Whatever Happens. Don't Forget To Breath.

Nothing is outside.

Nothing comes in.

Something on the inside has got to get out.

Sophmoric Irony.

Music Makes The World Go 'Round.

Sonny Rollins.

Next up, dublab Give Up compilation.

Perfect timing.

Like finding a 10er in your pocket when your $5 away from $0 in your account.

And next up after the penny royalties, Stars of the Lid.

I think I'm excited. That's kinda funny. SOTL aren't necessarily exciting. But when you're blue and there's a tone that meets the fuzz on the TV, it's understandable how you can feel excited.

More perfect timing.

The Fallen In Love

Trust gone awry...

Sweet selfishness and greed.

Bitter tastes that turn good times bad.

Walking away, they aren't angels because it's over.

They aren't angels.
They don't know Love.

They aren't angels just because they're singing.

They aren't angels just because they're children.
Children are innocent.

Trust gone awry...

Simply just the fallen in love.

Consistent. RepetitionAh, RepetitionAh, RepetitionAh...

(THE FOLLOWING POST WAS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN MARCH 18, 2006)

I want to be so artistically advanced that I can appreciate Lou Reed during a present day live concert. But I don't. I just don't. I listen to Rock N' Roll Animal's musical technicians carefully rocking their jams to new versions of some Oldies But Goodies, and I want to see Lou do this and not the other. Precision Rock usually harshes my mellow but when there's cocaine up the nostrils of an avant-garde junkie and it's 1974 and we're still gonna try to do this rock thing people! - THAT show is where I wanna be. I listen to his first solo and fantasize of singing backing vocals like one of those glam ladies, "I can't stand it any more, more!" Yeah! Tears welling up, "You're right and I'm wrong" Can I play that? Can I smoke it? I listen to VU Live and while pondering the formative sex of the ass on the cover, I feel like I'm hearing them for the first time and oh how wonderful that was. Our first date and I was already asking, "Where have you been all my life? I'm so glad you finally found me." I was 13. I began my obsession with heroin. And I get it. I really do. Heroin is crap. It all is but he really nailed it when he wrote Heroin. He really did.

So what's tonight's point? We're melancholy. The Bush administration is setting up another scene to play for the purpose of forwarding their goals - Iran wants to talk about Iraq only to not talk about their nuclear ambitions. Fuck You. Fuck Bush. Like I've said before, said phrase loses its sweet sentiment there. In other news, I'm surrounded by a chronic ennui after listening to so many broken records today. I should go and forget and leave them in the sun. I'm grateful for what I got, I see where you're coming from, I know to go won't take the blues away but the thought of burning cigarettes shooting to the center of my head seems so much more reliable than Plenty Fortune but not much more than tiny kittens.

You're Simply Too Delicious.

Delusional and gracious while fat and punitive. I swear small conversation has never reflected such truth, made me so bored or taught me so much.

We never sleep, never leave, never arrive. Neither of us. So if there’s safety in numbers, why am I so scared of you? Such big talk for such small minds. It must be that the focus of our discussions just isn’t sincere. So, it isn’t love after all. Is it? It’s fear. You won’t leave if you never arrive. And we’ll never sleep if I the boogey man in my closet is keeping me up.

Change is so hard. Correct. Evolution has taught us such. Usually that’s saved for an object leaving your life. Not behavior. Right? We’re all set and warriors when our faithful icons have worn out their effect and we have to put them away forever. “I can no longer go there, wear that, call them…,” ad infinitum. It makes my hair too frizzy and my butt big. But what about when the icon turns out to be how we pass the salt? Are we then even able to see that? I must, must, must now ask myself, does passing to the left really satisfy me? Or do I know deep down in my soul that it’s to the right? Or can it be that sometimes I can just nudge it in your direction? Can the direction sometimes change too? For so long I skipped the salt and went au natural. I felt safe. My heart beat a little longer without all that extra sodium. But Oh Salt – you Curious Bitch…

Excuse me, but please - don’t take away the salt. Can’t you see? It’s all I know now. All I know is all I have. I believe in the salt. Anything else just isn’t fair game. Anything else just seems black as pepper.

After enjoying a little flavor, I finally see that it isn’t love, it’s fear. My focus has been so insincere. I didn’t know. I thought I knew. It was only that I believed it. Now my hair’s totally frizzy and my butt’s getting bigger. We cannot have that. Ah, Sweet Vanity, you are my Eskimo. But my faith has become ingrained and the palate is so rich now.

The Church Of Rock N' Roll.

So I continue my work replacing precious lost records burned and destroyed by the great fires of 2000 - 2002. Last month eBay ate my homework. I've been nothing but reaping the rewards of this too. I gladly feed the hungry beast.

But today - so weird. My Orchids / Epicurean double LP arrived with the usual, "Thanks for the business!" card inside. But this time the card offered a free video to a better family life courtesy of The Church of Later-Day Saints.

Huh?

Since when do the Later-Day Saints collect Sarah records? It's this LP that even features the sweet little quote, "the philosophy of Epicureans taught that the highest good is temporal happiness which is to be achieved by the practise [sic] of virtues." Or am I missing something? Is this card part of a collectible piece complementing the Epicurean philosophy and I'm just not hip to it? I'm cool with that. Just let me know.

But I don't think so.

So also please tell me what part of, "Pristine Christine," is conjuring Beelzebub? Is it those FIERCE opening guitar licks? They do make me scream... What about songs like, "Say Yes to Everything"? Whenever I hear it I think, "Why not?!" Isn't that the point? And it's always about love too. Yes. Yes it is. It's always soft, there's always sunshine, you're always walking in it and when you're not, it's the music's sanguine melody - I'm thinking Field Mice here - that'll grant you any necessary salvation anyway. There's no harm from tremendous reverb, poppy snares and infinite optimism. Not since I last checked. The free video seems completely unnecessary. I get a better family simply by just placing the needle on the record.

Wait a minute! WOW! That could be a great campaign! These guys are totally missing it:

"Put the needle on the record, not your arm!"

Who's with me?

But I should say before I continue to hastily mock this group of anti-masturbatory zealots a.k.a. The Mormons - absolutely no relation to The Monks - I must acknowledge and give praise to at least one of their flock for capturing an unforeseen amazing story of Rock N' Roll with the film, "New York Doll." [Tell it to us Tracy!] If you haven't seen it, you're only hurting yourself. This movie is absolutely overwhelming and will utterly destroy you. It's a sweet salve featuring fabulous true tales of glam all over it. It also features David Johansen with a little spittle in the corner of his mouth sometimes. You don't want to miss that. Out on DVD soon.

Further disproving my point, the sweet, peculiar gent who took me up and furthered my education for all of this pretty music is presently enjoying a lockdown rehab plan, nursing the psychotic wounds of a real nice speed addiction. So I'll admit, my theory is not fact. This poppy little music collector is certainly no saint as my philosophy of the music might try to insist. And me? I'll just say pretty pop's not my only vice. Still, with this mean caffeine addiction of mine and love of broccoli issues, I think perhaps my eBay seller was thinking more about my friend instead of me. I'll be sure to forward the card.