I come everyday now, just to look ……and read to find some kind of enlightenment for myself. But now I see what I’m doing, just like everyone your light draws me like a moth. You are swarmed at a distance, by the people you do and do not know, by the people who want to be apart of that light, by people who are looking blankly at the screen…. are you inviting these people in? or are you looking for some answer imbedded in your soul, crusted over by the lack faith, hope, disappointment. The answer you lost back when you were younger and now your open to suggestions? Who knows, not I, just wondering. moth

a moth rebellion in the midst
easily replaced
never fear
the light will find new victims for it's flame
for the light would cease to exist
save for the wanton dance of the moths wings

pitcher,
i too, feel inadequate in my silence, so as the sun falls in through my windows, I shall offer the warmth of a truly magical moment. i am terribly pleased that I have finally elected to scribe some truths about my visions of humility. as you consume my comments, digested them, you might think “how difficult it can be at times to love that which threatens us, that which we are afraid of”. but fear not these words my California dear. my purpose is not to taunt you and turn you inside out. my only intent is to express, with that sweet moon language, the emotional turmoil that your shameless narcissism causes me.

i too am an artist mr. pitcher. my daily ritual also lies just out beyond the smallness of my human world. but that is another story entirely, and an extremely long one involving the ever-present topic of mortality. so we shall move forward and discuss you.

when the tiny hairs in my ears were first caressed by your sounds, i must say i was captivated. i literally stumbled upon a worn out copy of your CD in the streets of seattle. i was searching for shelter but what i found was a timeless embrace of uncertainty. what do I do with this mysterious disc of silver!? do i  leave it for the next passerby? do i toss it like a divine shimmering frisbee into the misty autumn night?  or perhaps i could be a boat, and drift aimlessly upon the sea. i decided to deposit the disc into my pocket, as i moved through the night, spinning invisibly through the air.

so it was fate that drew my to your craft. and as i consumed those tunes, carefully navigating my CD player around the symphony of scratches (oh how they creak), i quickly became a fan.

But alas, my poor poor boy. there is sadness in this story. for when I visited you in your virtual realm, your website, what i found was not a giant with endless arms thundering across an arid land full of broken hearted lovers. it was not stunningly brilliant and wildly inspiring, yet so humble and soft-shelled. instead i found a journal of an embarrassingly self-obsessed narcissist toot’n his own god damn horn. look buddy, i know how if feels to be all angst-ridden sensitive artist guy, but for the love of decency, this venue includes nothing but heinous CRIMES AGAINST HUMILITY. you should be ashamed of yourself, posting posed pictures of Jefferson, all fluffed-up like a first rate fruitcake- 'exposed' for all to pop boners over. give me a break. where I come from, an evergreen tree would “mysteriously” fall on your ass. you wouldn’t hear “timber” and there would be no witnesses. whoever gave you that digital camera is guilty of these high crimes as well. oh silly, silly, man, no one is impressed with your reflection. if you want to be some big movie star, i suggest you start looking for better representation. if you want to continue making decent music, i recommend cutting out the bullshit ‘me’ factor and getting on your guitar.

Your Fan,
Ernest Frank

and i recommend to you mr. ernest frank that if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. for the world is in great need of honest self-expression. truth is the ally of any great genius. why show the world only what we think will be accepted? we are who we are, nothing more, nothing less. acceptance maybe is what we all want, but obviously your comment shows above all that that isn't happening anytime soon. i'm glad of your confidence to voice your opinion, but don't shun him for his. he is a beautiful beautiful soul. i have always admired his breathtaking honesty...though his feelings/emotions may be raw and real; they are him...who he is. and to you mr. jefferson pitcher: thank you for being you...it is a breath of fresh air, a brilliant light in the sometimes scary dark.......you are amazing.

Narcissistic artist is a redundancy.

haha. good point summer!

On Mr. Frank:

Please, please do not blather on about "if you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all." That is the biggest pile of shit I have ever heard. Disagreement is what discourse is all about--artistic or otherwise--and it shames the artist to claim otherwise. Mr. Frank's criticisms are legitimate because they are his own criticisms. Listen to them, and then agree or disagree, but don't try to silence him. That shit is great for dictators, but terrible for the arts.

Another narcissistic artist,

CK

on being Ernest

Christian sums it up well. Mr. Frank, as obnoxious and unbearably unoriginal as his words might be, most certainly has the right to express an opinion. If someone chooses to express her/his art for the entire world (at least those fortunate enough to have a computer) to absorb, then dissent, in one form or another is most assuredly guaranteed. This is also, the nature of art.

I don’t agree, however, that self expression, in its raw form is synonymous with the kind of narcissism this ‘ol boy Ernest is describing. As hard as it is to decipher any legitimate criticism from his clumsy repurposing of content, I think what his message really drives toward is a probable disconnect on Jefferson’s part between image and self-expression. What is the artful connection between these posted images and the corresponding message? The words are elegant, meaningful and prophetic; very few will argue with that. But how do the ‘posed’ and produced images relate to the content. There is a not-so gray line between self expression and image brokering. This is more than evident in today’s self-conscious advertising/promotional culture.

While it might not be easy being Ernest, he does seem to raise some interesting issues.

-Burgundy

Blow up the balloons and hang the crepe paper. Give the sad man-child a conical party hat of cardboard and cheap sequins. Someone find him a glass and fill it with our tears. Here's to you Mr. Jefferson Pitcher, give us a toast. Crank up that wheezy, whiney old victrola and play us your song again. You know the one. We love you Miss Havisham!