Skeptics Skeptics. As promised, me, in rock mode. Hmmm..perhaps the Skeptics shall come later. They aren't that interesting really though many will claim they are. Would Walter Beaver? Cancer is meant to prove precedence. That sounds heartless. Third post in a row where cancer hangs heavy over the proceedings only this time I will keep diseases out of the main story arc. Oh and then there was Bailter Space, Bailter Space people were in the Skeptics. That makes them more rather than less interesting. Especially with the involvement of John Halvorsen and Brent McLaughlin and not Mr. Parker. A link to Adults and Children might be appropriate even afterwards. The mad half and halfling. Long Fin Killie Valentino, loads and loads of flash imagery laden p.c. lyrics. He's a brilliant performer. Sometimes his correctness gets a bit silly. How many times can you rage against the crushing and debilitating effects of patrimony before it gets tiresome? With Luke Sutherland there does not appear to be an answer, it's a quintic (look at my fancy math speak), though someone really should tell him that the music he's making with the Rot is really dull, as dull as the record that Saint Etienne made with the Rot. It may require an intervention or a disputation even, a Tartaglian dilemma. Has he done anything since? Wither Bows? Godiva is probably not meant to be sexually charged in any Will and Fatimah sense, rather it is oppression expressed through societal prejudices and bastard heterosexual men. Kitten Heels, explained from the point of view of an overweight defiant young lady, the proto-Ditto. The perils of a life in an obesity disguise. I am somewhat obese. Slightly. I haven't any kitten heels. I don't seem to have an edge even after "working" all through the weekend, work on Sunday was actually rather nice, there were brown shoulders with miniature bruises and brown bellies and the sound of soft footsteps muffled through a layer of neoprene and nylon to catch my breath unaware in between exhalations. It was the highlight of my week. I have so very little to look forward to. Please remember this above all things. There are kinder, more decent people in the world than me, easily there are 17 or 18. Some lie awake in close proximity. It is sleep that I desire. But I won't sleep. I keep my desires at bay. I will write this meaningless entry and have "head case racist jibes, sick of deep fried arteries" flowing through my head while I watch the award winning olympics coverage on Telemundo. Is Lorena Ochoa swimming for Mexico? Carlos Slim could buy Michael Phelps. Otherwise I am not certain that their medal chances are promising. These songs are making me long for a glass of water. Water is out of reach. I have a propulsive ache just behind my eyes. Oh wait, this is Kitten Heels, whoops, the sharp stabs on guitar!!! From a lone little little man. A little gay man. At work today there was a giant, with very large hands, he could have gone over to the cotonwood felled in the thurnderstorms this past friday and cast it into the sea. Second song was actually named Pele, I knew this. The footballer or the goddess? Perhaps it possesses dual meaning? This one is glammed up, I think it's about dancing and dressing like a tart because you're proud to be silly. You are subjected to Luke Sutherland's caustic observation because you probably have a tattoo because you are almost half as rebellious as everyone else is. Is it not more rebellious to be untattoo'd? I think it is. I am most rebellious of all because I don't have a tattoo and I don't look at my skin in the mirrors or within memory afraid that the moles on my torso have changed places so that they spell out secret messages to the lemurs hidden in my bathroom cupboards. Death is a small price for heaven, it's paddy the knight hidden come to rescue me. We/re going ot inhabit my teeth soon. A Thousand Wounded Astronuauts, is short, it is foreshadows of the spoken word thing he did later. Gritty, phonetic story about sneakers and hair care products and traditional English racists and then there is boring music laid beneath, well done. Now back to buzzsaws and skull hammers and drills. When one views the Olympic coverage on Telemundo you get soft focus features on people whose favorite artist to train to is Murcof. I wish. Murcof could remix the Mexican national anthem, It would be splendidly astral. There is a momentum soaked drone to Long Fin Killie. They wore their Can obsession more on the sly, in a hidden shadow outside other's obsesion with making comparisons to AR Kane. AR Kane were an abomination, it's true, admit it. Nice crescendo with loads of little person guitar, he just plays sharb stabs and echos, nice things in a row. Is the bass player using a drum stick on this one? Unlikely, it's not very percussive. They didn't mix their records that fabulously. It was the same person, always, Jamie, maybe they put the antiqued wood etching all about the room for inspirations and when they were recording the Lady Jordan of Duncanstone of Duncan of Jordanstone admired their beauty so. Last song from the first side, Valentino I remember because it was on heart etched in vinyl for the longest time. Vinyl was inexpensive. I was not rich. Spencer Tracy was never my role model, I love the line Handful of broken fingers toughs in darkened street scenes. I have this recurring daydream of holding my own disfigured phalanges. I have never broken a bone in my hands, it is why I am able to type this elegant prose. Not any of the nerve junctions or interstital spaces have been collared with rogue collagen and platelets bent on fomenting revolution and dissent and an overthrow of my corpus callosum. I've watched Mr. Valentino on Sunday Evening silent film night and I don't see "it". I was meant to be born in the 50s. My life was meant to be lived as a square, Joe Dullsville, cookie cutter letter jacket mannequin man. I was certainly not of the roaring 20s, no, in my past life I was a windscreen wiper. The music is a repeating segment of atmospheric guitar, it could pass for a riff on some days, some more fancy guitar work and the awesome droning sax comes in sugary near the end. If all saxophones were this glorious they would need not be collected and melted down to make darts and pockets. A random dissolution to end things on a disoriented note. Tomorrow I have my annual review with my boss. I don't feel like contesting anything in it, I am so tired these days, I will accept my drubbing like a man. I did get a promotion this year. Some score. More hours, same pay, much sought after possibilities of even less pay down the line, the charms of living a charmed life. Some people look elegant and delightful in brown. I wear the same pants every single day. nNext song. Some drone. Coward, a track to bridge the brook between the tender focus of Houdini and the ripping angst of this album. There's some How I Blew... here, How I Blew... how we missed you, please write long letters on tiny postcards in acrobatic script with a symmetric send off akin to STRAW WARTS. I am not rocking in this entry. I am driven to irritating levels of incoherency by my lack of REM sleep. I was watching a show on Shelter Island as I lay almost asleep for the better part of the evening. I spent an evening as Murray Gell-Man's imaginary biggest fan with someone who professed a wholesome love for Richard Feynmann. Better to side with the person that nobody likes but who can execute a spot on French Canadian accent and who could pronounce my name better than I can, in the end, isn't it. I am going to receive the list of comments on my performance by my own local worker bees, I have been yelling at people for not tucking in their shirt, for walking slowly in lockstep and for telling mud to hurry up and dry. I am allowed to operate heavy machinery when I am in this state, it is not against the law. Now the crescendo, violas, guitars, mad drumming. They removed drummer A and replaced hi with Drummer B after the first album. Which is better? I am not a drummer. Their drummer told me once that the Pram drummer is best. Perhaps it is true. Next song. Girlfreind, a great story, "half dressed in bit parts", more prattling on about weight. Luke Sutherland is a dashing, handsome young man. Is he feeling guilty over his good fortune? More sizzling violas and guitars and distorted vocals, we're building up to something now, it's the rise in intensity of musical intercourse just before the climax, bam, it's a pleasure to impact your ears on the side of your aching head over bouncing uterus' and tingling extremities. Looping lines all spun together on some lovely loom. Loose weave, pull a corner it all dissolves to AR Kane, allegedly. He has written novels. i am writing a novel. Really. It is about a nursing home, that is all I will ever reveal. I have the perfect villain, he is based on a real life person who is possibly dead by now. But then sometimes I think that someone's mother should surreptitiously ascend towards villainy but maybe she is better suited for the role of antagonist in a head shrinking daydream in the dimmer corners of my fictional landscape. Next song Matador. Elegant, very first album dreaminess, drug references and body image concerns. The bass carries the song, and the drums, machine gun drums. The most fabulous Long Fin Killie drum exhibit is on the b-side to the Lipstick single where the original version of Lipstick shows up with the living drummer level with or out competing the drum machine. It is a greek epic, or a Charlie Daniels song, the devil went down to Georgia and while he dodged the Sukhois and came to life as a Roland 5050 and a Vladimir Putin poster on his bedrom wall next to the Farah poster. Very slow now, a prairie thunderstorm in the distance, a low rumble of murderous Angels in Sturgess, the sound of a man removing another man's head on a canadian bus. Cannibalism on wax. Or not. My head is barren at the moment, no meal for even the aedes aegypti wandering among the photons and photinos. I like the "selectrino" best, it sounds like it was manufactured by Magnavox. I am reading a biography of Evariste Galois at the moment, I thought of posting a video about him on here but a lot of the information in the video contradicts what I am reading in my book. I trust my eyes more than my eyes. Was it her uncle that murdered him? One bullet/two guns? "I need all of my courage to die at twenty." Death is a small price for heaven, blah blah blah. She married later, his best friend took her hand, forever. It must be made into a Christpher Nolan movie, Frankie Muniz could play Evariste Galois, Jude Law as Abel, Matt Dillon as Legendre. Marvelous. Inspired. "Cop says if I saw a word he'll kill me", more crazy violins and blistering lyrics and rat-a-tat through the back of your skull drumming, tinny drums can make tinny explosions, it isn't a Bonham tribute. Loads of derisive pop culture references all about and this predates Naomi Klein even. Was she thus inspired? Her new book is a laugh allegedly. She has fallen off of the hit parade of public intellectuals, sadly. I have never read No Logo, I can't abide Canadians any longer. It is a short song, it rocks back and forth about an axis. Is it a normal group? Oh dear, I don't know, I tired while trying to pick up group theory tidbits and post them in the margins and ended up drawing landscapes of Brezhnev's eyebrows instead. Last song. Cupid, loud guitars, thrilling guitars, the athletic violin. When I saw them live they were magnificent. Dressed shabbily and without any sense of style they played intricate art rock like this to perfection. It was in Detroit. All of the ugliness of the near world outside had been kept at bay by the halo of these conquering heroes. It was rampant escapism. I stared at Meghan "greencoat" with the back of my head. She had smiled when I purchased the new Long Fin Killie record. I was back living with my parents briefly after my brother foolishly decided on marriage. I moved to Denver later. I never spoke to her except in proximity to a cash register, she could have been used by management as a lure, they knew my frivolous heart. But then I do keep all of my desires at a distance.