Regina Oi Miten Suuria Voimia!. The Finnish contingent will need to email me later with a translation. The music is electro-dancish pop. The vocals are stunning, her voice, somewhat mediocre, but the arrangements are dazzling. It's arty, her voice resides somewhere on the continuum that contains Kate Bush and Sarah Cracknell. Does such a continuum exist I wonder? I am just home from work. It is after 10pm, giddy, I should be more exhausted than I am. But then there are few things I'd rather be doing other than working. Witness the tragedy of my existence. I am re-reading Mark Polizotti's treatise on my favorite book. My favorite book is Maldoror. It may be a book but it is not a novel. It is a long prose poem. It's madness. Mark P spends a fair bit of foul breaht on the time dilation aspect fo the book. It doesn't really resonate with me. I feel less the relative effects of time and more the victimhood of unceasing momentum. But anyhow we are on song two, it's a bit more shrill, chugging, her voice high pitched squealie, the music a repeating loop of nanobots in solution. I haven't any idea why I would want to come home and write an entry on a Finnish dance pop band while staring into a computer screen after having stared at a computer screen for a dozen hours at work and gone nearly blind because of it. I am self conscious over my 'thats'. Today I spoke with people from New Jersey, Mead, Colorado, Ann Arbor, MI, Dallas, TX and Kansas. I mean to ask my Kansas correspondent about the most essential part of Kansas--Prairie Dog Town--but I do not. We talk about Austrian Pines and Chanticleer Pears. I pretend to know something about trees. I am desperate to ask about oreo goats, six legged steers and 8000 pound prairie dogs, but I have need to seem sophisticated although I am seemingly older than the person I am speaking with so I am granted immense respect down to my age. I drove a pop band across Kansas once. I mentioned this band in the previous entry. Can you guess which band I drove across Kansas? It was a compact car. Limits the options. Third song, spiral swirls and whooshes and whorls and whispers. I love this album. I have been running to it, when I have been running, I have been getting home after 8Pm most nights, I am not running on those nights. Autumn has arrived. Along with a respiratory infection I believed I had shaken some time ago. Perhaps I have MS? It's possible. Self Diagnosis is a dubious thing. Really, I am frightfully healthy. I heal really quickly. My dental implant is mostly set already. I did have a hole in my head, in the roof of my motuh, I could run my tongue over my amygdala for a few days. Honestly. Or not. Fourth song, tongue twisting Finnish things coming out of her mouth, perhaps they originate from her own amygdala. Where is the Junior Boys remix? We spoke of the time continuum earlier, you have just been flashed forward along its length, to Monday. Are you recovered? Yesterday afternoon I played golf with a "splendid butterfly". Honestly. I keep applying that adverb, I mean it this time. There are butterflies that turn the world in their hands and turn every thought unspoilt. Thank goodness. I shalln't ever catch a butterfly again. Fourth song over. it was spirited. A male is singing now, it is the next song, something else in Finnish. I run and have night terrors when listening to this a flash of shadows in the headlamps reflected of of monolithic concrete barriers from the 1970s that once separated the Wasps from the Catholics and now the landed gentry from the paupers striving for fitness when it is their 401k that they should be working on the nautilus machine. Next song, dramatic, siren wails, thumping drums, her voice girly and coy at the moment and in the menacing chorus ominous and frosty. it's a marvelous thing. This album. Much better than Gentle TOuch. They once shared a record label. Along with Moto Boy. I haven't written much on here which is a good thing. I write here when I feel as if I need to discover something accidentally, I don't think when I write here and random thoughts and images arise from the aether as if conjured by the dark arts. I feel guilty over the incoherence and random sampling but then there are three people who read this. Zero butterflies list among my readership, sadly. I hadn't ever heard anyone discuss the fatwa against that in written communication before. Is it true? Is it a Nebraska prohibition? A semi-blue law? An azzurro law? Next song. Robotic and charming. Singing in Finnish is the most natural thing in the world to them. It is a musical language. Even without the tingly dipthongs Ms Kilma holds so dear to her heart. Klima is still in my heart, I will write about her sometime, soon. And Julian Fane, I've gotten over the fact that he mumbles the same as Thom Thumb. When I was out this evening I noticed a sign that still had a "welcome delegates" message encoded. Actually, it was "welcome delagates". It was in the parking lot of a Walgreens. Is this the Denver the delegates have come to see? I went into the Walgreens tonight and it didn't seem to be a hotbed of political activity, but I suppose they may have sold some of the human excretion containers that were threatening the sanitary sanity of so many of we Denverites. Our fearless Mayor put on his bicycle helmet for Obama and then shut the freeway. Coudl I have driven my bicycle during Octavian's speech? I'd like to ride my bicycle on the motorway. Downhill. Next song, fierce programming, loads of voices, stereo panning in and out. Foxes and hounds and mountains and trees and pelotons and music. Beautiful music. I held my tongue today and did not correct false spelling, it is the most difficult thing in the world for me, not correcting people. I have no idea why. I am going to drink to forget. I remember too many things, I don't have enough joy to remember everything that has ever been ever. It's an odd existence this sensation of recall in a vacuum. I wish to cast it aside. if I had reason to realize the present I might then forget. Next song. Whirrs and waaahs, nice vocals, again with the clever editing and splices, three or four times over, now a semi-dance beat. I am not sure that you could dance to this. It is head music, music to fire your neurons viscerally rather than a device of physical excitation. I have been reading Paul Theroux with a different eye. I can write as well as Paul Theroux. I am convinced of this. My butterfly partner inspired a sense of defiance in my heart. I will turn inside out, all of the elegant folly of my inner being shown to the outside world in a panoramic distillation, a brilliant torrent channeled at the tip of a pen. I am thrilled at the possibility. A gust shot on Keith Olbermann! Denigrating the communist bastards that run the boy scouts! Last song, trills, baroque epicentrism and loveliness. It's all endearingly dreamy. Dreams alive.