Lying on the grass and watching the sky slowly darken of a midsummer evening while Philip Glass' Powwaqatsi plays the day away is far from an argument against Western overconsumption.
SOL INVICTUS has banish'd FALSE WINTER at long last.
LET THE PROLETARIAN RESISTANCE TO HEAT BEGIN!
I mean, I'm ready for the sun and all but my mist-clad veins prefer the wan light which heats with gentility and manner, in opposition to the wanton, savage rage of the flaming orb currently wilting plants to the far-flung corners of my very yard. Well, this heat can't last, right?
Whenever I dig out my old Mission of Burma sides, as I have this hot night, I am always struck: the things that I like in MoB are the things that I like in Gang of Four, MoB's less doctrinaire political lyrics being an exception, and for some reason, a point in Gang of Four's favor despite the clearly ironic tone with which they appropriate the material.
I find it somewhat puzzling that I conflate the two bands. I do, it must be noted, also love both bands. If I had to pick, though, it's early-period Gang of Four in a landslide.
In a coup of marriage-fu, Viv is tackling a plumbing project in the basement, while I am attempting to set up a 900mhz wireless speaker unit to use the B speaker output on our main A/V system.
I hope Viv is having better luck, as the receiver powered itself off a couple of times and finally generated a loud “snap,” accompanied by an orangish sparklight and a substantial puff of bluish, ozone-scented smoke. Happily, the receiver still attempts to start up, but shuts down again as soon as it would normally activate the sound-carrying components.
The owner's manual helpfully says the 'amp protection circuit has been activated.' I'm thinking at the very least I blew a fuse. Supposedly it will reset in an hour. We shall see.
UPDATE: Stereo definitively broken, no water flow through plumbing project. JOY!
Man, Singles Going Steady just never gets old.
Here's a link that should set you up with the Hype Machine Buzzcocks stream. Not the same thing, but when i checked, 80% of the tunes were from SGS. So kick back, pop a handful of black beauties with some acid, and crack that popper under your nose.
When you wake up, you'll feel dead inside but strangely fulfilled.
I have sworn to keep my current machine until it's seen four years of service. I had been thinking that would put my reup in Spring of '09.
I just looked at the serial number of the trusty old axe and the manufacture date is September 2004. Hm. I think I must have bought it within a month or so of that date.
Looks like I can shift some hardware acquisition up in the year. Good!
Man, the solstice up here sometimes means four hours of dark, and it like to mess a body up. If a body is me.
I originally constructed this post with no content but the Words proper. Then I thought of the 69 year old I am corresponding with concerning genealogy who complimented me on my website. So I'll wait a while.
On the other hand, Mr. Carlin was 71 when he died.
The New Yorker's fiction issue includes a longish, elegantly written tale of the baby-trade which interweaves themes of new life, death and loss, sex, and the things we Americans do in service of our desires. It seems unlikely that the piece, written in the form of a companion's memoir of the expedition to Addis to save some tot or other, oh that one will do, from darkest Afric, is intended to prompt identification in the reader with, respectively, the child or the Alzheimer's afflicted and now-passed hubby. It's aggravating to learn I can't share it with you.
I have spent my life between worlds, and imagine that will continue interminably until terminated. Friends, you have no idea of the distance I keep.
On the way in to work this morning, I was bemused to be passed by what is clearly the last of a dying breed, the dinosauroid SUV.
What bemused me was the model name of the bloated behemoth: the Buick Enclave surely signals a shift in spirit from the Armadas and Escalades of yore.
Everything that passes through my mind makes me feel a wave a physical nausea. I am filled with loathing so profound that it is literally bringing bile to my mouth.
Did you ever wake up and realize that something you'd done was so, so sad?
VU: Sunday Morning (Banana; I have easy access to the Quine Tapes version, but I'm really thinking of the Max's Kansas City Version).
Goodbye, Chloe.
Your passing fills me with venom and hatred and rage.
I'd say I'll see you soon, except that would be a motherfucking lie, a mealy-mouth obeisance to Thanatos. Fuck him, and the life-giver too. Pain junkies.
To the man in Radio Shack having a loud conversation regarding your child custody case: by holding this conversation in a loud voice in a public space, you certainly convinced all of your fellow shoppers that you do, indeed make poor choices and led us to most assuredly hope you lose your custody case.
Tumblr has several methods to enable RSS republication, but they limit the updates to hourly, too slow for my needs.
Enter the Tumblr API and this guy.
Last thing to find is a Y! Pipe that does this sort of thing via API post calls to Tumblr, and it's all over but the shouting. And the timed executions.
Since I know at least two of the authors in the series, and love the idea, I suppose I should really man up on 33 1/2.
