boy, don't we all look smashing in red.
what's really impressive is that some of these guys last so long. you'd think more of them would
get killed, since all they do is burn their bridges.
daisy [a victim of sleeping sickness] went to sleep at 15 and woke up many years later. she, being
perfectly sensible, decided she ought to die, since she had literally slept away her entire productive
life. the medical profession had, in her absence, decided that all life must be preserved, regardless of
worth to its owner, and prevented her from performing the only noble act she was capable of.
in general, someone is a thing of value if and only if he or she is willing to submit to whatever
degradation and abuse is required to preserve that position. anything less betrays a lack of
commitment.
the necktie, a particularly humiliating way to die, involves having your throat slit from ear to ear, so
your tongue can flop out on your neck.
ever since that fellow there moved in, there's been some mighty strange goings-on over there. he's
up until all hours. he's got that crazy music, noisy all the time. there's some sort of cat army there,
too. they live under that porch. someone saw him out there jaybird naked one time hopping like an
indian out in the weeds. the smell is just ferocious sometimes, like he does his own number twos
out there in the yard. i swear.
psychedelic fungus infestation of european grain, not divine inspiration, is responsible for many of
the "visions" so lovingly portrayed in the christian paintings of antiquity. how many people were
pressed under stones or drowned or burned for satanism while those of faith were quietly tripping
their brains out on bad bread?
the mafia still knows how to throw a good killing when it needs to. the more colorful ones get the
most attention. a bomb, for instance, doesn't need to be in the victim's car. it can be in a stalled
vehicle on the roadway, waiting to go bang until the victim happens to be driving by. other people
may be driving by as well. life's rough.
it went like this, as near as anybody can tell. he went to her family's fish fry, took her to the
drive-in, porked her, then beat her to death with his boot. it is speculated that he was upset about
the ease with which he got into her pants, when she had resisted his brother's attempts earlier. he
threw the body into frenchtown pond, if memory serves, and went home. when the police found him
the following afternoon, he was nonchalantly scrubbing out the cab of his truck with the aid of a
garden hose.
the things people do when they have nothing to do can be pretty silly. those same people can
become all-important in each other's lives. the things they do increase in importance in proportion.
soon a lot of people who do nothing individually scrutinize the minuscule doings of the others. this, in
short, is "falling in love."
sometimes, even killing yourself wouldn't be enough. like when you realize that your entire life has
been lived under a presumption of free will, but all you've been able to make of it is a sad parody of
everything you used to hate. slowly, without trying, everyone becomes what he despises most.
every good vegas act has an opening theme, some appropriately triumphant fanfare to welcome the
delight of the audience. it helps convince them the show was worth their thirty bucks or so.
hey, breaking up is an idea that has occurred to far too few groups, sometimes to the wrong ones.
t'anks fer da laffs: corey, lisa, justin, paul, pat, nate, the pals we made, the pals we didn't, jochen,
carlos, byron, jimmy, bands who don't write love songs. joel, get your shit together.
if you're ever in chicago, don't stop in, it's a small place we've got.
big black:
david michael riley: bass (david uses and endorses alembic basses and trace-elliot
amplifiers)
melvin belli: guitar grrr (melvin follows and endorses the fibrelife meatloaf diet plan)
steve albini: guitar skinng (steve uses and endorses heroin)