so today's a bad day. more than 90 minutes traipsing through the rain, back and forth from downtown. i lack an umbrella (and the dollar store appeared sold-out), so instead I just let my "rain coat" get wetter and wetter, till i feel like i may be losing structural integrity.

on the first back-and-forth, i was listening to The Books' lemon of pink, which i bought yesterday. it's a fabulous record, many times superior to their debut - musical, coherent, surprising, exciting, etc etc. i though that its sunbeam beauty would be a comfort from the grey drech outside. instead it just felt "fancy"; i needed goya, not renoir.

when i went home, i dug out The Streets for some reason, and plunked that into the walkman for tramping back downtown. and look hey: it's brilliant. i never would have realized how rainy (English, i guess) it is. of course, the beats and frustration are explicit, but even the r&b samples come across like genius - they're not sunlight-and-fairydust, they're the twinkle of headlights on puddles. no, not joyous - just human.

inside now, the songs are losing their allure, and i'm back wishing for The Books. still, i can't get over the closing lines of "Too Late" - the rhymes never lose their (wonderful) inevitability, nor their power to astonish, to feel different each time. late/pace/gate/face/spirit falls from grace / escape / place / chase ... i sat down / frown / senses / this love game's expensive ... trance / wounded soldier stance / off balance / significance / relevance / her elegance.