Jack’s Mannequin stopt ermee?

Jack’s Mannequin stopt ermee?

In februari werd er al een soort pauze ingelast, maar nu lijkt het voorgoed te zijn gestopt. Niets is helemaal zeker, maar het lijkt erop dat Jack’s Mannequin niet langer bestaat. De Jack’s Mannequin website wordt direct doorgestuurd naar Andrew McMahon’s blog, en op die blog staan twee merkwaardige berichten. Deze kun je hieronder bekijken.

Last Night
Two Advil pm and 3 ounces of bullet rye later it occurs to me I have something to say. To the wall, to myself, to anyone who will listen. I enjoy operating in this space, late at night when the questions become riddles and the present tense becomes the past, shoring up hope at morning’s edge. As indicated by the page these words appear on and the mere existence of the words themselves, I am once again in transition. The truth is I am always so, and while for me it seems less like news and possibly for you too, I wish to clear what is left of the summer air. In approximately one day from the time these words are written, the double life I have been living will be filed away. A digital memory. I don’t chose this despite myself or the things I have created, and certainly not despite you. Quite the contrary, this is celebration of those things and the mysterious racket their separation has made inside my head. The truth is we all live inside ourselves, whether it’s the right thing to do or not. I have asked many things of many people. Follow me this way or that, up or down. Watch me dismantle one bomb to simply build a new one. It’s exhausting some times and while I never know the plan, it seems there is one. Maybe you’re tired of following and if so I wouldn’t blame you. If not though and for your information, I will be trading in old masks for one with my name written on the inside. I’m still learning how to wear it, but it feels good most days and it seems to match fingerprints.

Ook verscheen later het volgende bericht:

this will be a process
5 am and I’ve finally grown tired of the pixelated black grey of a hotel ceiling. I move to the shower for a change of scenery and on the promise I’ve now attached to a spike in body temperature. I rest peacefully there, lights dim and orange, water comfort, hexagon tiles placed neatly side by side and lending order to an otherwise scattershot scene. Sleeplessness is a blessing and a curse. It is the hours late and lonely that will teach you what you’re made of. The new awake. I’ve pushed myself into the arms of the world again, and here I am hung up on it’s affect. This will be a process I tell myself. Speak when the words come. Fearing the judgement of a sun now rising could only leave me in the dark.

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