listening in & waiting to get punched into sleep.

I'm waiting to get punched into sleep, too, c lav. Hopefully, the dirt nap of my dreams is right around the corner.

In the meantime...

What's with this summer? Never before have I had a season more filled with snotty, sarcastic emails, rude, harassing phone calls, confrontational drunks, sad late-night text sessions, and challenges in general to my honesty, good will and personal sense of safety. The mail doesn't come anymore, and a Newark-style, indiscreet drug operation has taken root right around my suburban NJ corner. It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel like taking down a whole bunch of carbon wastes with me, so watch out. Once pricked, I'll just start gnawing. And blasting.

Bitching session over, there has also been SO MUCH GOOD, as much as the belligerent trolls, and the inflammable herd, try to take even that away from me. Not least of all that good has been the incredible, continuing, bi-weekly live music sessions on the Castle, and MjolniirDXP and Epileptinomicon delivered in motherfucking SPADES. "The History of Horrendipity" indeed. "Yog Sothoth!" I will now ceremoniously eat the eyeball of a dead, mad nun in homage.

Much Castlehead love was thrown the way of my special guests, and deservedly so. Also --- listener dw's crushing Skulleraser project blew more than a few minds...and I sincerely hope that you were all screwing at midnight, sweaty lumps of skin and muscle, biting and cawing, to Wicked Rot's "The Rotten Flute"—as there is no better soundtrack. Astromero also dazzled the faithful (those fuckin' CDs have destroyed me—why go on?!)

I am Jack Jordan. I am also Cristina Peck, and Paul Rivers LAMF. But these are other stories, for other times. Jack's anguish will take you with a click to the playlist and audio archive(s) of last night's horrorcast™.