"The reason I like the instrumentals is because they haven't got any words!" -Joel Plaskett

The recording for the Grim Preachers record is finished. Wickedness.

The recording for the Body Electric is far from finished. I have a tracklist, though. Which is REALLY something, considering how long some of these songs have been in the works.

I will sit and listen to Station to Station and be pleased with the fact that nothing is wrong at all. People are predictable and that's just fine with me.

"I play for money but I sing for free." -Joel Plaskett

Joyfully baked, going to record 2 hit wonder with the Preachers. I'm fucking stoked.

www.myspace.com/iamsingingthebodyelectric

There are a couple new things up. One off cover, one off new art-punk song. Everything will be combed over and improved once the ideas have been placed in the life-world rather than the nonspecific culture of my brainiage.

Projects: an album of acoustic love songs named after Chomsky texts. "At War with Asia" is almost complete. I'm still writing Failed States and Hegemony or Survival. Necessary Illusions will probably be last.

Also, consider the possibility of unexpected encounters with giant cats. I saw a fisher last night, I think. It might have been something else. It was as big as a fox but had the rounded face of a cat. It was eating birds in front of an apartment building at Leslie and Sheppard. I soundtracked it with Akron/Family.

Etatization. You deal with it, I won't.

I like the idea of the "Life-world" as put forth by Habermas.

Interestingly enough, I wrote a lyric two days ago to the tune of "semen on your back like an oil painting." Later in the song it becomes "semen on the back of an oil painting."

Collective history is fucked up. It makes me want to delete old blogs, emails, text messages. The other takes the form of overwhelming swarms of information. The self is blurred and smeared in zeros and ones.

Bananamour by Kevin Ayers is amazing. Artists who fly just below the surface of fame are so compelling.

"I said, 'I feel very happy. Happy as can be. And I feel free!'
She said, 'You're not happy, you're just stoned!!!!!!!!!!!!"


These two lines may be my relationships with every woman ever. They are the only two lines in the song "Beware of the Dog," which ends the record in epic fashion. I see myself making love in them. I see myself smoking chronic in the summer sun; I see indifference building in a different building. I refuse to enter. I prefer to re-evaluate what it means to care. I suppose that's why I don't have anyone to call at 1:30am anymore.

But I digress. What I mean to say is that the innocuous ways in which you structure the options on the multiple choice pop quiz that is your life is up to you. Well, to a degree. No man can deny the power of preconfigured reality. It's pretty much got you by the balls, in that you have no balls without it. Although I suppose it can be said that nobody has any balls at all otherwise we'd all just speed off towards the hysterical endgame of this um....endgame. hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Hey sister moses, if you'd like to undercut me, I'll wait for you outside of this cult of authority.

THANK GOD FOR MENTAL ILLNESS. and addiction.

and gullibility, and friendship and kevin ayers and bananas and bandannas.

Indifference. In difference. Inside the difference. The difference between what? Caring and not caring? or am I placed somewhere betwixt the letters. I wouldn't want to be in between those fucking fs. Fs are the douchebags of the alphabet. Phrom here on in, they will be replaced with phs.

I phorget exactly how I got on this tip, but I must say I'm having a time.
I phorget exactly how I got on this trip, but I must say I'm having a time.

oh lord, I'm metaphorgetful. I seem to have punned!

remember only this: Quoting John Lennon is all well and good; getting him to quote you is tricky. But we persevere.

Sexual archaeology. The erotic isn't dead. Ah, the purity of your spirit.

I am given to funk and reggae. I am given to keyboard fetishism. I am given to you, to us. Delicious. Be sure to pause and ponder, to walk and wander over the flavour's many contours. It desires you.