldn’t even fathom trying to sell all whilst wearing an industrial-chic trench coat. this is OfficeMin. this is PRICK ART SUPPLY. this is Rusty Staples. this is abandon business complex crackhouse estate sale.

are we this desperate for authenticity? is this where were at where any piece of shit relic from our concept of a simpler time justifies a ridiculous price tag? non-profit? in this state of the art building in one of the most gentrified neighborhoods in the country? fuck off.

take it off the list.

if anyone out there is tight on money and needs art or office supplies i will give you whatever i have extra or go to the dollar tree and buy them from BlackRock like a real fucking sane adult. that’s a resource exchange. just please don’t go to this fucking dumbass place.

🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲🤲✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋✋

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back on american soil after 3 months. little things are as fitting as JFK airport terminal 1 being many peoples first impression of the united states. in its dystopian 1990’s abandon mall vibe where you trudge a musty carpeted mile beneath flickering halogen glow bearing the cross of your belongings to the cattle herding of border control where the biggest asshole with a badge gets to lean against a wall and flex his power on the supremely tired, defeated and alien until he goes home to eat a frozen tv dinner alone beneath the glow of the netflix main menu which no one asked for the audio to ever preview itself.

once you make it thru level one and defeat the final boss, you and all your bags are rewarded an exit into the thick, humid, burnt plastic smelling air, people screaming, car horns beeping. every wo/man for themself. welcome to america.

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[read as fast as you can]

july 1

thunder. dark room. getting blown by my biggest fan. it cost 17 euros and has 3 speed settings. tabletop fit. it is my accomplice when earth has a fever. 100.4 or 38 where i’m sitting. wood. blue light. designer eyebags. animal shape pasta. spaghetti wig. cables. digital snakes. mirrors done working for the day. windows still on shift until the moon and sun burnout like everyone in late stage capitalism. i will say yes in one second to things people take a life time planning but i will spend 6 hours crafting perfect irrelevance. crucifix. mango strips. a popsicle stick barn on your uncles aunthill. incinerated by wondering where is the line? it is where you draw it, then erase it, then redraw it, then re-erase it, then decide not to draw it because you didn’t have to. you want to kill something? i nominate the desire to be liked. perfectly legal. 8.5 x 11 with a complimentary confidentiality notice. shut up. open down. feel free. dead in prison. market price. your favorite artist of all time dethroned by their decision to discuss their tooth extraction publicly. until that moment no one had even considered they had teeth. not that they didn’t but more just full lack of bodily acknowledgment. teeth decay, muscle melts, bones turn into piano keys, hearts get promotions and take jobs in warmer climates, eyes become loyalty points at the local but this song is forever.

to continue reading this monthly dump of stream-of-conscious nonsense and “art” consider becoming a SOCIAL METEOR insider:

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thrilled to present to you the RG3, inc. september 2026 live programming:

YOU CAN FIND ALL YOUR TICKETS HERE

(except for 9/12 in asbury park because it is FREE and not publicly announced yet)

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i was never a dog person. in fact, i am probably some sort of recovering psycho because i was adamantly against dogs for most of my life. i used to be a bit afraid of them (maybe i got bit as a kid) and i used to think dog owners were insane people letting a creature dictate their freedom. but then, i “grew the fuck up”. i guess it also coincided with not drinking alcohol anymore where i realized - oh wow, all these places and all these people and all these things i do - not really into it at all anymore - maybe the dog people were onto something having an out. maybe the “freedom” i clung to was actually a prison. maybe i wanted them to all be free and undomesticated.

imagine explaining the current state of humanity and the world to a dog. imagine explaining the way we have structured our lives, politics, war, starvation, capitalism, technology, the class system to a dog. imagine explaining money to a dog. world leaders should be required to run their ideas by a dog before taking any action. so the dog can just stare at them completely uninterested maybe even confused, reacting only when the food or toys enter the situation. it could actually save the world. it could actually save the world to realize how fucking stupid we are by having to explain ourselves to a dog.

i have come a long way. from anti-dog lunatic to proud papa of worlds sassiest and rambunctious miniature dachsund named Mela. i am the classic case of completely resistant and freaked out the first week we had her to taking naps, taking care and getting cute aggression. which is a psychological phenomenon where you want to squash or squeeze something to death because it is so adorable. cool stuff.

sometimes when i catch myself in the throes of humanity. stressing about some ultimately meaningless bullshit. i look over at her just laying on a chair half asleep and think “man i am a fucking idiot” and it helps.

still hate barking though. i must have misophonia (sound rage) with certain pitches of dog barks. mine is one of them. love ya mela. here’s sounds that are not barking that are about/featuring dogs for you to make a playlist:

“i wanna be your dog” - the stooges
”dogs for life” - DMX
”alaska” - dr. dog
”who let the dogs out” - baha men
”hound dog” - big mama thornton
”this old dog” - mac demarco
”rain dogs” - tom waits
”two headed dog” - roky erikson
i guess all songs by the band PUP and Snoop Dogg
”dog barking” by sound effects lab

if you enjoy these [monthly] existential weather reports and want to support chaos, consider entering the paid realm and gaining access to the further goods. (it also keeps the lights on and maybe we’ll even buy mela a toy and say this ones from “aunt/uncle/cousin (your_name_here) before she tears it to shreds.

yeah that is your name now.

i have a gift for all of you for being apart of this SOCIAL METEOR world. a “package” of sorts. it includes a printable copy of my first ever zine from 2015 called “RONNY”, some lost audio relics i found in my “OLD SHIT” dropbox folder - a live version of “please yourself” from the first unitarian church in 2017, a voice memo of iggy pop talking about “always elsewhere” on BBC radio, a remix i did of MF DOOM’s “gazillion ear” and a track from a split we did with Naked Giants back in 2018 called “sorry not everybody is you”. And lastly, 4 film photos from that era that have never seen the light of day. you can download it here:

RG_SOCIAL_METEOR_WELCOME_PACK.ZIP

here’s a page from the zine:

you also may have noticed we have undergone a facelift. please express your satisfaction or frustration below in the comments. this is your world I JUST RUN IT.

i attempted the closest thing i know to “vacation” this past week. vacation from what? the very idea of vacation would be funny to people 300 years ago. hell, the american idea of vacation is funny to european people now. we are laptop on the beach. they hang up a sign and disappear for a month or two in the summer. if you need them, no you don’t.

speaking of which, this past week i saw richard hell on the beach in a small town in italy. he was wearing a yellow linen shirt, red shorts, green crocs hobbling across the sand. uncanny. why was richard hell here? how did he find this place? why was i here? how did i find this place? i looked up a current photo of him and showed everyone, they agreed, could be him. unsure. we tried to decode if he was speaking english or italian. wasn’t speaking much at all and there was a trader joes bag hanging from the umbrella. it must be richard hell. of one of my all-time favorite bands the voidoids, the prototype of “punk” and someone that quietly retreated to write books for the last 40 years. eventually we crossed paths at the bar, he was with a woman. they were speaking italian. romans. they noticed we had been looking at them earlier. chiara told them why. showed them the same photo and even italian richard hell agreed he does look exactly like the american one. i saw ricardo inferno on a beach in a small town in italy and his name was alba.

yes, absolutely stole that opening riff in “it’s all gonna be OK”. the voidoids still sound like they are from the future. how can i steal from the future? i usually don’t care that much about guitar players, but robert quine is a magician.

we stayed in a town called offida, where i have some family roots. it is named after a golden snake that apparently used to live beneath the town and had healing powers. lots of esoteric medieval stuff going on.

going to be sharing our full september tour schedule soon, waiting on one more show BUT just announced we will be playing hopscotch music festival this year in raleigh, NC. i am not going to sugarcoat, the lineup is…weird this year, (predominantly in the headline department) or maybe i am old and out of touch. but regardless we are happy to be apart and all i know is that on september 10th at the lincoln theater will be something. get out your magnifying glass:

ok, that is all for now, more soon, hope everyone is good and as always thanks for being here, enjoy the .zip of artifacts above.

RG

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every year on our way from ravenna to san benedetto del tronto in le marche to see family we stop in the small clifftop village of sirolo, italy. it overlooks the adriatic sea and it’s become one of my favorite places on earth since we first went in 2021. some of my family had recently discovered it and had us meet them there halfway that year. we parked and walked toward the center, there was a small piazza with a clocktower and a terra cotta colored house where there was a guy sitting, smiling in the window looking down into the square.

felt compelled to take a photo. then as we walk to the edge of the square you see this.

so yes, like a kid, dumbfounded, it quickly became a ritual. when we returned in 2022, the guy in the window from the first time was still there almost as if no time had passed. his expression was different but i took a photo to send to the family to let them know the guy from last year was still there.

2023 we were on the “FOREGROUND MUSIC” tour. so no sirolo stop. but 2024:

the rule of 3. at this point it become a inside phenomenon that every time we stepped foot in this town for the past 4 years the same guy was in the same window. seeing him for the 3rd time, there, once again as if no time had passed, and thinking about how far and wide we had traveled and all we’d been thru since. it became like an anchor of stability in a world where everything seemed fragile and ever-changing.

2025 we didn’t go because we had to play a festival in Rome the night before and took a different route. but we did talk about it. “i bet he’s still there”.

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There are two kinds of psychopaths (or maybe more, but i will talk about two). There’s the ones that chase fame and admiration, maybe they are addicted to attention and use other human beings solely as a means to an end. Maybe they are in an indie rock band or an influencer or maybe they have their wedding at Madison Square Garden. (or maybe they OWN Madison Square Garden) Their entire sense of self is based on external validation and the damage remains somewhat contained to those in their inner sphere or periphery. Narcissists.

Then there’s another type, which is much scarier and more insidious. The people you may never know. Maybe no one knows. The kind that fear attention and don’t want the spotlight. The way they view humanity and the world is actually so dark and evil that they understand their control can be fed further by remaining in the shadows. Entirely separate from any semblance or concept of reality shared by 99.9% of people. The more money and power they have only feeds the separation as the more they have the more they have to lose. They lean in, isolate further to a point of delusion so deep that it really does feel as if it becomes everyone vs. them. They manifest such as some roundabout way to give themselves permission to be evil, do harm or cause destruction. They become the victim to their own chosen alienation. When in reality, they could at any moment just choose to be a cool, decent member of humanity. Even with billions to their name, they still could have redemption in the eyes of the world by using it to do good. And they pretty much never do.

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I don’t know how I found out about Peter Thiel. I had heard the name, then I saw a New York Times interview clip. I was 7 months deep into my daily assault of “7am songs” I was haphazardly sharing to social media. I had covered a lot of the more obvious political subjects and also done a few songs on some of the more behind the scenes pieces of shit - Stephen Miller, Curtis Yarvin, Doug Wilson. These songs always come the easiest. I thrive in acidity. Plus all you have to do is tell their story, quote them and the point makes itself. The intent is awareness, that is my job.

The Peter Thiel song was a bit different though… It felt more like the song that all the other songs were leading to and this guy seemed to quietly be at the center of everything insidious happening politically and globally. The original version reached a few million people across social media. Strangers commented “this man is not suicidal”. Didn’t wholly occur to me until then that the whole “truth being dangerous” could actually be a thing. Whatever bits of nerves or paranoia I felt from the viral nature of the song could be considered small victories for a guy obsessed with surveillance, control and the end of the world.

WATCH ORIGINAL VERSION HERE

Net worth 26 billion
He’s got nothing behind the eyes
Wants to build a machine god
So that he never dies
But are you sure you’re really living
If you miss the point of life?

But regardless, I decided to make a studio version of “Peter Thiel” the song. It is out everywhere now.

I would love for this song to not exist. But until then, here it is:

lyrics:

Interviewer asked Peter Thiel
If the human race should survive
He hesitated, said “I don’t know”
Then fumbled his words 10 more times

Peter Thiels company Palantir
Are pioneers in AI
The government hired them
To surveil you and I

I saw a video of Peter Thiel
Walking down the street
Veins bulging out of his neck
Like some cracked out flesh machine

Net worth 26 billion
He’s got nothing behind the eyes
Wants to build a machine god
So that he never dies
But are you sure you’re really living
If you miss the point of life?

Peter Thiel bought JD Vance
A vice president slot
Peter Thiels ex-boyfriend
Fell from a high-rise
Right after they fought

Peter Thiel’s giving lectures
On the antichrist
Where he talks about himself
In third person inverted
So he can sleep better at night

Peter Thiel wants a doomsday bunker
Out in New Zealand
To hide away from the apocalypse
In part started by him

Net worth 26 billion
But he’s got nothing behind the eyes
Wants to build a machine god
So that he never dies
But are you sure you’re really living
When you miss the point of life?

Peter Thiel is an anagram for “The Reptile”
Peter Thiel’s got a couple mentions in the Epstein Files
Palantir has headquarters in Miami, Denver, New York, Washington D.C., London, Paris, Rome and Tel Aviv
And everywhere inbetween

Net worth 26 billion
He’s got nothing behind the eyes
Wants to build a machine god
So that he never dies
But are you really living
With such a penchant for human sacrifice?

credits

Ron Gallo - Vocals, Guitars, Bass
Chiara D’Anzieri - Cello
Josh Friedman - Drums

Produced by Ron Gallo
Recorded by Josh Friedman at hi5 Studios and Ron Gallo at Really Nice Studios.
Mixed by Josh Friedman
Mastered by Ryan Schwabe

“they’re the ugliest fucking shoes, maybe even ugliest thing, i’ve ever seen”

“but…they’re sooooo cooooooomfortable”

and there is your problem.

comfort.

comfort, the killer.

from 2021-2024, sane, privileged american people afforded themselves the ability to be comfortable again.

no dragons were slain. but they thought they did it in a voting booth. instead it just lay dormant to rest, recharge, spawn, morph into an uglier bigger beast that not only will be fueled by its standard fear and hate but now with added revenge. being sane and privileged they thought that america had learned its lesson and that this strange, embarrassing, bleak era was just a blip now gone forever and would never be a possibility again. they baked bread, didn’t work, they painted with all the colors of the wind (like Pocahontas, who they stole the land from)

meanwhile, all your tech dr. evils in the shadows saw the pandemic turn everyone further towards their devices, the internet, social media. they saw the state of the world in turmoil. they saw an incredible opportunity. give them a crisis and the way to opt out.

2020. i was in my house, not dead, collecting unemployment and i had no decisions to make. it was daunting and it was beautiful. i was in leopard print sweatpants, lounging around, listening to nostalgic 90s r&b and stuff that made me feel like a kid again. i bought crocs and made my worst music.

corporate gods took notice of the collective surrender. they saw money in our defeat. crocs bought HeyDude in 2022 for $2.5 billion.

and so, the year ticked on, suddenly every dad and aesthetically devoid person on the planet is wearing these shoes. what are these fucking things? where did they come from? they look like loaves of bread with lace ears. they look like your legs grew small couches. they look like giving up. they look like the conversation at the annual family reunion where everyone asks “you busy? you working? still doing the little music thing?” they look like every human drone prone to conformity got the memo.

then, 9 months after the heydudes corporate acquisition, the current president announced his plan to run again. not all that dissimilar from if, like, Mötley Crüe tried to recreate their equally shitty early days in their 70’s and be a part of the modern youth rock scene. all the sane and comfortable laughed, thought “not a fucking chance”, “well, this is gonna be easy” “someone else will take care of it. i did my part in 2020.” “we’re not going back!” the president himself sort of like a pair of HeyDudes. a big no if you kept any semblance of your edge.

“but they’re comfortable!”

the rise of fascism and stupidity is directly correlated to the popularity of HeyDudes.

look you can get these beauties on etsy for $203!!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyway, if you ever see me in HeyDudes please shoot me. that is when you know I’m already long gone. an imposter. a fraud. the living dead. i’m 95 degrees outside walking city miles with dr. martens loafers and socks. i’m insufferable. maybe it’s the capitalism talking, but you know what i do? never allow myself to get comfortable. absolutely miserable time but effective. relax? not a chance.

what chills now, kills later.

speaking of all this, wednesday 7/15, paid subscribers to this substack will get early exclusive first listen to the new studio version of 7am song “Peter Thiel” :

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another week of life has come and gone. one day we will see this week the same way someone sees a winning powerball ticket or a unicorn or the moment they fell in love. one day any ordinary day will be our sole and greatest desire. but for now, with a “surplus of time” we just power through as if there is some desirable destination. there’s not. all here, all now.

anyway, being in another country is a great way to celebrate july 4th.

i genuinely don’t give a fuck about celebrities or what they do or how they live their lives.* in 2026 the mere concept of celebrity, that their actions make headlines and people actually invest in it is insane. i guarantee every celebrity is the most boring fucking person you have ever known. the work is all they have. and you already have that. BUT, i just have to say one thing…. you have a billion dollars. you are one of the most famous people in the world via the most bland soundwaves ever committed to a computer. you could pretty much make a reality out of anything you could ever dream of… and your idea is to have your wedding at work? to have your thousand most distant high-profile acquaintances come to your office of concrete and steel and watch you say your vows? at your place of employment in the pure heart of the most chaotic epicenter on earth? inside of an arena? clog the main artery of capitalism with 200 cops to protect your love? married at work!? once again, i couldn’t care less, i’m mostly just entertaining myself here but just when you think you can’t relate to some people, they double down. could buy this entire beach on the adriatic sea i am currently sitting on, fly every person they have ever known, have it be completely beautiful, peaceful and anonymous. they could rent an island. have it in space. wed in a glass case in the great barrier reef. have it in king tuts tomb or one of the pyramids. the concept of large scale weddings as idiocy is a topic for another time. but the truth is, there is no humility. To achieve a certain status you have to be committed wholeheartedly to the machine itself. Life is a performance. and there is nothing i could envy less than that. if you don’t know who i am talking about, i applaud you.

(* with exception of the recent/pending trade acquisitions by the Philadelphia 76’ers)

In other news got back some final mixes and masters for a few studio versions of some “7am songs” this week. And, you, my substack OG’s and dedicated crew supporting this publication with their hard earned bills will be the first to hear it on July 15th. Stay tuned.

For my music making friends out there, I just discovered this new DAW called “GCS Model 8” that perfectly emulates the experience of recording to cassette on a TASCAM, limitations and all. Highly recommend. There is a 10-day free trial. Looks like this:

Limitation is a huge part of all creative processes I think. It’s why I always skip the first page of a notebook, there is too much pressure and possibility. If you get stuck, limit yourself. Limitation is rare in the modern age of access.

And i leave you with this, as i did in last weeks (no subject) - an improvised cover song. This song was on the “mix that changed my life” in high school. Obviously a classic and I was thinking about it while in the studio the other day so I pulled up the lyrics and saw how far i could get while recording. “in an aeroplane over the sea” by neutral milk hotel. jeff mangum really got up there singing-wise which i learned in real time.

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had a couple sessions at Studio73 in ravenna this week. got a lot done but the only thing you can hear RIGHT now, as a dedicated and true star social meteorite subscriber, is an improv’d note-for-note perfect identical to the original cover of “espresso” by the underground artist, former member of the 70’s band Carpenters, and Jesus’ woodshop apprentice - sabrina carpenter. it happened spontaneously between pitch perfect takes of other glossy chart-topping hits “kill the medicine man” and “put the kids to bed”. I pulled up the lyrics and thought to myself “what would jonathan richman do if he had just got home from seeing the velvet underground at the Newark airport CBGB’s for the first time in 2026 and had one too many caffeinated beverages in tiny cups at midnight and heard it on the radio while driving on the NJ turnpike”.

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cabbage. sweltering. chimneys. veins. doctors. lawyers. sandwiches. imagine one pile of all things manmade. continental. trapezoid. totalitarian. jesus. kendra. candles. mister. flounder. old pipes rusting with the jadedness of two old swans watching reruns of cops on a tuesday in melbourne.

i have never been most places, so has everyone. in winter, of dark, in three, tie-dead. erector set of trumpets in spring, tweezers, centers, morbid, destiny, old wheels, dark puppets, i am the only universe. chosen, woven, derailed, pisces, when you fill up the room of doldrum you seek out many principal justices of wag. bastard spinach, old rye, wet ham, mended sheep, count and counter. sweets.

most of my energy is nuts and bolts at the basin of a miniature junkyard in a leopard print bathtub. it looks but it does not use. toaster oven. keep me distracted from.

i can’t break my head through the cellophane membrane surrounding the answer to the human loneliness that lives at the bottom of every cracker barrel.

just doing wheelies until dinnertime in the sky.

mostly practicing my graveyard shift. how will i lie when i die? why must i lie at all?

bottles of pee, potholes of bees, swarming around my fat head while ronald mcdonald laughs at every. single. fucking. thing. the really annoying lady in cubicle 9 says. so happy all the time i want to kill her.

a clone of my sister voluntarily buried in a pile of mixed dead/living cats.

a stack of wallets each with one dollar coin stuffed in the corner of the bill compartment.

thumbtacks holding up the kangaroos pouch, the american flag on the eagles back, the western union promotional sticker on the foot of the giraffe.

nonsense is soooooooooo.

if people didn’t laugh at what they don’t understand i and everyone named “Bob” would live in a shoebox. maybe even a boot box for a slightly higher cost. women’s knee high horseback riding galoshes, forget it. prime real estate, medium rare steak.

molten lavalier microphone.

french pencils.

old winter potpourri being snorted by the neighbors kids.

reruns of the jetsons.

all of them are of very old age by now unless they’ve been running moon laps.

all cereal is dead.

ac more.

jc penis.

tj masks.

wb network 44 england.

gunshots. continue.

be careful walking home. not necessarily walking but being aware of the hell that surrounds you so that it does not interfere with your well being as result of being in the “incorrect location at a less-than-ideal time period.”

fireworks or death? based on no occasion, i’m gonna say farewell my friend.

test tubes stacked like lincoln logs, two ponies playing competitive pogs, one D.A.R.E. officer washing the seed off his clogs.

no new people being named joni, dolores, dolly, winston, barry, dorcimer, cleobold, jaundice, cocksmeem, darla, alfalfa, jewish or dotty.

no newborn goliaths, bruces, margarets, marilyns.

what if each west was sand and cowboys. each east was druids. every north was barber shop poles and fat white bearded men in red jumpsuits, every south was two inbreds talking in alabama slang while an oil covered cattle smoked meth. what if?

all the stereo types: dolby surround sound, 5.1, two speakers, one speaker, boom box, working, non-working, CD player, AM/FM radio, cassette player, vinyl record player, all-inclusive super stereo combo with auxiliary jack. wood paneling, plastic, metal, small, large, sony, sanyo.

also, only indians work at dunkin donuts and gas stations.

asian people have no soul.

all black people are real estate agents or attorneys at law.

all polish people have three nipples.

all italians are named dennis.

all white women shit 13 times an hour.

all doctors have to get their genitals removed in order to graduate.

all french people are gay.

all gay people have a skittle-only diet.

all rich people are unhappy.

all happy people are poor.

all country singers sleep with a sledge hammer.

all children will become adults.

all german girls have wooden feet.

all amusement park workers commit suicide.

all firefighters have no parents.

all hippies have narcolepsy.

all mexican people are novelists who write IRS fan-fiction.

and lastly,

all native americans are professional chaperones.

1. Waffle Fries

2. Crispy Smashed Baby Golden/Fingerling

3. Chips (made with just Olive Oil and salt and with texture not as flimsy as Lay’s but not as painful as full on “kettle-cooked”, krinkle-cut could be justified here if not overly durable)

4. All other mid-size forms of French Fries that exist between shoestring and steak. (Would be #3 but got minus 1 for health)

5. Mashed - strictly in the context of Thanksgiving or a once annual occasion and preparation style is essential here (preferably golden, but russet if absolutely necessary. just olive oil, salt and maybe dash of pepper, simpler the better. if there is a box or milk involved it is not even in the top 30)

6. Cubed Pan-Roasted possibly with onion, peppers and hint of spice

7. Hashbrowns - seemingly higher potential but reduced ranking for general inconsistency and health

8. Patate Al Forno

9. Tots - when crispy and artisanal would rank higher but the existence middle school lunch and frozen bagged ore ida version reduces the average

10. Baked - More of a psychological one where rarity and the patience required makes to prepare makes it more enjoyable than it actually is.

    Honorable mentions : Gnocchi and the only acceptable/good potato salad I ever had at a nice restaurant somewhere one time that had no mayo but just a lil mustard seed and fresh dill in it

    Tied For Bottom 4: Scalloped potatoes, boxed mashed, raw and Vodka

Man it is funny what we become with time. seeing respective paths unfold. becoming things we used to laugh at or criticize. realizing we weren’t right but just dumb. it’s inevitable we will pick up some of the traits. funny when the elders advise and we brush it off as if they haven’t already lived it or don’t know because, if I remember correctly, the elder generations that desperately want to get back to something are the very reason they feel the need to get back to something in the first place. all I know, is the less years a person has the less likely they are to be the worlds largest problem. it is a talent only acquired with age. born perfect and we slowly lose it to conditions, conditioning and experiences that inform both. the purity of beginning only really comparable to the purity at the very end when everyone remembers the point.

Anyway, the heat has arrived. it’s boiler season. air conditioning is more of an aperitivo than a lifestyle here. the worlds first trillionaire hath been made and people still sleep on sidewalks. the sun still rises, the fruit and vegetables still grow and the air is still somewhat breathable. life persists. future uncertain. potentially part of the fun.

Been watching a TV show called “Mozart in The Jungle”. Highly recommend. It checks out with every story Chiara told me about her time as a kid in the classical music world. The real grimy “rock and roll” of music. Stories about teachers 40 years her senior asking her mom for permission to make advances on her in exchange for an opportunity. Then proceeding to “Whiplash” the students into greatness. Crazy shit. It’s no wonder she left that school and ultimately that world. She gets down about it but there are no accidents in this life. Anyway, good show.

“So Alive” by Ryan Adams came on Apple Music shuffle yesterday. I know he is cancelled but it really brought me back to 2007. Flip phone, 40oz. and flannel shirt dancing on a coffee table at 2:30am. Romanticizing the tragic. Life like a sunrise with no sleep. “Come Pick Me Up”. When I was 16 years old I wrote a song I was really proud of and sent his management a demo accompanied by a near angry e-mail trying to get their attention. Almost as if I approached it with reckless abandon it would be more intriguing or at least make the rejection or lack of response sting less. I don’t even know what my intention was - probably just to have my demo be heard and lead to some semblance of an opportunity. Little did I know - it’s all just a numbers game and a who knows who - also my song was terrible and the performance was worse but at least I could play it for my friends in a basement somewhere. The irony is his former A&R person would go on to sign me almost 13 years later. It is to no ones surprise Ryan Adams has done questionable things, the ongoing conversation of separating the art from the artist, little more irrelevant when it comes to nostalgia I suppose. Nothing mattered back then.

Do you know any other job where it as normal to wait 4 months for a 5-minute phone call to occur that dictates your entire future? Where everyone gets paid first before the reason they all have a job gets paid (if at all)?

Back in the studio tomorrow and expecting some rough mixes of some 7am songs soon. Of which YOU will be first to hear soon as I have them.

Supporting the legendary Zambian band, W.I.T.C.H., in September in Philly, Brooklyn and Rochester. Those tickets are on sale now. but if you are able to read this that means you are a social meteor paid subscriber and that means you get 2 guest list spots to a show of your choice. so just let me know below where and when if you want to come out.

Hope everyone is good out there, more soon

25 is the number of the week:

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1. Thou shalt not type a prompt into AI to create “art” and call thyself an artist. Though you may call yourself a “typist” based on speed and quality. (Average = 40 words per minute, Professional 80-95 WPM, Elite = 120-150+ WPM)

2. Thou shalt not type a prompt into AI to create “art” in general unless it is done AS A TIME-SENSITIVE JOKE for yourself and inner circle and is never presented as otherwise or commercially released.

3. Thou may passively utilize built-in AI features in audio recording, photography editing or graphic design applications if it is used to handle the tedious technical work that no one will even notice, improve on the quality of human-generated creation, enable access to analog gear emulation that is impractical or unattainable or contribute a minor detail/s that does not ultimately alter the pure outcome of the final product.

4. Thou shall only use AI to learn technical skills that you can then implement in your real-life work. (Candidate for the sole proper usage of AI)

5. Thou shalt not use AI generated content to market your art or business, but you may utilize AI to strategize and organize HOW to market and navigate the technical ecosystem of the internet since it is a daunting, dead, soul-less unavoidable task anyway.

6. Even the highest quality AI-generated “art” is and will always be inferior to the worst human created art.

7. Thou shall not confuse AI for anything other than a tool used to control and speed up productivity in a hyper-capitalist world where production equals value.

8. Thou shall acknowledge that AI will likely lead to the end of the world and its benefits will never outweigh its catastrophic negatives. “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

9. Thou shall not consume, enjoy or support AI-generated “art” unless it is initially done by accident. If/when you realize you’ve been scammed you must feel disgust and then cleanse your palette by actively supporting a real life artist. If you are ok with the consumption and enjoyment of AI-generated art you accept the terms and conditions that you may no longer enjoy human-generated art because you are no longer of this world.

10. Thou shall not support any platforms that are favoring AI-generated “art” and “artists” over human ones. As they are just using human work to then bypass the creator. It is your duty to bypass convenience to protect the sanctity of human expression.

Additional notes:

In reference to commandment #1 : If AI makes your music for you and you consider yourself a legitimate musical artist please know that you are unfathomably lame and have lost all sight of the point of expression (or existing, really). Congratulations, you are just a brand now that makes products. If AI plays any role in writing your lyrics and singing them and you are completely ok with that you should be relocated to the moon* (*EXCEPTION: Unless you have a verified medical condition that does not allow you to create music or sing and technology is the only way you are able to express yourself)

I would like to take this moment to remind you that Beethoven was deaf.

If you are one of those people that used AI to create a fake band that went viral and made you a lot of money prior to the date of the creation of these commandments, you’re a fucking dork but you do get a pass if your intention contained at least 60% irony and 40% wanting to take advantage of the stupidity and lack of taste of people online. Anyone that attempts this from this day forward will also be relocated to the moon.

These commandments are subject to change at any moment as we observe the further role of AI in the modern world.

Until then, enjoy being a human being, the most complex machine that has ever lived capable of the greatest things on earth (music and art) as well as the worst things (violence, evil, greed and trying to replicate itself with technology)

Thank you for your attention to this matter!

Strength is a funny concept. How it is portrayed is almost opposite of what it actually is. Tan and able-bodies with large biceps exhibiting physical force against another? or pulling a car with a rope? Dropping bombs on other nations? Anger, aggression and severity? All sound like fear to me. Strength is not being a step ahead or more prepared for what the world may serve you it is being ill-equipped and still pushing, always uphill. A 5’3” woman getting up each day when her body works actively against her and still chooses life, who eats through the nausea and walks through the pain and laughs thru the fainting. To the point no one would ever even know. And in fact they often discredit it based on the appearance of health. That is real strength. It is the untold story of the real heroes that walk this earth. The suffering, the alone, the forgotten. And bonus halos for remaining kind or optimistic through it all.

HEALTH. You are either lucky enough to not have to think about it or you can’t afford to think about anything else. (and in America, you also can’t afford to think about it even when you can’t afford not to) Very little in-between. HEALTH. The selfless servant not even noticed let alone thanked until they step away. I would consider myself one of the fortunate ones. But loving someone who doesn’t have that privilege ultimately feels the same. Wherever we go, we go together. I have learned so much and gained so much perspective on the things I myself take for granted. The simplest of things. Like just feeling OK enough to function. We all get glimpses for a few days when we catch something and our flow of life is disrupted, but imagine if you just never got better.

She should be out soon. And this is only one of the 7 (?) appointments, 4 bloodwork’s this month. This is only for one of the multiple mysterious conditions all overlapping in a swamp of perpetual puzzle of symptoms. At least I have a surprise focaccia waiting for her from a gluten-free bakery I found nearby (yup, she can’t eat wheat either, allergic, intolerant, put it on the list).

Milan feels like NYC. I don’t really care for it. Lots of finance guys in blue suits riding vespas living for the grind. The energy feels American-fascinated and from my American perspective, I think they are idiots for glorifying it. But what do I know?

I’d choose just about any small town over the crushing chaos of this big city. One trying to be something it thinks it should want to be without seeing it already had what everyone should want. The concrete is always grayer on the other side.

Anyway, no sob story here, in fact the opposite. After years, the idea here is this can finally lead to answers, then solutions then getting her life back from the slow and mysterious withering that has occurred since she was a kid but especially over the last 5 or so years. This is a reminder that we never know what someone is going through behind the scenes as this scene is seemingly more common than many know. Maybe you just see a cool girl savant on stage in a polka dot dress playing a Hofner bass, you think “wow she’s pretty good for a girl” or “she’s got it made” but no one sees the relative hell it took to get to that point and how much she may have to pay for the energy expense later. Just a perspective that can provide immense value in life. Health does not discriminate and if you got it, you got everything and if you don’t, it’s difficult to see the point. Speaking of which, the #1 tennis player in the world, Jannik Sinner was checked into this very same hospital just a few days ago. Delicate gingers unite. Anyway, I have hope and WHEN she feels better and soon, it will be like being reborn.

Take care of yourselves. In a world designed to kill you every day lived is a victory.