Archives : all posts by Dan

Korean Gut - "In My Socialist Choir"

Looking in the mirror, hair a careful mess, a constant selfie. Addicted to Tylenol, a liter of coffee, PIN is LOVE. Yelled at a cop, gum on hip, feet on the dash. Taser eyes. "He's my boyfriend on Twitter." [Bandcamp]

Heyward Howkins - "Flimsy Stock (demo)"

We are not getting better at things. We are getting faster at things, and things are getting easier, but we are not getting better at things. [Buy]

King Tuff - "Ruthie Ruthie"

12 and I'm falling apart. My braces have a stray wire digging through my cheek. My shorts have more holes than actual fabric. My sunglasses are for a 4-year-old, stretched neon plastic. My scooter is barely held together, buttressed by a bunch of old credit cards we found in a discarded wallet. My ear is still healing, bit by a dog in front of Mac's on Sunday. I'm puddle jumping and bird-chasing, living off parking lot exhaust and free samples. My lunch is sucking Kit Kat milkshake through a twizzler, tongue in the cheek puncture.

King Tuff - "Stone Fox"

A heartbeat song. It has a pulse when you don't have one. It has a path, a car, and it's driving.

[Buy from Insound]

(thanks to Tom Scharpling for the reminder of how great King Tuff is)

Light Heat - "Brain to Recorder"

Brian was on a training shift. He was training Namij, who needed to know how to use all the equipment and how the schedule worked and what was expected of him. "First thing, we'll tuck in your shirt," he smiled and Namij tucked in the black golf shirt. Brian didn't literally mean we would tuck in the shirt. Namij was skilled with the vegetable slicer and Brian watched patiently as he struggled with refilling the sauces. Best not to interfere and correct their mistakes, so they can know for themselves what mistakes are. Brian repeated the same ideas a couple of times in different ways to make sure they were understood. "Do you have any questions?" Brian would often ask, and Namij never did, so that was good. Sometimes a question is good, too, if it's not too basic. Brian checked the clock and it was half-past, he watched Namij leaved and it was still light out. He had to go to the bathroom, so he put up the sign and went. In the mirror, his nametag read "nairB", and in two mirrors his face looked all crooked, like he had a broken jaw. [Buy]

(sorry for the stream, but posting would obviously get us in trouble)

Kanye West - "Bound 2"

King of the Shit Hitters. That's what they called him. AAA for Scranton/Wilkes-Barre and a terrible average, but one hell of a runner. First to second before you could say "Rollins headed for the steal". He had that quiet Ripken affect, like a cowboy, out-of-place on a manicured lawn. And the women. My goodness, Garry Rollins and his women.

Third basemen aren't generally considered glamorous. They're not pitchers, and in Garry's case, they're not hitting homers either. But the women flocked to Garry like he was the first man they ever saw. Single file and in a steady stream. Garry would just nod, cap forever shading his dark eyes, all you could see were the squint lines on his temples.

These days, those squint lines were as close to a smile as Garry ever got. His career was showing banana spots, big ones, and he dreaded those runs more and more. Standing on second, he'd look over at third and all he could think was she's married she's married they're all married now.

Rollins was a great runner. Probably the greatest Scranton/Wilkes-Barre has ever seen. But all runners are stealers, and he stopped cleaning the blood off his uniform when it got stained from a slide. He would sneak it into his bag after the game so they wouldn't wash it for him. All runners are stealers, and Rollins started taking the bus cause the bus doesn't deviate from its course.

[Buy]

--

On July 1st, Sean Dunne self-releases his first feature documentary, Oxyana. The trailer is amazing, I've posted much of Sean's work in the past, I think he's a strong new voice in documentary, and I look forward to purchasing his film for download on Monday!

Team Wild - "Eugene"

We never spoke the same language, and when she wanted me gone I fell asleep in the rain. I dreamt of all my stuff floating in water, and I wasn't there, but I was. I wasn't there at all, but I was. [Buy for 3$]

(image)

James Holden - "The Caterpillar's Intervention"

Attir the fox poses for a passport photo. His fur dusts his leather collar and his face has a cocky lift. They say don't smile in a passport photo, but if a fox can smirk, Attir is smirking. He lunches from a water fountain, and in the garbage can next to it he throws every other piece of ID away. His driver's license, his health insurance card, his SIN, even his Scope Video Membership card with the little sniper crosshairs on it. Hasn't rented anything in a couple years at least. Attir takes the train to Central, terminal 3, and heads through security. Head down, unnoticed. Aboard the flight it's tomato juice and his hoodie up. He lands to the sun still shining, or shining again depending, a waft of hot air, and the sound of guitars.

Attir the fox slams his fist against the large metal door. The password is I don't give a fuck and let me the fuck inside. He sits down at a rickety table across from a figure with a dog's beard and a missing eye, just a little sucked-in hole where the eye used to be. Outside the street is hot, the sun is hot, everything is yellow dust. "Little warm for that leather jacket," the one-eyed figure clacks his claws on the table. Attir sits as if tied to a board, his whole being is hungry, "It breathes." "Hm, that's good," says the one-eyed figure, his dog-bearded chin lifting, "Not everything breathes these days." Attir flinches. He reacts without thinking, "Seems that asshole on your face still has to shit out another eye." The dark-furred minions close in, but the one-eyed figure calls them off with a raised hand. "No no," he says, "I'm not upset. He can say whatever he wants. He doesn't even exist." An open paw, Attir tosses the passport. The figure hands it to a dark-furred minion at a computer, who seems more rat than dog, who furiously begins typing. Bank accounts, birth records, transcripts, addresses, it all comes up. "Ah, the great Attir. The fox. I shall enjoy being you." As Attir is hauled away he watches a tiny printer print the driver's license, the health insurance card, the SIN, all with a one-eyed Attir. Even the Scope Video Membership card, and these bastards wouldn't return anything. Well, it seems they might return one thing, at least.

Attir falls into the cell and they instantly embrace. The smell of her fur is unmistakable, the sound of her cry, though dry in a chapped throat, is still the same. They are blindfolded and driven through countless turns and hills, and dropped somewhere in the thick yellow dust, left to their own devices. They have nothing but each other, foxes mate for life, and Attir, no longer Attir, still has that lift, that arrogance, that smirk.

[Buy]

Nü Sensae - "Raven Tussle"

58 of the greatest seconds of screaming.

[Buy the newest, Sundowning]

(image from consumeconsume)