Please accept my millionth apology for the lack of content on here. I could follow up that apology with the usual list of excuses of my health and my nerves being shot by Long Island goombas barrelling their 4x4 trucks up my street at high speeds. But since this is such a small audience, I’m guessing you know the drill by now and won’t waste your time. I’m doing enough of that already, right?
(…And here we go into our second act…)
The idea of writing anything this week just seems like a waste of time. At least if I grab a stack of records out of the closet and throw them up on Discogs, I know that money will come to me in real-time. Is it just about the money? Well, when you’re out of work with a chronic disease, it does become a priority. Do I live in squalor? No, but in a years’ time who knows what could happen. Things move fast these days. Remember last year around this time when we were promised the end of the world? Yeah, well look at us now. We’re all still stuck here sucking up air and taking up space. Thanks a fucken lot, world! Couldn’t you have at least held up your part of the bargain?
Repeated listens to Bonnie “Prince” Billy and Matt Sweeney’s “Resist The Urge” has helped tamp down the anxiety and blind rage that keeps rising to the surface of my psyche as of late. It has the ability to bring you to tears or move you to skip through a dew-drenched field of long grass - just the type of song I crave while in a fragile state. Reading Ben Burgis’ new book is bringing me joy and making the brain fire off some ideas here and there. But my life is mostly sitting around alone, waiting to hear back from doctors with test results, and feeling like I’m about to jump out of my skin at any moment. You know, the typical shit.
Please watch this space for the promise of some actual writing in the near future. I’d appreciate it. For now, I just ask you please bear with me. Have I ever steered you wrong? Did I ever tell you to go out and buy records by Sheer Mag or Fiddlehead like all the other music writers? I think that speaks of my honesty right there.
Oh yeah, on a non-music shit note, Gilly and Keeves have been helping to pull me out of my gloomy stupidity. If none of their sketches make you howl in laughter and pee on yourself, please…just go away and enjoy Samantha Bee and never read my stuff again.