The name of this dispatch is "Mastiff Fluxions", and that's all yer gonna get.
WHY I GIVE SO MUCH AS A DAMN
an essay in three uneven parts
Pt.1 - Foundations: Moon boots and crop circle haircuts
A wee shit, moving to cross the street to the playground where one could dam the spring melt into deathtraps for plastic alpha dawgs and their robot ilk. I trip on the gravel and lay on the street gazing dully at an impending car, putting up little resistance as I am dragged hairways to my front door, at which a parent of mine is informed that I am not to be trusted, in terms of being competent at getting somewhere such as across the street. I spend the next 6 years amassing a large collection of NES cartridges that my eyes no longer allow me to play.
Pt.2 - Evolution: Throw it all on out there/That which does not stick will at least rot and fertilize the soil for the next at-bat motherfucker
I show up at the doorstep of college with fat pants of materials ranging from corduroy through denim to "shiny blue", and yet nary a trance record in my collection... just some double copies of Toasted Marshmallow Breaks and but a single turntable. I stole a low-grade flyer offa the short-lived Green Bay shopwall from which this vinyl was procured, a shop of nothing but four-on-the-floor tech-house and "turntablist"-area beatjuggler ammo. The flyer was for an Archers of Loaf/Butterglory show I was not able to attend. 'Round here all levels scavenge for something to with which to affiliate, every step of the way. I buy a Triple Rectifier with my paper mill cheddar and spend a year or so wearing plain black fitted t-shirts and playing black SG in a poor shadow-fax of Lifetime.
Pt.3 - Finale: Gross markings in a growth market
The power of the internet has given everyone a 500 GB hard-drive of the hottest shit imaginable (of which, if posting statistics are to be believed, at least 100GB feature Lil Wayne). I blush uncontrollably at Rettman's lashing, sweating profusely through my Diplomats "Ramones logo" t-shirt (no, not the foil print one, fool)... goddam!!! I already ordered those Mighty Baby lps!!! Should I be embarrassed? I'm still not quite sure. Should I even be able to afford those Mighty Baby lps? Can I really afford those Mighty Baby lps? I guess I'm embarrassed. HELL FUCKIN' YES I'M EMBARRASSED. He's right, you know. I'm even meta-embarrassed for the number of times I've mentioned Rettman on this thing. Not that he doesn't deserve the credit, the man is good. It's just probably weird to a guy for some internet-place to constantly see reference to his internet-place or radio presence or whatever from some quasi-faceless kid's internet-place off inna boonies, unless your that Kottke fellow and make a living off of it. And the Archers of Loaf for that matter. Why do I always mention them? I don't mention Animal Chin. Thank goodness for that. I could just delete this whole post right now and start from scratch, but that would somehow be less "true". I'd live each day knowing I removed words from play that I at one time considered offering up to all of the internet bored enough to care. Of course, I'm not changing ways or anything. Dubstep twelves are still in virtual shopping baskets. I swear it ain't a fad. Brooklyn kids are still sometimes capable of artsounds worth the hard earned cash of the midwest. Hell, I can't afford my teeth but I can still afford records. But Tony, c'mon, I still need a gauge, a compass. I've already got those Byrds lps and have watched live YouTube footage of "Beautiful Child" enough for the time being. I'm a bit late to the game, but I know that yr print zine went hidden sometime before I 'came in' and a dude's gotta worry when one of the few sorta-almost-regularly updated beacons in his eternal night sky gets so, I dunno, pessimistic. Keep grindin through this winter and beyond! For the children! Pleeze!
an essay in three uneven parts
Pt.1 - Foundations: Moon boots and crop circle haircuts
A wee shit, moving to cross the street to the playground where one could dam the spring melt into deathtraps for plastic alpha dawgs and their robot ilk. I trip on the gravel and lay on the street gazing dully at an impending car, putting up little resistance as I am dragged hairways to my front door, at which a parent of mine is informed that I am not to be trusted, in terms of being competent at getting somewhere such as across the street. I spend the next 6 years amassing a large collection of NES cartridges that my eyes no longer allow me to play.
Pt.2 - Evolution: Throw it all on out there/That which does not stick will at least rot and fertilize the soil for the next at-bat motherfucker
I show up at the doorstep of college with fat pants of materials ranging from corduroy through denim to "shiny blue", and yet nary a trance record in my collection... just some double copies of Toasted Marshmallow Breaks and but a single turntable. I stole a low-grade flyer offa the short-lived Green Bay shopwall from which this vinyl was procured, a shop of nothing but four-on-the-floor tech-house and "turntablist"-area beatjuggler ammo. The flyer was for an Archers of Loaf/Butterglory show I was not able to attend. 'Round here all levels scavenge for something to with which to affiliate, every step of the way. I buy a Triple Rectifier with my paper mill cheddar and spend a year or so wearing plain black fitted t-shirts and playing black SG in a poor shadow-fax of Lifetime.
Pt.3 - Finale: Gross markings in a growth market
The power of the internet has given everyone a 500 GB hard-drive of the hottest shit imaginable (of which, if posting statistics are to be believed, at least 100GB feature Lil Wayne). I blush uncontrollably at Rettman's lashing, sweating profusely through my Diplomats "Ramones logo" t-shirt (no, not the foil print one, fool)... goddam!!! I already ordered those Mighty Baby lps!!! Should I be embarrassed? I'm still not quite sure. Should I even be able to afford those Mighty Baby lps? Can I really afford those Mighty Baby lps? I guess I'm embarrassed. HELL FUCKIN' YES I'M EMBARRASSED. He's right, you know. I'm even meta-embarrassed for the number of times I've mentioned Rettman on this thing. Not that he doesn't deserve the credit, the man is good. It's just probably weird to a guy for some internet-place to constantly see reference to his internet-place or radio presence or whatever from some quasi-faceless kid's internet-place off inna boonies, unless your that Kottke fellow and make a living off of it. And the Archers of Loaf for that matter. Why do I always mention them? I don't mention Animal Chin. Thank goodness for that. I could just delete this whole post right now and start from scratch, but that would somehow be less "true". I'd live each day knowing I removed words from play that I at one time considered offering up to all of the internet bored enough to care. Of course, I'm not changing ways or anything. Dubstep twelves are still in virtual shopping baskets. I swear it ain't a fad. Brooklyn kids are still sometimes capable of artsounds worth the hard earned cash of the midwest. Hell, I can't afford my teeth but I can still afford records. But Tony, c'mon, I still need a gauge, a compass. I've already got those Byrds lps and have watched live YouTube footage of "Beautiful Child" enough for the time being. I'm a bit late to the game, but I know that yr print zine went hidden sometime before I 'came in' and a dude's gotta worry when one of the few sorta-almost-regularly updated beacons in his eternal night sky gets so, I dunno, pessimistic. Keep grindin through this winter and beyond! For the children! Pleeze!
Labels: Z-Ro Continue to Roll
posted by Quincy Hoist at 8:06 PM
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