out of practice. kneesliding. was near starting the i-am-dead rumour but i am neither a close enough nor a reliable source.
i have been in my state's capitol. home of barbara boxer, cactus, streets paved with VHS copies of the perennial classic jingle all the way.
it is hanukwanzmas. let's take off our kaftans and dance, fry up some latkes, set fire to indoor trees.
it has only just struck me that the year is taking the decade down with it. i am typically not aware of these things. when someone says something that implies what day it is, it usually comes as a surprise. i choke on the elements in my windpipe and am practically offended by wednesday.
my top five albums of the year:
animal collective - merriweather post pavilion
akron/family - set 'em wild, set 'em free
st. vincent - actor
the flaming lips - embryonic
grizzly bear - veckatimest
honourable mention is thao & the get down stay down
officially added to my as-yet pending top five books of the year:
kristina born's one hour of television. my favourite is page 79. the first line is "enter your house to win great prizes". what follows gives me good chills. i advise not operating heavy machinery during or after reading OHOT. i advise not attempting to sleep or walk or generally utilize any cognitive processes after either. j.a. tyler wrote a handsome review located here.
my punctuality is stunning
the new issue of > kill author = j.g. ballard = those cats have impeccable taste
read it or pygmies will stab you. true this is not a festive thing to have happen but probably best to take precaution.
this by crispin best makes me feel vodka-warm about where literature is going or where it goes in the middle of the night. maybe there is a wormhole in his chest which displays the future. someone should verify this. crispin is legend in this way. this is by a talented (non-internet, legitimate human) friend of mine. there are other brain cell-imploding materials herein by the likes of cami park, ani smith, daniel bailey, rc miller, more.
many great recording artists fell victim to bad production decisions in the 1980s. lately i have been listening to paul simon's bad 1980s production decisions.
bought tarot cards because i have no use for useful things + rain because the layers of city strata under ours are parched + admittedly hot for dexter morgan + directionally polarized lately and trying to parse things down + finally saw synecdoche, new york & was elegantly ruined, wordswept, lungs paper thin for two hours + missed that feeling + received and read the nightmare filled you with scary by shane jones and the feeling relapsed sweetly + fingerless gloves because the moon laughs its secrets and you are more apt to lure them out with dexterity intact
this carries not unlike the shining: