The Self-Importance of Eric Gallagher

The work of a sloppy writer and an even sloppier musician.

The last act of the night

Is an unflinching declaration

Of the same name as the first

Stating what’s done

It’s been working hard for the time being

it gets a rest it gets a rest

Sky is turning blue now

it gets a rest it gets a rest

Recent sketches



Assessment of the time that it takes

Yeah, I guess it was a good way to get a little more perspective.

And yeah,

It was the only thing that I could do

That then and there

Here and now and now and now

I’m trying not to be with myself

I’m trying to get away

But the other side of the court has ruled a duration longer than I can handle

I can handle a lot.Can I handle I can handle. a lot

I’m not even getting the most important thing. It was the same experience as a feeling. One that makes you think that you’re not going to get the brunt of her. Yeah, dude.They’ve just got a few times, and she had said something about how much sound it’s gonna take for her to be with me. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know what you think. I just want to be the first one to be with the whole of a world.

Presented itself as overwhelming for a second

But it is something that can be surpassed

It is solvable

All things are

It just takes time

But hell, it’s even downright fun at times

You at least have to admit that

Consistent reassurance

Back up a little

There’s something and you know it

Every once in a while

It’s just that there was this great idea

It fills me with a familiar feeling

One of a road diverging

In a moment of multiple choice

A dry desperation

To reach out in a way that makes sense

But nothing is clear until it’s too late

So down the road you go

Time doesn’t heal wounds, it aggressively erodes them.

Three minutes

That’s it that’s all you are

Listen here if gravity has a universal constant

No that doesn’t make any sense

If you just move this one here

Put the energy in

Change this area

Just like that no no put it back

Fuck someone over

Make something open up

Down somewhere that’s tough to get to

Seven ladders up

Sequenced like the distance between how we feel

About most everything

Mostly gone

Mostly preserved in the grass

In the park across the street

Crunch crunch under your feet

We’ve stopped responding and recovered

The magnitude of the sum

The floor made of plastic bits

That would have gotten you sick if you inhaled them

Preserved and overlooked

Try for something new

The pieces flake off

I’m giving myself over

Very slowly

A thought spread out

A moment in a moment

What it is is you

Pick from me what you can

What sticks

What feels right


And you keep it

Not me anymore



And it’s a beautiful thing