Mo David's Blues is the culmination of my last few years in the world spent carefully noticing as much as I could. This collection of poetry and essays is not just an export from the region of my mind, but rather a chunk of my mind itself, a pink glob of gloop strung out and strummed so you can hear its song. This book is my oath to continue building a home on land that can sometimes seem hostile. It's a reminder that music can be heard even from a great distance.
When I sent an early draft to my friend Sara (as I do with all my work), she said it felt like the mixtapes we used to burn in high school, a gathering of disparate feelings and environments that are each enhanced by the presence of the others. Those silver stacks of blank CDs became our accidental diaries. We thought we were crafting a soundtrack to score the scene. But as anyone can tell you about the music they listened to in adolescence, the songs were actually the main event. And now they're the proof of our experience, the receipt of every feeling we had in those days.
That's what this writing is, too. I fiddled with these pieces in between other tasks, in the alleyways of my life where I squeeze or toss what doesn't fit elsewhere. I didn't take this work seriously at first--the writing seemed too fun or too revealing or too short or too easy. But I gathered all these fragments, my mythologies and mementos that were so singular they had to be outcasted, and placed them gently before you here. They're epic and tiny, fragile and strong. And much like the music of my high school drives, I think they hold more truth than anything else I've found since.
I made you a mix out of myself. I burned it in my dining room just like in the old days. I've written your name on it with a permanent marker. These are the tracks that I keep turning on. I hope you love them more over time.
