Casey Hallas Art

Memory

The end result is not what I sought but I have no regrets being a romantic. The world isn’t the same place it used to be. At least I fought for beauty.

Pullman Depot P.2

It’s a weird thing to be forgetting about the way people think in New York City and to be detaching from hyper-intelligent cross-fire. It’s been some kind of battle to keep up with the times. The general impression left upon me it that there is no business for you to be trying what you’re trying. I now agree. The proof is the isolation I find myself in, that, these romances are far from reach. I can imagine connection but I’m always shown my value card. I just disagree. That is the battle.

By no means am I an owner of huge swaths of land or a large amount of savings. Even my self-perception is dissolving. The general intention of being an artist was to cultivate that fortune but even I am willing to admit the astronomical odds I was up against. They were very very bad odds. I can brag and tell you I’ve done so many glorious feats that the odds of my existence are rare. You’d still have to know the facts and you’d still have to care about Casey Hallas having a story.

So it’s like this that I disappear. I’m a musician with an apartment on the park. Not in New York or San Francisco but in Moscow. Moscow, Idaho. This is a cathartic surrender because I’m not one who cultivates considerable company. The purpose is quite narrow and people won’t care unless there’s news and it’s becoming so fragmented that the odds keep diminishing. To all of these past loves – time is a guardian. I miss you all every day. Some of you don’t even know. Each one popping up in my mind/heart. It would be the case that someone would try to contact me if I had the radio hit or the part in a TV movie. That’s the value not my spirit. How I worked through the chaos is a paperback novel I imagined.

These people I loved – it’s strange to imagine them as they exist in a world without me. If I’d only said the right thing. The effort would have required me believing I could pull off the impossible. I believed but I couldn’t involve anyone in the balance it would have taken. Doesn’t matter it was for the right reasons, either – all the lonely steps and the purpose. All the lost time. All the isolation. It’s everyone job job job career life children. My own purpose beyond description. So it really is goodbye to the past. It’s absolutely, positively and finally true. Forget the past.

I’ve wandered to the edge of the unknown. 25 years is considerable and I can’t process masks any further. What were you? Boy inside a man inside a teenager if this is nested properly. I have to sever the heart strings because the guardian holds the strings – not a woman. What have you become? I have to say goodbye. I thought our mystery would endure but you’re ghosts. This arc must end.

Pullman Depot P.1

My greatest search has been to find a flat parking spot for my rig. I don’t have that on my land – at least not without sacrificing some cover. The experiences in trailers and campers in the last year and a half have shown me that – even if you own the damn thing – you’re still paying. For space, power, water. Maybe you save a little over an apartment – but your rig is depreciating in the meantime and you’re never taking a particularly long shower. It’s possible a trade-off of a few hundred a month just to have a solid roof over your head and not worrying about your pipes freezing or something breaking. Something always breaks and I’m losing money.

Apartments can be hard to come by in certain towns. In Pullman it’s all about apartments and student housing. That’s not quite what I’m looking for – I’m going to build on my land. I just need a flat spot to park. In the RV park though you’re on top of each other – even one small step down. It’s your own. It’s “outside.” It’s really just one kind of poverty or another. Well, the cheapest way to live while I’m landing on my feet. It’s probably true that all of it is taking away from the actual moving forward – that is really taking care of myself and just saying – I appreciate this.

This is necessary conditioning for cataclysm, but truly, no – I want to make my life better. It’s not about design or things, it’s just improving on my basic needs – surrendering to what’s important. So, case in point, my ladder fell in the Walmart Parking lot when I was trying to get sleep on a flat space and I ended up in the ER getting stitches. It was in that moment I felt most alone and I thought – I’ve GOT to do something about this.

I’ve been playing guitar all day and thinking about school. These kids are in discovery, I’m in recovery. I can’t take any action without asking myself about the utility of it. The door is closing on options. I’d love to study jazz. But probably that’s a bad idea. Something could happen. Something could come together. But really, it’s all just planting seeds. I’m determined to accept that I’m no longer trying to push so hard. There WAS a reason for it. But I learned, after so long of sort of being “difficult” – most people aren’t worth sacrificing for. And so with fewer options and so much accumulated disappointment and general doubt I decided to stop reading everyone’s thoughts. I’m stepping out into a place where I’m saying – “let’s see where this goes.” I’m not leading.

I’m trying to make sure my wound doesn’t get infected, that I figure out ways to get clean and that people don’t think I’m homeless. Which I’m not. I have a house, I just don’t want to live there. I don’t want to live anywhere if I have to keep making all the decisions on my own. It’s tedious – at least it lacks a certain purpose. This is life in the rig. It’s not so bad. I found a place to park for the night.

DNA Results

England & Northwest Europe 28%
The Midlands, England

Scotland 23%

Norway 18%

Germany 15%

Wales 6%

Ireland 6%
Connacht, Ireland
North East Mayo

Sweden 4%

100% American

Remembering

Remembering…
Remembering

Why’d you have look so sad girl?
You’ve got a Chad girl. I ain’t got nobody.
Why’d I have to see?

Along to the song I wrote for love…
Along to the song I wrote for you.
Along to the song I wrote for love…
Sing along to this song.

A man buries sorrow
In his heart for what he loves.
He hopes that it flowers – that it grows into peace.

I don’t feel justified, I don’t feel right.
I did what I had to – to survive.

Sing along to the song I wrote for love…
Sing along to the song I wrote for you.
Sing along to the song I wrote for love…
Sing along to the song.

A man buries sorrow
In his heart for what he loves.
He hopes that it flowers – that it grows into peace.

You and your daddy
Sing along to the song.

Recovery

Eventually, you’re just OK. You’ve become who you wanted to be, you can handle it – and you finally get to feel those feelings again. Loving, like you’re loved. Sharing. That’s worth staying alive for. There are people who KNOW. There are people who can feel it too. This is the future, the feeling. Stay alive.

Letting Go

You are everything you have thought, you are everything you’ve done. You are everything you will do, you are everything you could do. Sometimes you run into the wrong people. They put a stake in you, for themselves, not you. If they wanted to help you, they would. They’d ask you questions and put you on the right path. But for them, it’s about keeping you tethered to something they believe. They can’t see the everything you think about, your potential. It’s what they see and how they see it in their corner of reality. It’s a terrible waste of time to get locked up in this kind of smallness. I can say, I don’t even know the point, other than it’s just some myopic bullshit. Who cares what they think, what they say about you. If they believed in you, they’d be helping. It pulls against you, something from the past – some name, an anchor in a kind of wasteland. A hungry ghost. OK, whatever you say. Have fun. You can just imagine them turning and talking – ha, ha, ha, blah, blah, blah. I guess you know everything. They weren’t even close to figuring you out. They were about putting you in a place and keeping you there. I don’t even care to know why. It’s so small. It’s such a waste of time. If people like this stand between you and an institution, get yourself a new institution. You’re an institution. Because by the time you do your thing, tell your story and everyone’s saying, I didn’t know that – I didn’t realize – you say, yeah, that’s because those people are grotesque. Look at them, watch them. It’s a web of disdain. It’s a house of shame. NOT INTERESTED. My thing is bigger, brighter, louder, prouder, softer and way more beautiful. Because it’s these people after the fact, scratching their heads saying, I didn’t know. You didn’t WANT to know. You aren’t big enough to know. So – go home, leave me out of it. OK? See, they’re talking about you BECAUSE they know you’re more talented, more amazing, more beautiful. A good person would say – why don’t you shut up and DO something. Why don’t you shut up and DO something? Goodbye ghosts! Goodbye 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998. Goodbye forever! Cause the I didn’t know, or, I’m sorry – that’s really about you not being intelligent to know what’s possible. It’s not on me. It’s on you, and if you’re trying to hurt me – well, that’s just mean – because I’m a beautiful man.

Dimensions

When something bad happens, it changes you. You can’t be who you wanted to be…or who you felt you were supposed to be. It’s a battle in the mind. I wanted to do something I couldn’t do. It was elusive, just out of reach. I had potential, I was on a path. As is happens, I ran into a patch of trouble. I got side-tracked. It hurts, because, there were other people who got hurt as well. The people I was connected to. I lost control. Well, I wanted to use my potential to help. The battle in the mind is disbelief. I can’t believe I got cast down like that. I got stepped on, mixed up, silenced. I lost people…because I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. It’s a tough pill to swallow. Oh god, not again. But, that is what happened. There were people who stood in the fire. Very, very few. But there were people who weathered the storm for short bursts. Those are the people who saved me. Someone held me – we held each other, for a month. And then I lost her. Someone broke for me and I broke for her. I got kicked in the face and then I lost her. Someone spoke to me, I spoke to her. Then my mind and words were mixed up and I lost her. The blame comes down on you, but what about the people came at me? Something happened. You get knocked down and they think they have you. It’s not for their edification that I write. In Chicago, Sam Saunders helped me stand on my feet again. We walked with the crack-sellers and I saw dignity. These kids were survivors. On the streets, the kinds of attacks that took me down are repaid in violence. I learned about strength and retribution. I missed out on those connections, the ones I earned. But here I am. What does a man do when he’s fully on his feet again. Those people I loved, are they whole and open to see me? Everyone has a life. I lost part of mine – I had it taken away. But, you’ll see. You’ll see what I did when you weren’t watching. I like the street. I like the hustlers, I like divine justice. I like the poetry of courage and broken minds. Shhhh. Quiet. Shhhh. There is 911. There it is, the internet. There it is, new media. There it is, New York, San Francisco. Talk, talk, talk. I did something classical. I did something remarkable. I did it old-school. You just saw a part of me. So, if you care – well, pay attention. This isn’t a promise. This is a prayer. Listen to me. Listen.

In Defense

There is a complexity to the artist’s psyche that is paradoxical. It’s the nature of revealing. You are trying to be vulnerable to people who alternatively just don’t give a shit, those who want to see you fail, and those who might actually need some help. You’re doing it for the people who need inspiration…you would’t be doing it if you were OK. It’s the life process of finding out what OK is by putting yourself out there. Some people don’t try. I did it obtusely like throwing shit at the wall. You can learn a lot from the shit-talkers. If they were doing something, they wouldn’t be talking. But, they really have no use for you if you aren’t in their sphere. It’s a clique of self-importance. The true purpose of the art is for the traumatized to see hope through the horror – and then, finally – society becomes a thing that doesn’t create so much pain. We’re living in a post-apocalyptical aftermath. So, the extent of the losses and shame you face – is to be about as ruthless a cunt as possible and as soft a lover as to be found in history. Ideology is a ruse for desire. It’s about desire, and everybody wants to be the center of the universe. Except, if you don’t actually do anything – you’re just a shit-talker. So God bless the talentless. If I were you and just starting out – stick to science and don’t tell anyone anything about yourself. Try to learn not to feel. Anybody who’s trying to feel is looking for trouble. It’s hell. They’ll say you’re narcissistic. Not if it’s true. Not if you’re the real thing. And why? So you can be beautiful to HELP people, duh. We’re human beings not diamond rings. Get a grip. Eventually – you’ll get good at what you do, you’ll get the thick skin you need to tear through life. You’re a shark who can’t stop swimming. Get burned. Get destroyed. Rebuild. Your beauty seeps through the cracks and then you start to see – there is no time. It’s only connection. It’s only love. You lost the ones you love keeping your enemies close. Forget them. I love you so much it breaks time. The old stories are fictions. Why you gotta be like that? The only truth is now, now, now. You can only see what I see if you love me. Let’s love together. I’ll teach you violence – I’ll show you everything I know. This is what love feels like – destruction. I will turn you into a wilderness with earth-fire. You can’t mediate a legend. I’m not a sweater.

Stay Here With Me

Summer, I know, is pushing the roses;
When cut from the earth
They’re not meant to last.
I am a sign, I am a road.
You must be seeing to know where I go.

Stay here with me, please;
Stay here with me.

I am suspicious that nobody hears
No matter how hard I pray –
It’s not what I need.
You are my garden, you are my heart.
What can I tell you
Now that you know?

Stay here with me, please;
Stay here with me.
Here we are one,
Here we are one.

You’re kind. That mind!
You say things, your feelings.
I’ve been here some time –
Just wishing someone needs me.

Stay here with me, please;
Stay here with me.
Here we are one,
Here we are one.
Here we are one…
Here we are one.