Double birthdays today. Jorma Kaukonen is 73 today. Holyfuck, the memory cascades, this song especially.
Hey, Adrian Belew is 64 (fixed, thanks Davidly) today. Ask Hamster about seeing The Bears mid-80s with Earthgirl and Smam Pith.
- Yes, these are the traditional songs. I don't know why I do some birthdays one way and some birthdays another.
- What Surveillance Valley knows about you. Exactly what you think its about, Surveillance Valley, if anyone there cared, could run algorithms, tell me which musicians get new songs every birthday, same songs every birthday on purpose, same songs every birthday because of my laziness, or a mix of old and new because of my laziness.
- How your data are deeply-mined.
- Christmas surveillance in Scarfolk.
- Happy Festivus from the Stiftung. 2013 in review. Dr Leo and I often agree, often disagree, which is cool.
- Cherokee in snow. Another gorgeous post from Tom.
- A white American in South Africa.
- OK, the first and last two are traditional, the above is by request by Edmond.
- Fuck me and my manic over-compensation of responsibility now for all the years I was a manic irresponsible shit. I was an accomplished irresponsible shit.
- It's related to the compulsiveness that drives this shitty blog.
- Gonna spend the next week seeking wisdom from Mutis's Maqroll.
- Early in the first of seven novellas that make up Alvero Mutis' The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll, Maqroll says: I know it's naive and useless, but I've established certain precepts, one of my favorite exercises. It makes me feel better, makes me think I'm bringing order to something inside me. Remnants of life at the Jesuit academy, they do no good, lead nowhere, but they have that quality of benign magic I always turn to when I feel the foundations giving way. Here they are. Well, hello mirror, I know someone else who thinks like this. Actually not starting today, there will be one a day hence each linky post until they are spent, should be the about the same number of days it takes me to finish my annual reading of the book.
- I still have one extra copy, if anyone wants it.
- UPDATE! Is claimed.
- New Inquiry's Sunday readings.
- Lydia Lunch, self-help guru.
- David Byrne interviewed on the music industry(and more) and the dangers of streaming.
- Adrian Belew was lead guitarist for the best Talking Heads line-up ever. That tour, three of the best nights of my life:
DEDICATION
Franz Wright
It’s true I never write, but I would gladly die with you.
Gladly lower myself down alone with you into the enormous mouth
that waits, beyond youth, beyond every instant of ecstasy, remember:
before battle we would do each other’s makeup, comb each other’s
hair out
saying we are unconquerable, we are terrible and splendid—
the mouth waiting, patiently waiting. And I will meet you there
again
beyond bleeding thorns, the endless dilation, the fire that alters
nothing;
I am there already past snowy clouds, balding moss, dim
swarm of stars even we can step over, it is easier this time, I promise—
I am already waiting in your personal heaven, here is my hand,
I will help you across. I would gladly die with you still,
although I never write
from this gray institution. See
they are so busy trying to cure me,
I’m condemned—sorry, I have been given the job
of vacuuming the desert forever, well, no more than eight hours
a day.
And it’s really just about a thousand miles of cafeteria;
a large one in any event. With its miniature plastic knives,
its tuna salad and Saran-Wrapped genitalia will somebody
please
get me out of here, sorry. I am happy to say that
every method, massive pharmaceuticals, art therapy
and edifying films as well as others I would prefer
not to mention—I mean, every single technique
known to the mouth—sorry!—to our most kindly
compassionate science is being employed
to restore me to normal well-being
and cheerful stability. I go on vacuuming
toward a small diamond light burning
off in the distance. Remember
me. Do you
remember me?
In the night’s windowless darkness
when I am lying cold and numb
and no one’s fiddling with the lock, or
shining flashlights in my eyes,
although I never write, secretly
I long to die with you,
does that count?
