- Andy Partridge, 64 today!
- XTC especially but side-projects too, innermost circle of rotaters in MSADI5G.
- English Settlement, just released in 1982, lordy, on daily soundtrack for six of the best months of my life xteen lifes ago.
- Lots more songs HERE!
- A very well-planned genocide.
- We'd forgot they'd come here for magnetite.
- Year One: The Mad King.
- Galactically stupid is our buddy.
- the geography of subjective experience.
- Jim's Icelandic roadtrip, continued.
- Mekons. I haven't cascaded them in a while - will fix in near future.
- Reminder, Mocomofos - Earthgirl's reception tomorrow, Black Market, Garrett Park, 3 to 5.
- Motherfucking stupidass futile weekend blogging.
- Rest in Peace, Fred Cole - I'll get you a cascade tomorrow.
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
saying we are unconquerable, we are terrible and splendid—
the mouth waiting, patiently waiting. And I will meet you there
beyond bleeding thorns, the endless dilation, the fire that alters
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
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
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
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?