July 01, 2006


"Rote bitching about PItchfork is to the web what hacky-sack is to an open quad." I don't think Dr. Octagon is worth going to bat for as signifier nor actuel, but I co-sign on Darnielles crit.

It is south hot and the town is a ghost town, maybe due to heat or holiday. I was alone on the street for blocks. Being unwittingly, cripplingly high on cold medicine made my bike ride feel like a screw tape, 1 mph against the wind, with no breath to breathe on. Dog barks reverberated off buildings, cars whirred and whinied, bass drops dopplering from passing cars; it's all-together menace was pure Psychic Powerless. Neighboor babies prammed pampers-only and all the old dudes porched it in their undershirts watching all the young dudes yell into cell phones, chains popping against sternum in time with thier gait, everyone sweating the same.

Posted by Jessica at July 1, 2006 10:17 PM | TrackBack