Nursing, pregnant, or may become pregnant.

It's been a while since last post. Here follows a scattered update:

The new job has been occupying most of my precious grey matter, as any new job of value should. The first issue of the magazine (under my watch) went to press yesterday and I feel as if I've delivered a hundred-pound infant from my very loins. A pretty neat trick for a male art director.

That's a metaphor. Don't ask for photos.

So anyway. The new neighborhood is far more interesting than the north side of Capitol Hill, which seemed to die at 5:00 every day (Friday included). By the time I'd been sacked, I had memorized all lunch options at Union Station, and was seriously craving an honest Thai. Just one working-class green curry now and then, to purify the soul, please... No time to walk to Chinatown... god... god...

Thomas Circle in northwest DC is a much better place, in terms of lunch options. It straddles the line between Corporate Hell (south) and the "real" town (north): Wander south, and you get all the fake-chinese-buffet slog pits you can handle, with hoardes of Middle-Aged White Guys (MAWGs) with silk ties and distended, white-shirted bellies, chattering about office technology problems and lobbying issues... Entertaining, yes.

But if you stroll north, you gets a more civilian batch of indie holes-in-the-wall, of the sort that make urban living worthwhile. I had my doubts about Thai Tanic, based entirely on its unfortunate name, but the lunch was righteous...

In other news, the basement studio is still developing. The bookshelves are finally up, which means now I MIGHT be able to organize the space and start making some new noise...or "music"... or whatever you choose to call it.

Those of you with old Blue Sausage Infant cassettes from the 1980s, hang onto 'em, baby, that's classic stuff. Hell, I probably don't have that material anymore. But new BSI is coming, and I haven't the slightest idea what it'll sound like yet.

I feel strangely compelled to record a new tune and call it:
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Nursing, Pregnant, or May Become Pregnant.
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It seems to summarize our Modern Age. Somehow. If the new BSI ends up reflecting my recent musical fascinations, it'll be an odd mix of Current 93, Kinski, and punjabi Bhangra music. This might be a very weird thing.

Speaking of Current 93, I'd like to thank David Tibet across the digital universe for exposing me to the music of Ramases (the album Space Hymns)... it's very rare that I hear something I'm willing to play repeatedly for weeks, and that album is IT. In the last decade, the only records which have had that affect on me have been "Moray Eels Eat the Holy Modal Rounders" and Coil's "Musick to Play in the Dark vol.1" It's quite the psychic freakshow of colorful sound. Lovely.

And then, as soon as I had a handle on my New Reality, I learned that Robert Anton Wilson had passed away, following his long slow dance with post-polio syndrome...and with him goes the most advanced mind of the 20th, 21st, and 22nd centuries.

I must now re-read all volumes of Cosmic Trigger, and get my head back on un-straight. RAW has a way of doing that. Good night, doctor Wilson.

fnord.

(photo: detail of a storefront wall on 14th Street NW, adjacent to the RUFF & READY antique & junk-shop. Shot January'07)