About Tallon

Every morning when I wake, in my small section of the expansive Hippie Hideaway, the small white circular alarm clock face reads 10:15.  It might every well be 10:15 but chances are it’s either later or earlier than that.  I know that clock has given up on time like I’ve given up on watching television, but I still acknowledge it every morning.  This very morning, even with the blinds pulled tightly down on the window,  cracks of filtered sun tell me that it is raining.  I pull the blinds, the early afternoon March would not be the typical awe inspiring day, but I like it.  It certainly fits my mood. 

I think its hard times for the delicate nature of the discerning artist, easily getting lost in the throws of social currents.  When I try to explain the fragile position of my theoretical goals, they are generally met with seas of misunderstanding. 

“So get a job at a news paper.” they say.

 Well, I don’t like the American media or the (in my opinion) restrictive journalist style.   “Well, money makes the world go round.” 

But! The Beatles told me all I need is love and they were all rich.  My mother’s voice rings in my head.

“Well, they are dead Tallon, and so are they sixties from whence they came (I feel this information is only half correct.).”

  This always brings me to the disheartening wall from which I turn from only to see a rock.  How can you get anywhere with morals unscrambled and as a writer and not sell out?  Bob Dylan has an American Express commercial, and my dad was duped into buying his latest LP.   Critical proof that society will always decimate the free.  I don’t fit in, I guess you could call that off beat.  I’m just “free” restricted, by the narrow terms in which success seems to often to come.  If America is so expansive and great shouldn’t there be more room to accommodate?  John Steward is “The Voice” our/my generation and he not even of it.  Anyone who becomes anything is bought out or silenced.  I want the system to work but no one votes.  Getting my pothead friends off the couch to protest might have been a possibility in the sixties but Guitar Hero and Facebook take up their time.  Not bad diversions and also some of mine, but I’m just sick of the contrived nature of MTV, rising up material obsessed youths, with no cellulite or brains.  I’m for esthetics as a artist but please can’t there be a balance?  I guess I am ranting now, which is never a classy move.    I can’t text, society had finically disenfranchised me.  So, I guess I’m at a disconnect.  That’s why my words feel comfortable on the white screen. 

“Never argue with idiots.  They drag you down to their level and beat you with experience.” – unknown