Friday, August 08, 2008


Ages old, this. Last year, probably. But who cares; it just sort've surfaced again in my to-play pile and in my consciousness.

I might be old, but I'm not dead yet. I refuse to write about My Bloody Fucking Valentine.

If you want to read about yr childhood, then surf the Tri-ang website.

Charles Balls.

Aided by Crank Sturgeon. Crikey, you don't think they might be the same person, do you?


1994 World Cup cards: I take back what I said about yr childhood. We're surfing someone else's yoof here. Tread carefully; watch whose tire you swing on! Still hate MBV, tho.

It's on a label that I only mentioned a few posts ago, so gonna sound like I'm playing favourites or just getting lazy. Well...

That's just how the playground tire swings. They didn't pay me to write this. No one pays me to write this.

Some things I just like. I like the way they look; the way they sound. Can't be helped.

Maybe I'm just in love w/ Lieven's sweaters.

A Review, of sorts:

Davros pretending to be a bird.

Sludgewarped Male Voice Choir.

Gastric reflux.

Tapesqueak prompts some minor domestic repairs.

Musique Concrete on a budget: sounds shuffled quickly, like a deck of cards.

A German trapped in a sewer (with only broken glass for company).

Enter: The Orchestra of Wine.

Low-key pandemonium at The Tremalo Disco.

Miniature cars escape from their Scaletrix tracks and taunt the cat.

Recede gently into distance, O Dead Ones.

A one-legged train pulls into Bruton and a leering conductor serenades passengers thru the public-address system.

Sentient modulations terrorise some mice.

Bjork without a body.

"Sing me a song of Tin Land!"


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