I’ve never believed in truth, but only since being introduced to the concept of “Functional Contextualism” (in 2015) have I had a name for my brand of truthlessness. Having a definition of what truth is can be useful… so long as it is useful (helps you function in your context). If it helps you… it’s your truth.

Any person’s current context is different from everyone else’s (or their own at a different time). Likewise, the definition of “functioning” (taking actions that bring you closer to what is wanted or further from what isn’t) may be as variable.

Why this introduction to an album called Trump? One could argue Trump’s loose relationship to truth is a demonstration of “functional contextualism.” If we assume, for example, Trump’s desire is to “be at the centre of the news cycle,” it would follow that if his context has him at the centre of the news cycle, then his “truth” has no need to change. But if the context changes (and he loses the news cycle to something like a bunch of youth making a ruckus about a school shooting), without his desires (and therefore his definition of “functioning”) changing, the “truth” must too change.

Since context is always changing, one could say that a defining feature of a functional person whose desires are unchanging is that their “truth” is always in flux.

Between November 9, 2016 and November 12, 2017 I constructed 28 potential lyrics that emerged out of my efforts to compassionately contend with Trump, while many around me seemed to rush toward the cliff of judgment (i.e. to define a lasting “truth,” despite evidence’s perennial inability to arrive at “proof”) about his “character.”

As I started setting the 28 lyrics to music, I found myself garbling them. When I then started making instrumental songs “based on” the lyrics… something about my context and/or goals changed, and my truth no longer demanded I continue beyond the 9 I’d completed.

Listen