A snarling lion fed through a few dozen distortion pedals, the lowest rumble you can imagine shaking your bowels (a brown noise to end all brown noises), high pitched frequencies that are tangible and all-encompassing covering you like an uncomfortable blanket. Today, the morning after, a quiet moment rings on and on.
I must pass time one way or another until April 5. Keeping busy, forgetting about time, forgetting the date, distractions draw Opening Day nearer and nearer. So what better way is there to kill time than getting your eardrums demolished? Bongripper supplied the rumble, the doom-sludge. Cut Hands (Whitehouse/William Bennett [and there is the evening's Albini connection!]) brought the piercing (arrhythmic) African tribal rhythms. Surprisingly for a show at the Empty Bottle (it had been a long time since I had attended a show there, cannot even remember the last time), there were only silhouettes of naked women instead of actual naked women. Oh, well, the night was still enjoyable/young.
Me and BJ ventured back with Zach and Sarah to their place to not eat tacos, listen to broken synthesizers, and drink Pliny the Elder, currently ranked #4. Zach introduced me to @horse_ebooks on twitter. Following it is absolutely the best decision I have ever made in my twittering life. Here are the last five tweets:
Air
demolish your authority and almost force
Healthy Tongue Secrets
How to evaluate stereo
Don t start a Cupcake
Needless to say I feel as though I've been tweeting incorrectly all this time. Yes, I thought I was being clever keeping track of my pooping habits (shit my dad shits), but there are things out there that could be even more amazing. I'll keep working at it. I'll keep distracting myself from time.
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