flicking the crumbs off my chest-mounted anti-grav unit from another sci-fi gorging here. it was a filler thriller though. mcdevitt's written better. astoundingly, he flummoxed the opportunity to hit the aria in the space-opera, garrulously garbled any pointed xeno/anthro juxtaposition he'd meant to and flounced even his characters' relationships to the "cosmic calamity". oh, the pressures. i don't mean to jettison him completely, a few of his books have been thoroughly enjoyable... but this. stopping space pollution starts at home, people. and this one's an assteroid. so, do not read OMEGA. read A TALENT FOR WAR instead, now THAT is good.
speaking of garblage, i'm gargling it. so to eradicate a mean bout of consciousnesstipation, i'll keep this inculpably vague. i could talk about my dreams (as proselytized by a taxi-driver while being chased by some heavies, i 'cleaned' a candy-store, bought some leather articles and then joined a besieged sect of the mafia. eventually, i moved to sicily to husband animals... this is a strange dream for a celt/saxon with the skin tone of mashed potatoes prepared in a basement).
music has erupted through the pores again. pirated, it has smeared my lipstick, broken a pump, put me in a kappa jogging suit (tearaways) and left me without bus-money, but also given me the goose skin of another sort of dream. the day-dream. the day-dream. the day-dream. diurnal oneirism is a practice, one i've been foolish to ignore. it's more than just guided projection of selfscape, it's a habit-bomb and the decommissioning of rigidity. it flexes our ethical sense, fills routine with poetic levity, and makes a bricolage of your self-imagery. it is necessary (but obviously not sufficient) for our joining of the higher purpose. it is the space between our vertebrae. it is the notebook of ideal, the photonegative of our real-life, the vacant seats in the orchestra pit, the bloodbank for the roadkill, the pillows lashed to our heads all day long, our senses of humour and our humour of senses... i kept scraping around for the transitional vocabulary that conducts the abstract to action. i'd forgotten that day-dreaming is it.
musica! i listen to now: amon tobin (missed the exhilarating part of his friday collaborative, so i stole him), of montreal (been a fan for a while but missed their show yester), !!! (bouncybouncy, i'd been given an EP of theirs a few years ago, but the rave review in the mirror settled it. i'd no idea they were linked to Out Hud...), venetian snares (Rossz Csillag: drum n bass with violin, like a diamond commercial for safe-crackers), 4hero (very good) and menomena (not quite sold on these guys yet, kinda like a meaty Architecture in Helsinki in terms of group construction, except good. i'm thinking Gomez, Radiohead and Super Furry Animals. try Air Aid to get the hook). AND AS ALWAYS, PLAID.