Category: music

happy post-birthday, bro

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Sorry, I was so caught up in poopin’ yesterday that I forgot completely – except for my post on Facebook, in which I likened your birth to a minor Biblical omen and Empire Records.

(Great movie, by the way. Not on Rex Manning Day! Also, I credit this movie with restoring my love of AC/DC, because If You Want Blood, You Got It is a spirit animal.)

Plus, whatever happened to Rory Cochrane? First, he absolutely nails Slater in Dazed And Confused, then is perfect as Lucas in Empire Records, then… what?

That level of commitment to depth and caricature deserves better.

Anyway, happy birthday, brother. I used to question your anti-social attitude (so much like my own), but you’re retired and not even fifty, so clearly, you knew something I didn’t.

I’ll be working (preferably writing), until I die. Hopefully, I won’t still be working shit jobs to that point.

Also, happy birthday Rory Cochrane, whenever that is, because you deserved better than you got. Here’s hoping for a comeback.

(Please don’t turn out to be a scumbag.)

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1702 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson (damn, this is a dense read, but should be required reading in public schools when discussing Trump)
Comics: Cloak And Dagger: Negative Exposure 2-3, Cloak And Dagger v5 1-2 (great, new powers again - and a baby)
Music: The Head On The Door, The Cure

poopin’

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Hallelujah, hallelujah.

We gone from Leonard Cohen’s You Want It Darker to Hallelujah.

Normal bowel movements.

No more violently peeing out my butt.

Too much info?

Really?

God made humans, and all the awful processes inside of us, or so a character in Father Lightning insists.

Of course, he’s possessed and eats people’s entrails, so you can’t trust him.

But then, who can we trust anymore?

All our heroes are frauds.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1977 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Proof Of Conspiracy, Seth Abramson
Comics: Cloak And Dagger v4 4-6, Cloak And Dagger: Negative Exposure 1 (ugh, Hopeless, hopeless, it's not just the name of our former mayor anymore)
Music: Head Carrier, Pixies

home day

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Crowfest was last night, though we sat on the patio and saw little of it.

There were ripped, sexy people playing with fire, and an Eastern European man balancing things with his tongue.

A hipster boy who somehow played guitar and keyboard at the same time.

And now, absolutely nothing.

A day, to edit.

Hallelujah, hallelujah, glory hallelujah.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 1994 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The First 20 Hours, Josh Kaufmann
Comics: Cloak And Dagger v2 8-11
Music: Hangin' Tough, New Kids On The Block (this is a crime against art and music)

september

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There’s some kind of song about this. Right, Earth, Wind & Fire?

No. Green Day.

No.

Fuck.

How is it September?

Life is moving at light speed.

And I don’t even get the aging in reverse effect.

Target: 1700 words
Written: 2031 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: Anyone, Charles Soule
Comics: Invincible 123-125, Tech Jacket v2 11
Music: Hackney Diamonds, The Rolling Stones

on the verge of existential crisis

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It’s bizarre to me how when I throw on the headphones at work and put on an album, that it doesn’t matter what it is, it hits me somewhere directly in the raw nerve feelings, and every workday in the office begins to feel like an existential crisis.

Today, for example, I swerved from Transplants to Jimmy Buffett to Cameron Halcombe and Billie Eilish, and it felt like absolute hell, in the most incredible way. Nirvana didn’t help.

Why are all my nerves raw?

Why am I experiencing such psychotically exquisite depth of feeling?

Why so barenerved?

Like my chest, ripped to pieces.

Why?

And why don’t I hate it?

Target: 1600 words
Written: 960 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The Stand, Stephen King
Comics: Invincible 79-81, Guarding The Globe 5
Music: From The Muddy Banks Of The Wishkah, Nirvana

the way

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I’m fine with covers if someone does a good job of it, like Melanie’s Ruby Tuesday, or putting their own stamp on it, like Jimi doing All Along The Watchtower, or even weirdo fucked up, but still somehow good like the Flying Lizards’ version of Money.

But like, do it well.

This version of Fastball’s brilliant The Way currently in high rotation on the radio is absolute fucking garbage, by talentless EDM assholes with no concept of what makes a good cover.

It’s connection to the music. It’s taking what connects you to the song and allowing that to emerge into something new.

It’s not about bored (and boring) techno tricks.

Christ, and I thought the last 90s rip-off was bad (I put it out of my head).

This is worse.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1629 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The Faded Sun: Shon'jir, C.J. Cherryh
Comics: Invincible 52-54, Dynamo 5 17
Music: Freak Show, Silverchair

angry

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My wife says I’m angry. I say she’s angry. She says that’s just at her daughter, but it bleeds out into the rest of the world.

Mine does as well. I’m sick of other people.

I listen to A Wave Across The Bay and I want that for myself.

I want endless falling, never crashing, never landing, never ceasing to exist, but never engaging again.

Endless travel, free of care, free of responsibility.

When Sartre says hell is other people, he might be on to a thing.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1721 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: On Love, Charles Bukowski
Comics: WildC.A.T.S. v6 8-11
Music: Flyin' The Flannel, FIREHOSE (I don't why it's listed in all caps)

you know what?

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That was cruel. Even though Billy Joel is the worst, it’s not my place to tell people what they like and don’t like. Challenge them by exposing them to better (much better), sure.

But outright condemnation and insults?

That’s beneath us.

Sorry, kid. That was rude. I won’t yuck your yum, even if your yum is a bland piece of unseasoned chicken breast, boiled for too long.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1349 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The Black Unicorn, Terry Brooks
Comics: WildCats Nemesis 7-9, WildC.A.T.S. v4 1
Music: FireCracker Lounge, Sublime

billy joel

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My niece loves Billy Joel, and I can’t help but think we didn’t raise her right.

I mean, she’s a teenage girl from Gen Z. What is she connecting with? His bland, insipid, lifeless form of mediocrity is among some of the worst examples of popular music to ever exist.

You don’t need uptown girl or the piano man, child.

You need therapy.

Target: 1600 words
Written: 1466 words, novel: Father Lightning

Read: The Black Unicorn, Terry Brooks
Comics: WildCats Nemesis 3-6
Music: Fire Water Burn, Bloodhound Gang