Note to MnkyGrl

Happy New Year.

I know it's been tough going lately, but maybe we can make this one better.

Note to Die Hard U2 Fans

1997's Pop is the only U2 album any self-respecting human being would ever even consider listening to, and if you beg to differ it can mean only one thing: that you, well, have no self-respect.

Addendum 1.1.07: Needless to say (but I'll enjoy saying it anyway), those of you who in the past 48 hours have listened to New Year’s Day and felt it to be a momentous, meaningful, moving experience are even more in need of a life than I am.

Funeral Music

During my rough and satisfying visit with Dagon last night, three more exquisite tracks were officially added to the supreme pantheon. They are:

Chakra - I Am (Digweed & Muir's Bedrock Mix)

Why is it called trance? This track is the answer. (What I don't know is whether the crimson waif on the cover is vocalist Kate Cameron or just some model, so I'd be grateful if someone out there could please tell me.)

Ultraviolet - I Wish That (Radical Mix)

Upon revisitation I find this mix has a very similar feel to the infamous Fantasy Flite Part One. Enough said.

Violet Vision - Your Voice (Original Mix)

Noa Lembersky's voice, over one of the fattest breaks you'll ever hear, is simply heartbreaking.

Also, I've not previously mentioned It's No Good from Depeche Mode's criminally underrated album Ultra. Perhaps the deadliest track they've produced in their entire history, it was inducted upon release nearly ten years ago.

Addendum 30.12.06: Ok seriously, the Chakra track is an ABSOLUTE FUCKING BOMB—I mean, I've been playing it non-stop for two days now and I'm still nowhere near sick of it. And I'll even go so far as to say we might have a slight problem on our hands. Uh-oh.

Note to MnkyGrl

I just realized It was a song with your middle name in the title, and I happened to be listening to it only a few hours after sending you an email in which I called you by your middle name for the first time ever.

I can't wait to listen to it together.

Note to Dagon

I too feel it's time we quit denying the palpable tension that lately pervades our every encounter, and quit sublimating the raging desire we so obviously feel for one another in all these silly little games we've for years been playing. While it's true I deeply cherish our friendship and know I'd be devastated by the loss of what we have, I simply cannot help wondering if there could be more—much, much more. And so I think it's time we finally throw caution to the wind and find out once and for all.

Because the truth is, I've been waiting since fourth grade to passively revel in your fiery agressiveness, and I just don't think I can wait any longer. So please hurry.

(And while you're at it, pick me up a cheeseburger.)

Reckoned

Some things I do actually matter.

Guilty Aural Pleasures

BT - Emotional Technology

Lord, what good can I possibly say about this one? I mean, it has to be one of the most truly awful albums I've ever truly loved—an utterly perverse orgy of rock, house, breakbeat, hip-hop, and synth-pop, plus even a brief nod to gospel, featuring cheap, gimmicky guest appearances galore, including, God help me, one of the now grown-up characters from NSync, not to mention the most painfully juvenile yet eminently lipsynchable lyrics conceivable on every single track.

In other words, it's fucking brilliant. So get it now. Because however hard he may try, BT simply can do no wrong.

Waning Vital Signs

I can walk into my neighborhood 7-eleven and help myself to a free Slurpee anytime between 10pm and 6am.

(The implications are far more serious than you might think.)

Reckoning

Her first response appeared in my inbox.

I wasn't expecting it yet, if at all, ever.

God I wish it weren't there.

Note to Mnkygrl

I don't know who you are, or where you came from, or if I'll ever see you again. Sometimes I'm not even sure you're real. And whatever did happen between us, gradually it's all being taken from me.

But l still have this: Every fourth Friday I stare at my dad in the dark. I see this person, now at the end of his life, who treats me like he brought me into this world when he didn't, who still cries when my own tears have long since dried up completely. And for those few seconds I love him so much it hurts—so much I can hardly stand it. Then I come home and I see your picture...

...And the exact same thing happens.

That's all I need to know.

BMFuckinX

It's a custom 26" old school cruiser—black, of course—and I should have it within the next ten days.

Folks, I may actually survive after all.

Note to Reader

If any part of my blog ever strikes you as disgustingly ultra-pretentious, by all means let me know—so I can make a special point of writing more such missives. Thank you.

Do not read this.

Day 331 of my 31st year now marks a most regrettable milestone: That's when, as far as I can tell, I was visited for the first time ever by honest to God hatred. As of this posting I'm still very much under its spell—awake for most of three days, way beyond reach of all reason and self-interrogation, not to mention totally impervious to both Xanax and Jägermeister. The whole time in fact I've just been sitting here, chewing my lip and grinding my teeth as my mind spirals further and further into chaos—what I can only describe as the inexorable yet sublime rush of my humanity slipping away. And the longer it continues, the more hopelessly addicted I become; indeed it's almost as gratifying as love. At the same time, however, it is a cruel paradox, as I can assure you my feelings of shame and self-loathing are even more overwhelming than my desire to punish the object of this rage. What's more, I find it beyond comprehension, and frankly just plain scary, that I could possibly feel this way about someone I've never even met.

But make no mistake—I do in no uncertain terms wish him all the most hellish suffering imaginable and then some. Because he possesses what in the first 11,284 days of my existence on this earth is the most precious creature I've ever seen or touched, and being the despicable maggot that he is, he actually possesses her from a fucking prison cell. The clincher, though, is that his blindness to this amazing treasure is exactly what put him in his current predicament. So to be perfectly clear, it's not at all a matter of his wickedness; rather, his stupidity, his stupidity, and also his utter stupidity are what inspire this pitiless derision. Perhaps that makes me all the more depraved; I don't know. But I do know that nothing less than a lengthy audience with this piece of human refuse can possibly stop all the venom coursing through me. And so it's already being arranged. In the meantime, I do apologize for my own lower lifeform-like behavior. And I promise I will be a person again as soon as possible.

Thanks for reading by the way.

Addendum 5.12.06: Three weeks later it’s apparent he won’t be at all bothered with my request. And though I’m tempted to send a more urgent follow-up, perhaps with a few juicy disclosures that would virtually guarantee an acknowledgement, for now I’ve decided just to let the matter rest.

Funeral Music

Ultraviolet - Kites (Fantasy Flite Part One)

While I could easily start a whole separate blog entirely for the purpose of expounding on my freakish obsession with this track, for now I'll just give the most concise clinical description of the FFP1 fetish I've so far come up with—and that is, I've no doubt whatsoever my IQ would be several points higher but for the sheer cortical mass I devote solely to the perpetual if unconscious contemplation of this one hallowed sound recording scarcely more than five minutes in total duration.

Or in other words, I think it seriously kicks ass.

(What I simply cannot get my mind around is the fact it was released when I was only 14 years old.)

Kites

I will fly a yellow paper sun in your sky,
when the wind is high, when the wind is high.
I will float a silken silver moon near your window,
if your night is dark, if your night is dark.

In letters of gold on a snow white kite,
I will write,

I love you,

and send it soaring high above you,
for all to read.

I will scatter rice paper stars in your heaven,
if there are no stars, if there are no stars.
All of these and seven wonders more will I fly,
when the wind is high, when the wind is high.

(Repeat refrain.)

Word of the Day

Mon·key·girl

[muhng–kee–gurl]

–noun Exclusive term of endearment bestowed upon a female human with whom I have an obsession of the highest possible intensity.

–usage note Though alternately referring to different individuals, this appellation is essentially a proper nickname subject to all the same rules and conventions. I should also point out that MONKEY by itself is an expressly informal, somewhat gender-flexible epithet; it too may convey affection, but with a platonic or much more casual connotation.

Addendum 7.1.07: The term has now been downgraded to an online alias. Nothing could possibly feel more perfect on my lips than her actual name.

O brother, where art thou?

You know, it occurs to me I'd really like to have at least one actual conversation with my nephew before I die.

(What's his name again?)

Oh well, I love you guys anyhow.

Word of the Day (Blog Intro)

e·lec·tro·shock

[i-lek-truh-shock]

-noun The administration of a strong electric current that passes through the brain to induce convulsions and coma, possibly causing memory loss sufficiently severe as to recommend creation of a weblog for recording past and present experiences that might otherwise be forgotten.