So, I’m about 10 or 11, working on a pinewood derby car, or something else stupid, it doesn’t matter. My father’s watching me, as I proceed to bang on the end of a screwdriver with a hammer. My father didn’t freak out, like many fathers would when observing a violation of the rules of tools of that magnitude, all he said was, “Well, I see you don’t allow yourself to be constrained by the functional fixedness of real-time solution objects.”
I loved my Dad.
She jumped off the bed, injured her spine, and spent 3 days whacked out on muscle relaxers. This morning, around three, she just gave up.
I’m on th’ facebook now, as (oddly enough) “Eric John Gustafson.”
I found a few folks from high school on there, and to save myself the trouble of recapping 28 years to each one individually, I made this.
Has it really been that long? 19 fucking 81? I graduated from high school that year. First year of the Reagan blight, which was made easier (for me anyway) by the release of My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. By this time, I’d allowed my young mind to be scorched by some pretty advanced shit, for the time…Pink Floyd, King Crimson, Velvet Underground, Zappa, Devo: this was something else. It sounded like the future of music, like shit was seriously evolving, like nothing would be the same again. Turned out to be true, in ways that only W. S. Burroughs could have imaged; but I digress…
Eno and Byrne have a new album out! Wubbada wubbabda whah huh???? Yeah I know, it’s quite different, yeah it’s “proper songs” and not audio collages with found sounds, but who the fuck cares: it’s Eno and Byrne together for the first time in umpty-billion years!
Plus, there’s a tour!
Holy shit, the world is NOT a COMPLETE pile of suck!
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