This will be the second day I put off posting the song that I intended on the day before. But you know how things just keep coming up. Yesterday I drank two coffees and had very little to eat, so by the time I showed up at my friend Emily's apartment to help her move, I was already pretty riled up. I greeted her with an arabesque and a hearty "Clœtus the Fœtus! Come out to meatus!" It was almost funny.

Somehow I ended up drunk. At one point there arrived a sorority girl and her family to pick up a tall entertainment center that Emily had sold them on Craigslist. I don't remember much about lifting the heavy old thing, but today my forearms hurt, and I do have a recollection of apologizing to the father, who was helping me carry the console… something like, "Oh I'm sorry; if I keep geisha-steppin' it, we'll never get there."

The rest of the night is sort of a blur, but I did awake to Emily's coffee, and when we were looking for information on just general orthodoxy (as one must at 6:30 AM), she happened upon Aquinas's Peripatetic axiom: "Nihil in intellectu quod prius non fuerit in sensu" ("Nothing is in the intellect that was not first in the senses.") Which scared me all the way to work because during the night, I had a dream that began with gelatinous blossoms of disembodied stallion heads in a through-tide of teeth (were they talons?) and mauve-colored dust… and ended with Hilary Swank (could've been that girl in the Christopher Guest movies, though) shaking an accusatory finger at me, saying, "These are Dior jeans, aren't they?" ANYWAY, I swear to God that this track from Gong's 1973 Angel's Egg (Radio Gnome Invisible, Pt. 2) was the audio backdrop to at least part of the dream:




Isn't that song title just about the cutest little goddamn fucker ever? Well, excuuuuse me. While some of you are having Bad Hair Days and Troubles With Your Boyfriend, I am over here Flailing In That Nightmarish Limbic Alcove Between Vangelis and Cannibal Corpse. Ugh! Do you mind???

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By the damn way, thanks to muh boy at The Stranger, Dave Segal, who yesterday called me "an original aesthete" and Trrill "a bonanza of esoteric epicureanism." OMG, I bet he's totally regretting it now!