Oh, Bela. Undead again.
We're forced by convention to wait our whole lives to sleep in a coffin, but just think how good that would feel—the lid closed, or not, but those Four Enclosed Walls holding you in, the velvety comfort—that's the sweet plum of the death embrace. In fact, coffin naps SHOULD be the province of the living, and cremation and scattered dust the preferred end for the human plague. I mean, enough already.
"Nil" means nil, and I expect the desert flowers to be fewer and farther between, as My Castle traverses the plain toward some sort of inevitable end. But I'm not quite done, not yet. There's always good music to share, new and old and not otherwise represented on WFMU, or elsewhere on the radio (Internet or terrestrial.)
As long as I have Sadistic Intent, Oruga, the workings of Josh Lay, Teeth Collection, and Spine Scavenger, the splatterings of Newton and the other Breathmint artists, the Witchbeam cassette, and the new Wizard Amps on Baked Tapes, there will continue to be a reason for me to further compromise the suspension on my 2001 Nissan and schlep to Jersey City with my collection of exceptional sounds in tow.
My coffin is lined pussy pink, and I'd have it no other way, the outer walls and lid painted matte black. I won't see you there; unburdening solitude taking over for the last time.
NEXT WEEK --- ISA CHRIST, LIVE!!!