what’s wrong with them?

THE AFRICAN KILLER BEE PORTRAYED IN THIS FILM BEARS ABSOLUTELY NO RELATIONSHIP TO THE INDUSTRIOUS, HARD-WORKING AMERICAN HONEY BEE TO WHICH WE ARE INDEBTED FOR POLLINATING VITAL CROPS THAT FEED OUR NATION.

I may have a new favourite piece of found music, a track to match both Emilie Simone‘s Flowers and That One Guy‘s One. Someone named Selina Martin made this, 11 Ways To Get Into The House. There are some more mp3’s for download on her site, but she does the vocals on the rest of the available music and though she’s very damned nice, she can also be very ‘girl sitting in a tavern making people feel nostalgic for love affairs they never had’, and I’m hoping that somewhere there is more music that feels like a cross between Tom Waits and Ani Defranco.

As a bonus, I’d like to toss in some gothy music I found through Warren‘s Apparat Programmes: Masochist Monkey Circus – You’re An Animal. To get a copy separate from the Programme, I tracked down the artist and groveled a bit. (Same sort of deal as when I was trying to find more from Revporl and Stuart Crozier after being sent the Dr. Thirsty.). He seems like a very nice fellow. I may have tracked down his journal as well, masochistmonkey, but I’m not sure. Only friends can reply to his posts. Even if I’m wrong, I’m leaving them added because it’s a pleasant read. I’m planning on writing him tonight to confirm, however, and to pass on word that I’m throwing his music to the internet winds.

I hung up the phone and ignored the disappointed sting in my belly. Instead, I got lost in my computer and when I looked up, it seemed like there was a wolf in my doorway. A giant gray creature with golden eyes. I considered quietly picking up the reciever and pressing redial, but I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to blink. It seemed the moment I closed my eyes was a precipice hidden in a dark green forest I could tumble down and break my sight like a bone too delicate or clumsy to ever properly set. The wolf breathed out. It stood. I heard paws heavily scraping the hallway floor. One foot swung forward, placed itself firmly on the carpet of my room. I blinked. It was gone.

On the top of something tall, I don’t remember what. It might have been a granary tower or it might have been the apex of a bridge, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I remember looking down at the sprinkle of city lights and thinking, “All of this was made. Every tiny one of a million million details was thought of by someone. There’s no where else for it to have come from. All our civilization, all our languages and ideas and music, it all came from someone. Humans are so unreal. Every emergency room in the country has a diamond tip drill for popping the vacuum when idiots shove lightbulbs into unpleasant places, and yet… those are the same people who created the infrastructure that all the rest are taking for granted. What a containment for disparity we’ve made. How beautiful all that sodium glare.”

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