{there's} something about certain songs that in a round about way, it's as if they've existed forever.

nude by radiohead is a staggering example of this to me, it's haunted it's way into my life since late last year and latched itself onto the myriad situations of isolation and contemplation that i get from my student life. the content {infidelity, mental and physical} is close to the quick from the posthumous agonies of my first serious relationship, the music became a trope of my rebound carnality and now it has settled into the melange of my study and transport milieu.

this however is not the centre of the thing.

when it came through the treble saturated bedside clock radio for the first time {courtesy of triple j} , i was waking up from one of the lonely mornings where the first few moment amnesia are sweet relief from the crushing knowledge that the woman who promised to marry me was off with her next stab at partnering. more to the point it just evoked that back of the throat notion of home, sort of like reverie, the instant collusion of spirit. and so it's always here with me, to the point where i can't seperate it from any notion of a timeline i have with my life. constantly new in my psyche yet instantly historical.

that is all

once [finally] into the void

(mogwai - tracy (kid loco remix) plays in background)

well yes, right, here we are then. feigned insincerity to show humility and a cheeky self repost to get all our predictable nerves out of the way.

(mogwai ends, kid loco - continuum plays)

[notes distinct lack of capital letters, keeps it thusly for aesthetic livery.]

this has been something i've been meaning to do for a long time now, i say that, more like since i found out about the demise of martin magdalene's blog that the thought of giving myself this space has become more pertinent. it's far easier to tread the well beaten path, so there i went. we'll keep everything in nice broad abstracts until this wonderful catharsis is given a chance to breathe.

it's so rightly liberating to allow the absolute masturbatory act of stream of consciousness recording to take place in the secure realm of anonymity. this and the throw away

(kid loco - continuum stops, soul coughing - true dreams of wichita begins)

format lets the necessity for concision free, which is powerfully wonderful after so much creative writing nonsense and labourious plodding through construction. thank you for this first breath after so long underwater.

well then off to bed with my teenage bride, mercifully not pregnant and barefoot on the street of islington.

(true dreams of wichita ends, mike doughty - janine begins)

random haiku generation starts,

in a burst so lucid,

comes the beauty of waking,

\to empty radio fuzz.

yes i know it's not 5/7/5, kerouac freed us of that shit years ago

a hand for mr magdalene everybody, without whose tragic format losses i wouldn't have started this.
sir,
you make the shelves worth filling.
run before you're engulfed.
and settle your fury
with the worlds
divide.
on the shores outside of room 101, where i visit,
and hope to stay.


(mike doughty - janine ends, silence accidentally prevails)