Archives : all posts by Dan

Marnie Stern - "East Side Glory"

Bowl of them so Telusa Hahahahaha Hahahahaha Hahahahaha Tigeorgess addition just thinking is so old man I love for you to learn how all mom Hahahahaha because it means anything since Atlanta gentleman and man and send to deliberately deliberately and a little bit of time and then send me man don't bump bump bump bump bump bump bump I'll I'll

Marnie Stern - "Hell Yes"

Little bit of a little bit of phone phones I seem to say mama home from work as a pencil Momomo the same thing that's hello, hello come on come on come on home and mozzarella I am sad I am Othyus time I've got this time I am all the time to time to time and I won't that's all that's out tonight and the Andthat that will Heslov the f*ck are clear or or or or is it sale or I'm going to Belmont Balan blog blog or or or or I'll talk to you soon, I got this time

[Buy the wonderful Chronicles of Marnia from Kill Rock Stars]

(image from the enigmatic emiliamullerginorio.com)

Hani Zahra - "Some Day Parade"

Ammunition for a laser gun. Sparks. A stack of love leathers, pink on pink on pink stretched around pink. A torn page from a joke book for smokers: "Doctor, how do i quit smoking?" "Stop, drop, and roll."

If my phone were really smart it wouldn't get lost, even cats can keep from getting lost, and they don't have Wikipedia on them. A discarded wireless microphone, for someone, somewhere, what i'm saying is really loud. Another page: "Did you say ziggurat?" "No, cigarette." "Oh, i dont have one of those either."

Bored sun. Big fat bored sun, steeping the world in its juices. The oceans brown and the sides of the world drip with sweat, and when the world is just a grey ball from the outside we will know the true extent of it. "My boss has cancer." "Cancer? I don't even know her." "Well i do, and she has cancer."

[Buy]

The Hani Zahra album is out now, and I support you supporting it.

Also, the marvelous Montreal actor Greg Kramer has died at 50. I was lucky enough to work with him once, and more lucky to see him perform.

BOAT - "Sore Toes and Elbows"

Devon and Devin had been dating 6 months before World Mitosis. When the oceans drained like dishwater and got pulled apart in equal halves, the continents cleaved in twain in the great gloomp that took a day. They had been taking it slow and Devon had just got another toothbrush to leave at Devin's apartment. Devin almost typed love by accident in a text. And the Catskills were now their own South Pole and 8 million people had been churned under the sucking mulch of Earth's fiery stomach. Devon and Devin, now consumed, as all life, with the current self-dividing phenomenon, assumed the other was dead.

Devon had been at a vernissage while Devin was trying another pear crisp, he was dunking the oat-crusted pan in the water when it all sucked away and the sink crumpled like a paper cup, he went up to the roof and the sun was swinging like a batted bulb in the sky. He thought about Devon, but only in the way that she would probably be bonding with Brad, the gallery curator and volunteer firefighter about this situation. Brad was probably everybody's fucking hero right about now.

So when they saw each other again, skimming the rims of the world's new stretch marks, makeshift heat suits and surgical masks, Devin was the first to spot her. That hair and that walk. He called out her name, his name, which he had said made him feel close to her right away, and she turned around. And they traveled for months together in the group with the others, Brad long dead, and they were civil with each other, but something had changed. Every night he didn't get up to see if she was cold, every day she didn't wash his dish in the nearby falls, they grew further apart, until eventually neither felt the pull at all. Everything, magnets included, was totally and permanently fucked up.

[Buy]

Phosphorescent - "Ride On / Right On"

Fingers in the morning. They woke up dreaming of a head like a bowling ball, clenched in those holes. In the pink imaginary world of sun-dappled bed they grab eyes, "Owow-OW, fuck!"

Hands at night. Buzzing on paper-thin breath, the hummm hummm hummm of junk food rumble, they want to crack open a thing, one rage pull. And pull an impossible thing apart to let the juice out, like ripping a battery in half.

Thighs at six. The only thing relaxed when clenched. They accordion a liver like playing a bagpipe, like kissing a stress ball. Organ-failure squeeze, internal bleeding "yes".

And the press. The press into one flat thing, like the way mercury just *pops* together. Eventually the skin will just give way, fuse, our stomachs will open and our ribcages will wishbone. And our organs will meld or stack, a mouthful of brain, a double-strong heart, breathing from your fingertips and a neverending handhold.

[Buy from Dead Oceans]

Black Pus - "Hear No Evil"

He is Patient Berg, and this is not a medical report. It's a report, but there is nothing medical about it. He has been born and he will die, that's probably the most medical thing that can be said about it.

::: He has a constant feeling of being hunted. He claims that change burns red hot in his pockets. He thinks even his clothes are out to get him. • I asked him to draw a picture of what it feels like to be scared, and he drew a man (perhaps Waldo?) with his face buried in a bowl of cereal. I looked at him, as if to ask, "Mm?"

"He puts his head down in the cereal bowl," he said.
"So he's drowning," I said.

He looked back at the picture, as if there were something new there. I believe it was only because he cannot draw faces very well. I was playing association, "Paranoia?"

"Yes. But with sparrows."
"Sparrownoia?" We laughed for a while, and it was a nice relief, but I must admit it also frightened me to commune with him like that. I asked him to write about his migraines:

...and then the chainsaws. They mow off your inner ear and you're balanced like a garberator, trying to find red hot pennies for the streetcar. It's like people are short circuits (bzzz!) and everything else is bricks. BRICKS.

"What, if anything, is positive about a migraine?"
"I'm glad it ends."
"Mm?" I said; it's my signature move.
"I'm glad it has an ending. I like the moment where I feel it end. Like the migraine says enough."

A reward for his suffering. I count the change (ice cold) in my pocket, and think: important for anyone.

[buy from Thrill Jockey]

(image source)

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Hani Zahra - "Cannibal Crime (Wait Wait Wait)"

On death row, they give you a last meal. Anything you want. Some people get Pepsi and fried chicken, other people get bacon and eggs. Timothy McVeigh got two pints of mint chocolate chip ice cream (Ben & Jerry's). But Martin Tent, convicted of multiple counts of cannibal crime, had an unusual request. He requested a grocery store sheet cake, the kind with the chemical compound icing and the day-glo cake-y flesh, and danced in it. Took his shoes off (no laces), smiled for the first time in a year (the last time he was reading a Double Digest and a 6-panel comic called 'Spud Dud' made him crack one) and danced in the cake. It came through his toes and licked up all around his ankles, and he did this for ten minutes, or the length of a meal. One of the guards, when they were taking him to the chamber, sort of nodded back towards the cell and muttered, "What was that about?" But Martin Tent just said the same thing he always said whenever someone addressed up, right up until the end, "I'm innocent."

--

The whole Hani Zahra record Along Those Lines is really special. Their album release is April 5th at The Bowery Electric in NYC. See all the info on their bandcamp.

(more on famous last meals)

Pat Jordache - "HUNGER"

These are the hidden things:

[PWYC]