Bad Kingdom - Moderat

Brian Jonestown Massacre - Pish

Fred Fortin - Melane

Nick Drake's Cello Song Covered by the Fontaines

Midlake - Head Home

Oiseau - Fred Fortin

Fred Fortin - Grippe [Official version]

The Law is the tail that wags this ol' adopted dog. Sometimes violently.

It's like I'm wired in to an atomic power, powering my ability to pull a rail tanker filled with the archives of seething hatred. In the end, I'm certain I'll say that I just didn't know what to make of things. I'm cool and all with meaninglessness, but the cost of admission far exceeds what comes next. I'm left to wonder: what the fuck?! Gotta go, getting wagged again.

NXCRE & The Villains - INDIGO

Over and over Again (Lost and Found)

Motorama — Livestream / Noonchorus. September 22, 2020

Dear Sons

I had Nick Drake playin, Men in a Shed, and was enjoying a live look from out from the landing to the colors emerging, your Mommy's tall yellow and white flowers showin off, and beautifully emersed and awash in one of those lovely post prozac cryin spells at the sheer beauty that lay all spread out for me and realized that I just love the shit out of the woman that I once knew. The one that throws rocks at the coal hoppers and who cried with me when we buried our little possum babies beside where the golden rod is performing presently. The one who put up with me and my black dogs for what must have seemed like forever. But what's really special is the fact that it's perfectly okay with your ol senitimental dad. That I've got Paul, Jr. and Josh on my mind is even better. It's honest god fucking god dammit!. Just listen to that old black dog bark. My boys. Amplifies the howling from the landing thanks to ol Nick Drake and my partin ways with fluoxitine after over and under thirty years. Served me well. Probably kept me alive. Enough of that. Something seems to prolongue the spell a bit, which, too, is welcome here, ol sports, in what they call bullshit words like buddahland. Keeps me safe. Let's me howl from chords created in fucked up places where I was desposited, like Montgomery, Alabama. I've been howling my ass of in this big ol house, snot, gossimer, clouds soakin up the sun, pores stretchin not carin, pissing outside, and yet, not being able to trust the old dude walkin past with a curled up staff that he probably bought from god damn mother fucking up her asshole full of god damn shit and blood and cancer pollyps, called Pigeon Forge, or her whore of a mother, just up the mountain, called Gatlinburg. Here what's happened to these old men, not like me. They forgot about beauty, my sons. Too busy for beauty until that time comes when they're not busy no more and cannot recognize it for the life of them, so they gravitate to words and symbols and white me who share the worst parts of them. But they're other parts, too. But they're close off on account of the queer union of opposites that they seem to have infected. I'm bustin out from that kernal that kept me in, but I won't be cloud free until I put my gargantuan coal mine of hatred into perspective. Can you imagine what platitudes do to me. I think I'll hand a litte not to whom the fuck ever the fuck when those noises are directed to me with a suggestion: look for beauty. Take a great big goddam picture, but you're forbidden from using a camera of any kind, except the one behing your eyes." What a waste of words on the too far gone. Note that you didn't disparage them further, you ol coot, said the wise old kernal of korn, as it loosened it's grip, but just. When the cats hear my howlin it worries them, or so I suspect. Blackie in particular. You should have seen the cloud show above Danny's house. That space above his house is like a theatre for the clouds because I can sit from my rocker that my mommy gave me and appreciate the grand offering. Did you know that the wispy clouds are watchin the big ones like tiny mommys watching their enourmouse babies? I think so. Did you know my biodaddy was a cowbird just like me? I've learned not to throw the mommy and daddy out with the dirty mommy and daddy water. Ever feel like my three cats getting fed the rare nine lives abomination and looking around like they're doing something very wrong. Another example of the union of opposites. Best to walk away early on before you have to run for your life with the odds well against you. I've got my feet fooled into thinking I've taken them to the beach. I wonder how many people retire early so they can get the fuck away from everyone. You never hear about these people because nothing's being reported because there's no one there. Another sweet looking, perhaps unfettered old man ambles by along with his smile and a tip of his old hat. I can tell he wants to come up. My intuition told me that if I invited him up I might spend all night burying his bloody corpse in the basement on account of something stupid he said that involved either Jesus and God and politics. Off he ambled, saving us both a ton of shit. My uncle Ralph said it best: "Some people just need to be shot." And he should know because he shot the fuck out of my Uncle Billy Joe. Right into the center of his chest. They say he swole up like a dead sow, but he survived and refused to cooperate with the law. The earth enabled our evolution and, in return, white men tried to fuck her in every hole, digging new ones for new variations on the theme, like platic sex hole surgery.