Patches dined on Vittles at 6pm,

and upon the closing of the dusk, the Audionauts fell into a heightened state of awareness.  Or rather it was a deliberate and obstinate blockage of the common sensory channels through chemical delobotomation.  In the midst of all the merrimage, The Governor became infatuated with a certain exquisite timbre which was in fact a precise digital elongation of an errant squeak which had emanated from their Euphenoproslyphone:

"Binary Binary, it's like a canary except it can't fly.  Binary Binary, it's like a canary except it's just two numbers (10101010100010100010101)"

After translation by the Gramolatrix, it was discovered that, beyond all expectationage, and much to the miraculation of the hysterified Audionauts, (who had inadvertentagiously begun to raise their hands skyward), the phrase actually meant, in all its grandiose fervor,

"Up JESUS! Up! Jesus! up up UP UP JESUS! UP JESUS!"

Well,

Nothing

...just to reiterate.

Neko Case: Also Something

I saw her last night at Higher Ground and I have nothing to express with words about it:

St Vincent

She's something. Definitely not nothing.

The House that Brahma Built

A house built for destruction:  I can think of no more perfect a metaphor for the internet, or the universe itself.  (creation-destruction-creation, that's what the Hindus say)

Could this also be connect to the St. Vincent song that goes "I guess you were afraid of what we all are made of" [atoms?]

I recognized the house picture as soon as you put it up.  Very sharp.  I assume the picture is post-bomb?   In that case, a pretty sturdy house.  If not, then I take it back because its pretty shittily built.   But surreal nonetheless. 

I am still brewing my response to Queen Jane, because for a Test Batch, it was pretty much stellar.    Really, how am I supposed to go on stage after that?   Don't forget to not steal your sampling glass on the way out.

What do you think of

the graphic I've chosen for the Adam and Dan Discuss Things, Dan? It's a house that was purposely burnt during the nuclear bomb testing in the damn desert. A house built to be destroyed.

Anyhow, I thought it was sharp.

Queen Jane Exactly or the Ballad of a Thin Woman

Don't be so quickly judgmental of our feral singer-songwriter.

The best is perhaps yet to come.

As I prophesied in the 1950s in my bestselling (literary nonfiction memoir/biography of time and space and the cosmos/Idiot's guide to peeing while standing up) book titled Adam Solves the Problem of Existence without Using Forceps or Floppy Drives, Thus Freeing Humankind to indulge in Epicurean Delights and Laugh in Existential Ambivalence:

"...after the fall from grace, from shame, from reality--yet, before the rapture--one woman will save the world from self-destruction. One woman, half of one really, will rise from the dewy drug-addled existence of the modern super powered 'celebrity' and march directly into the future with a single hand held at forty-five degrees upward, pointing at the sun in disgust. This woman, this beehived prophet, will likely emerge from that very same culture that spawned unlikely heroes and saints David Beckham, John Cleese, and Judi Dench and will resemble the cartoon image of a hooker that you have inside your head right now. As the fog fades and the tides shift on humanity, this woman, through a gentle discord with the rest, will rise high on feathered eyelashes and skinny legs until we can, as a world interested, watch her rise into the heavens in a single bolt of light. Afterward, once we have seen this woman, this "amiable house of wine," this prophetess, rise into the heavens, humankind shall exalt in the brilliance of life with newly found comfort and complacency. Economies will fall, empires collapse, governments disband, and all shall live in mortal friendship. She will surprise us all, this woman of the future."

I still believe that today.

"What's it stuffed with, angel feathers?"

"Amy is the most talented and important musical artist of her generation"

With as much emphasis as possible: Are you fucking kidding me?
Does she even play an instrument or write anything other than lyrics? Wow, listen to me...........now I actually hate her.

She sucks. I've heard the album, it's just not great.

God damn she sucks.

Just another one of those manufactured sellouts, how sad. And have you noticed how everyone who is rich is basically clinically drug addicted and/or crazy from fame/wealth?
Wait, is EVERYONE on drugs?
What the hell is going on?
I remember when we were building a custom outdoor kitchen in North Carolina, and our clients were the CEO of Eli Lilly Phamaceuticals and his 30-years-younger wife, both with Australian accents. The woman was anorexic, she had migrane headaches all day and basically had nothing to do but fret and stress about the servants (c'mon that's what we were in that situation) she hired coming over and doing the work they were hired to do. ("Oh Dan it's dreadful today, all the machinery and the dust everywhere and I had to move my car and oh, look did you see I'm wearing my gardening clogs today...could you do me a big favor even though you just technically got off work? Could you water those flower boxes please?")
Basically her wealth made her the sickest and most unhappy of us all, even though we were digging trenches in the rain. You could just tell. Once, when we found out that her husband had bought her a new 10,000 dollar mattress (seriously), Mack said "What's it stuffed with, Angel feathers?" followed by "Call up the Lord, the missus needs a new mattress!"

By the way, did you notice how much the "But we're identical twins!" invalid ID scene the other night was like a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode?

Refugio de Alma (refuge of the soul)

Great poem. Amy's not going to rehab, even with her cardboard heart. (I think she's kind of, well, hideous)
For your interest:

http://atss.blogspot.com/
http://ats.blogspot.com/

http://at.blogspot.com/

http://adamand.blogspot.com/
http://danand.blogspot.com/


All multilingual I might add.

Here's a little poem I wrote just now:

"Half Fifty, Quarter Hundred"

Naivete, naivete, wherefore art
thy buxom breast whilst we suffer
so at the hands of knowledge-
able existence?

Art thou fearful of our self-
cannibalism, our cutting
of wrists, our dying actors,
our smoking
of crack (really, Amy Winehouse? Really? Get your shit together),
our bamboozling of
brethren? Art thou maliced
'gainst us, gentle Naivete?

Art thou cold to the fire
of our actions? A'last, her sweet face
is buried, turned to feed for worms,
Cracked and faded, mushed and
mashed.

Ah, gentle Naivete, I can always
remember. I remember
still. We'll all be dead, sooner.

(Re) Aging, Complaining:

First, I want to note that I am still in my late-mid-latish early-twenties. Don't start jamming titles of early late-twenties down my throat. Pretty soon you'll be saying that we're pre-thirty. Or, half-fifty. A quarter hundred.

And

"New York City chewed me up and spit me out, and I had the bleakest moments of my existence there."

What do you think? Discuss. Think. Discuss. Eat. Sleep. Work. Gotta do it.

Yes.

"I think life is somewhat mundane, you know? Especially these days--we don't live these big dramatic lives. There's no linear story, just a collection of moments and mundane pleasures--reading a newspaper, looking at a tree.

Was it ever any different?

No, but the way life is represented to us on TV and in movies, we're given this impression that it's supposed to be bigger than it actually is. I think that frustrates people, and the emptiness comes out of this longing for the big events."

Hey ah,

you ever wonder, during your mid-twenties, what happened to the energy, enthusiasm, and naivete of your early twenties?

Should we

change the name of this blog to "Adam and Dan say 'Go Fuck Yourself'" over and over?

Patches

was probably just saying that he is mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.

I told Patches

about the new blog, and, although he cannot actually speak, he managed to say "rrrreeeooooowwwrrr," which I think translates to "I am hungry."      Either that or "go fuck yourself."

Adam,

Yes, hello.   It's dark in here.

Dan,

Are you there Dan? It's me, Adam.

Why am I

all the way down here?