society fingerfucked me


papal papacy never sounded so delicious, especially after a delicious mixture of tang and chocolate milk. of course, that was immediately followed by a swift regurgitation of said substances, the stomach saying "fuck you bitch. there'll be none of that shit in there today. i've got enough problems to worry about."

yeah, that's what happened that day. i can't believe it happened. but it did.
those things just don't happen for a reason. they're just random occurrences played out in this little game we call frisbee golf (also known as life).

yeah, that's what they said alright. but fuck those guys, who always kept little rascals and Our Gang down back in the 30s. times were tough and a kid had to do whatever it took to ensure there was a clean meal on the plate for pop and pop, as well as your kid sister, juicy, and the dog, Exploratorium.
What a sight that was, that day the kids took the adults down and there were no more adults, no more fucking bastards to tell us what to do anymore. no more rules to be followed. no more stupid school to waste time in all day. when you could be doing shit that's much more constructive and beneficial to real life, like picking fights with people smaller than you, destroying things that don't belong to you in the name of fun, and shit on the sidewalk because your friend won't let you use his bathroom even though you really have to go, and so when the pain is too great, release is the only answer.

and so it began that day.
yeah, just like they said it was going to happen. on a beach. in your dream. out of my car. or something in between. betwixt may be a better term. those screeching wheels you hear in the background are for legitmate purposes. a cat's life was spared. a dog's weary breath will heave for another day even though he clumsily forgot to look both ways before crossing the busy street, the same damn street his younger brother, fido, was killed on not more than three years prior. but fuck, that was a long time ago, a different time, a different age, different priorities, less responsibility. the boom time. ah, those were the times. were they not?
they were. and were not.
but the real question here is not about the dog, but about those goddamned squealing tires, which keep on squealing and then you know someone's pet hamster or fox terrier wasn't going to make it through this night on planet earth. no sirree, things were going to change in a hurry for one sorry soul this night, the fucking night when the tires kept on squealing and the birds never started chirping, because it was fucking night and they have to sleep just like every other being inhabiting this godforsaken planet we call susquatchian. i love our planet's name. it's sooo, i dunno, earthy maybe.
yeah, that's it.
punish the weak, that's what THEY say. and THEY always know what the fuck is really up on this outpost we call california, land of the fees and the gnomes of the brave.
it all come down to this and those squealing tires, followed up by the not-so-sweet misfiring of some pistons or something near to the engine parts of which i speak and i spake and i smite and i smote and you know exactly what happens next, don't you?
bitch of course you know the answer.
the answer is the squealing tires followed up by the fast moving pistons and engine revving and pistons engaging more fully, more completely than previously, at least, within the last few minutes or so, maybe an hour, and then your realize, fuck! and double fuck.
those guys are being chased! by the cops? by the feds? by daddy notchell, leader of the east oakland spirit force and subsidiaries? or by don corleone, the Layne Stanley Tucci of his generation.
they are running from something, from someone, some being, some element in the force that is being weakened by this disgraceful, if not say, cannibalistic nature.
when all is said and done, only the asscheek of society can brunt this heavy blow on the butt we call america.

pensive, not stirred.

the new liz phair ep is actually pretty good. imagine that. not overproduced shite, and it's as raunchy and fucked up as ever. we love you liz after all. and we think you're hot as fuck too.

things certainly are changing for mr. goodbar, now aren't they?

don't you ever wonder about cheese whiz anymore?

why aren't you getting smarter?
why aren't you getting dumber?

you despise me.
you are me.
you stink.
you smell.
you are a whaler.

of the worst kind.
stinketh for you.

and you and ewe and vouz.

punish me for i am sick, am i?
how high? why nigh?
pie hole hi?
my my my.
get on your knees and pray.
we won't get fooled again.

thanks and allah bless.

puto

...went to the dabrye/manitoba show last night and all i can say is....WOW. have you seen manitoba yet??? it's like a gusher of creativity, very lush and dense. and shit, those guys can PLAY, a trio with two drummers that are constantly switching instruments. even their videos were great and in sync with the music. the crowd at BoTH was so blown away, they furiously clapped for a good five minutes straight until the band finally came back. definitely one of those "HOLY SHIT" nights of music.
and yeah, tadd was good too, of course. he had this cool little box that he was running everything on, with a keyboard and screen built in like a laptop...but the width of a lunch box...we never figured out what it was exactly.

fuck you i'm back.
lots of cool shit relating to sound of late, which i'll link downward way.

music

so much so much. fuck you.

dressy bessy (Kindercore) - advertises as being similar to new pornographers and breeders. um, not really. super super cute lead pixie vocalist does look good in her blue vintage dress but her bandmates don't seem quite so up to snuff, looks whys. but hey, i'm superficial. no really, music is kind of boring. just sits there like a dead frog underneath a large stone.
blah rock.

we travel in titular waters today, my friends.
i always wanted to say that to my shipmates.

the willful, conscious change in behavior can and may result in eventual unconsious adoption of said behavioral change. like say, deciding to stick out your tongue when doing something that may be potentially vexing or troublesome; grunting in a low gutteral growl when picking something up that's extremely heavy because you heard arnold schwarzenegger do it as Conan The Barbarian/Destroyer in the early 80s and it sounds pretty tough; consciously changing my penmanship to be all capital letters, because i saw a kid near me do it when i was in the 8th grade in my homeroom class at grand rapids baptist academy.
yes, friends you too can make a difference in your life. if you want to.
just ask me.
and look where it's taken me.

back to music reviewing...

Mojave 3 Spoon And Rafter (4AD)
i've never been much of a fan of bellwether rock (see description and pat on the back below).
you know, the agonizingly slow mope rock of bands such as Low or, uh, well mojave 3. comprised (and composed) of former members of the (better) band slowdive, that 90s-era shoegazer shit that was cool for awhile. anyway, mojave 3 ain't so moving me. sure, the folksy acoustic style earthy rock is delivered with real coolness, all mellow and forthright still, but it's like listening to pineapples playing music. not much happens. not that pineapples are living beings that can play instruments. but mojave 3, they ain't doing much. almost music for almost people. works out great. fuck you.

i have a sweatshirt underneath my left arm and you don't.

i'm standing at a kiosk in my home and you're not.

i came up with the description "bellwether rock" to describe bands like Mojave 3 and Low, who play slower-than-a-sloth sparse mope rock, with a bit of folksiness thrown in to "keep it real" (thanks to inclusion of banjo, harmonica, twizzler, washboard and other cheap-ass 'americana' type shit).

that band kings of leon, they getting all the hype right now.
you know what? they fucking SUCK.
hard.
i hate them now. and their stupid haircuts and facial hair. the followil brothers. lame.
young and stupid and getting big egos way too soon. they're trying too hard to be cool.
and what's with caleb's vocals? ronny van zant crossed with duane allman and bruce lee.

my morning jacket? more hype. they sound like a poor man's wilco, which, could be worse. jury is still out on them for me.

new matmos "civil war" is fucking bizarro. and then some. they sample 19th century folk songs and americana related flammery (flammery is a GREAT 18th/19th century aristocratic term, basically a synonym for "bullshit" - i picked it up from that film "the madness of king george"), and of course, civil war era folk songs are its chief subject. we have a concept experimental electronic album. on the civil war. listened to it just once and it's megawattage fucked up.

-- break --
a kitty just stuck his/her head into my skylight, of which, i'm near here in ol' no. 25.
two nights in a row. good kitty.
ok. i must find music.



unofficial birthday list
one year closer to being dead! humans sure are mortal!
yeah.

more underwear
more socks that are footies
CD-Rs
CD-R cases
More time
Clone of Tim Pratt
Subscription to Magnet
Rayon
extensive access to smut
the ability to rename all "Shops" as "Shoppes," at will
a health club membership to rid myself of my "spare tire"
Peets espresso machine (w/ live barrista on call 24/7/365) downstairs in my home
the ability to eat more vegetables
one of the rings around Saturn (or Jupiter - i'm not picky)
testicle de-itcher
handy wet wipes
the ability to not eat or sleep, if necessary
use the word "shat" in conversation and not get embarrassed about it
make love to honkasses


great thing to have on a shirt:
BIJOU PHILLIPS
yeah, i fucked her too