In the first world, we learn to be extremely afraid of anything that disrupts the hegemony of the ego.
There’s something about the visceral nature of art and comics that can really land in an emotional way that totally transcends the written word.
We need to hold each other in our fears and support each other in directing our actions, however fruitless they may sometimes seem.
An album based on a novel about a 2020’s apocalypse written in the 1990’s resonated with listeners in ways that I couldn’t have imagined when I started writing the songs many years ago.
I wanted to write about a lost Florida, my Florida, if you will.
The human condition is one that has violence and unexpected death. We should always be asking how people move through it and come together again. How they endure.
Our adornments are not just for vanity, but for resonance—they transmit something to someone who sees you. It’s not just to look pretty; it’s a language.
Gabriel Ojeda-Sagué and Sebastian Castillo
I do think I’ve lost something that’s beyond recovery, which is the tender feeling for a language that comes with it being native to your world and brain.
I spend a lot of time with each sentence asking myself: is this as true as it can be? Am I taking a risk here?
I keep having this phrase that feels important to me: How does language happen to me? In relationship to these landscapes, in relationship to these questions, in relationship to these documents. What kind of language wants to emerge?