Wednesday, October 22, 2003

Still on a Felt kick. Most of their stuff is just so effing brilliant it's beyond the ken of mere mortals. Or maybe it's just crazy and whacked out and makes absolutely no sense whatoever. (Kind of like me on a serious dearth of shuteye.)

Broke out the other albums. Cranked up the ol' Victrola and hollered along to "Primitive Painters" from "Ignite the Seven Cannons:"

I just wish my life could be as
strange as a conspiracy I hold out
hope but there's no way of being what
I want to be dragons blow fire angels
fly spirits wither in the air I'm just
me I can't deny I'm neither here there
nor anywhere oh you should see my
trail of disgrace it's enough to scare the
whole human race I don't care about
this life they say there'll be another one
defeatist attitude I know will you be
sorry when I've gone primitive painters
are ships floating on an empty sea gathering
in galleries were stallions of imagery

Just finished the cap on one of the sleeves of my soon to be new creamy aran sweater. Got to hit the hay.

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