Composed by Serge.
Arranged and orchestrated by Jean-Claude Vannier.
Produced by Alain Hortu.
▼ JANE BIRKIN: KAWASAKI from "Di Doo Dah" Fontana (6325 305) (France) 1973
Monday, October 20, 2014
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MODUS OPERANDI
waxing the dark side of the moon.
AN ELDER SIBLING
SibLINGS & REPROBATES
- adios lounge
- any major dude...
- dead, dead poet's society
- den o'sin
- doc 40
- dope city free press
- dope city second press
- dr. forrest's cheeze factory
- driving drunks and addicts around
- elohssanatahw
- for the sake of the song
- fusion 45
- gentlebear
- ghetto raga | third ear band
- hell in a kiss
- hot dog fingers
- how marvellous
- i heart noise
- jojofiles
- jonderblog
- la dimension de trastos
- last days of man on earth
- manchester liberal
- miami vision blogorama!
- moon in the gutter
- nØthin' sez somethin'
- one base on an overthrow
- phronesisaical
- planet mondo
- poop in the pipes
- radio shirley
- rock scissors gun
- rock town hall
- savage eyes
- scorp10n bowl
- spit out your gum
- stoner party
- swan fungus
- the cabinet of the solar plexus
- the devil's music
- the gazetteer
- the rising storm
- underneathica
- what's all this, then?
JURISPRUDENCE
out there
MAXIMUM SECURITY
freely distributed music
CONDENSED SOUP
HARD COPY
something's cooking
SibLING WHISPERS
the vandals stole the handles
4 comments:
Wait a second.... You've reactivated the blog? That's great. OK, I'll get around to the next post on Driving Drunks and Drug Addicts. In the meantime, I'm listening to the Terrence McKenna thing.
Reactivated ?
Yeah, once I got the internet access running again. And, more importantly, once the fog cleared enough for me to recall that irritating master password.
July 28, 2014, DD+DAA:
"Well. I suppose I understand the nagging urge to scratch out a new space to write. I've been feeling like that for some time now myself. Ever since the FBI hosed the music down the plug and the vandals stole the handle.
Mostly I've been angling at how to begin writing again without the demand of some kind of continuity or explanation.
Nostalgia, grieving for things past, is a slow death in itself. Some times I don't drink for days until it gets to gnawing. I had a heart attack a couple of years ago. On top of the rest. An M.I., they call it, which gives it a somewhat more heroic ring. The fitted a stent. Within weeks I was back to smoking again.
I developed a racking cough which prompted me to seek out my doctor. Of course, we are not forced to pay for the privilege. She sent my for a chest scan. The doctor, a hell of a nice woman. The x-ray came back clear. And a test on my liver, which had been bothering me, too. The thought of it gnarled into a fossilized fist. The best news I'd had in a while.
You know, I can't decide if i'm an alcoholic or not. I've thought about it often. I have an addictive personality, but then, so do the many. I wake up every morning and go into the kitchen and prepare a glass of water and a cup of instant coffee. It takes me a little while to line up the different pills and water them on down. I like to dissolve an aspirin in the water and chase down the coffee. Once the cigarette is lit and smouldering. If I'm feeling especially reckless, I might pour myself a glass of wine on the side.
Mainly I'm just content with the ritual of the water and the coffee. And the pills.
I'm going to bookmark this new spot, although I notice you have not written in a while. I've missed our conversations, I don't mind telling you. It took me more than a year to remember my master password to access those sites I used to maintain. And my email, of course. Probably, I was unconsciously doing my utmost to protect myself while the synapses fused over."
I know, and it was good to hear from you but I was a little slow to realize this meant you were writing again. This is good news.
Well, you know, I concluded you just might need a little space right now. I did not press it. God knows it took me close to three years to even vaguely get my shit together.
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