the grey tiger of oritz met with me on the steps of the ornithogical cathedral.

conclusion:

that art when stupefying and unreal and deliberately obtuse but nonsensical, as is this explanation of art, rambling and untrue, seems better.

to me any way.

Jindabyne should be called "somersault 2: heidi's back and this time shes a bloated corpse lying face down in a creek."

i had a great weekend.

with someone who i met up with for coffee on friday afternoon.

coffee turned into a beer, which turned into a party, more beer, vodka, weed and ice.

thats right, i smoked ice for the second time in as many weeks.

it makes you quite horny people.

quite horny indeed.

but its a rancid drug.

there was also a motherload of dancing at the party.

a motherload.

i was dj-ing.

not on turn tables or anything.

just on a regular old fashioned cd player.

i played guru josh "infinity"

c and c music factory

belinda carlisle.

astounding.

magic.

any way the coffee turned into a whole weekend.

it just ended this morning.

what got me about her was her extensive knowledge of indi rock.

we discussed the ear splitting beauty of J mascis' guitar solos (thankyou lo!) for hours.

she too grew up on smudge, the replacements, and fugazi.

and in my book thats ok.

fuck it, thats grounds for a relationship.