RE: Letter to My Future Husband & The Woman I Wanna Look Like/Be OR, In the Pocket of My Blue Jeans

NOTE: This post originated independent of any contemporaneous outside influences, regardless of genre.

However, this spirit  doesn't altogether dismiss the possibility of 'independent' artistic endeavors arising, unbeknownst to 'individuals,' from collective wells of wonder, the depths of which are far too unfathomable to contain within the confines of language, a sorry substitute for truth that has always already escaped the ability of but a few to consider the realm of artistic enterprise any other way than the way we perceive of it with the materials for manifesting it in our human hands.

This artist, in other words, is not opposed to entertaining the possibility that one's art could also be the result of spirits simultaneously commingling within the same channel, knowingly or not, until the static is quiet enough to not overwhelm the sound of their voices, and until the stars moons of their wherevers shine brightly enough and they see each other and don't feel enough fear to not want to pretend otherwise.

But, yeah.

This (whatever you want to call it) is about what's in (interpret as you will) a pocket I cut from the one pair of Levi's 501 jeans I held onto from my past life. I've carried the pocket in each move I've made since I cut it out (I don't remember when).

My motivation to purge my collection of 501s must've been insurmountable--after all, it took years and dozens of trips to thrift stores, and, later, in graduate school, being sent to collections for over $300 for a bad check written years before for such a purchase at Value Village. That cache has no future now, save for on the hips of whoever wears the jeans now (I want to be upset with them, but it's not their fault--plus, the jeans are probably in a landfill, let's face it), and for the future of what's inside this lone pocket you see.

You see? Quality
​clothing. 

Should you ask anyone who knew me back then if I'd been a Barbie what my outfit would've been, it would've included 501s and a bandana.

My accessories: a can of loose tobacco, a notebook, and a pen.

I don't know what my Barbie name would've been. 501 Barbie doesn't seem right. I'll have to think on that. 

Random: I often wonder if the women and men named in songs are real. I mean, I know some are real, and I know some love songs are, in fact, written to/for real people, even if such is discovered, say, posthumously. But is Jolene real. Hmmm. Look it up, you say? What a great idea. Why didn't I think of that? Well, because I'm way behind the times. 

Reporting back, I didn't try that hard once I found an article that talks about him being sick of the song. This made me laugh because, honestly, I am, too, but I couldn't resist for obvious reasons. Just don't listen to it. You don't have to push play. 

1998 TIME CAPSULE FILES/DEFIES CATEGORIES FILES, Back Right Pocket of Levi's 501 Jeans, 33x32, A Little Loose On the Hips, Circa 1997-2007

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"BABY GOT BACK" : HEREBY, IT HAS BEEN RECOGNIZED AND SUBSEQUENTLY RELEASED FROM SPIRIT, MIND, AND BODY THAT GUYS CHANTED THE AFOREMENTIONED TRACK TO ME ABOUT MY BUTT HERE, THERE, AND EVERYWHERE FROM ROUGHLY 1996-1999, AND MAYBE FEWER AND FARTHER BETWEEN AFTERWARD, IF ONLY IN JEST. 

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