Shouldering their bags they trudged, the red Egyptians.

"Either way, it's legal to drive."

In the world of white collar day drinking, there are few rules. This is the slippery slope.

The Steeds of Mananaan

The semester is over. So much is changing, little things, but everything; great shifts are taking place, subtly, all the time. Nothing ends, it just progresses, adopts the form of something else. We like to think that the flux came unto us, that perhaps we can outgrow it, but we were born into it, and it will outlive us. But I do wonder if there comes a point when some things just become immutably certain. What is this evolutionary trajectory, and how does its shape shift slyly as it does.

"Through the barbicans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dial floor." -Ulysses

Breakfast

I've been listening to pretty much this cycle of tracks every morning for the past week, and we all know breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I've been bumping all of these albums fairly heavily lately, especially the Pete Rock & Slum Village, and I'm quite fond of the new Gorillaz album--it's a funny little album, but somehow the whole Lou Reed/Mos Def hanging out at Koopa Troopa Beach thing manages to come off as refreshing; whimsical and subtle, for an experiment with jungle dub. It's unapologetically silly. Even the cheesy Snoop Dogg track is great. An excellent Madlib beat, some Of Montreal classics, etc. etc. Well balanced; twenty minutes of music is just enough time for a double espresso and a joint before class; good morning.

[Download]

1. Pete Rock f/ RZA & GZA - Head Rush - Soul Survivor II

2. Slum Village - 5 Ela Remix - Fan-Tas-Tic, Vol. 1

3. Gorillaz f/ Little Dragon - To Binge - Plastic Beach

4. Madlib - Dirty Hop (The Shuffle) - Beat Conducta, Vol. 5-6

5. Of Montreal - Mingusings - Skeletal Lamping

6. Of Montreal - So Begins Our Alabee - The Sunlandic Twins

7. Otis Redding - She's Alright

February, a month late

"Petals on a wet, black bough."

-Google Chrome

-Busta Rhymes

-Lee Spinks on Virginia Woolf

-Andy Taylor on Ezra Pound

-Terry Eagleton on God and capitalism, under the most beautiful domed Neoclassical ceiling in all of Edinburgh

-The toothless man on the corner grabbing me by the arm and warning me of my fate, and the deathly woman beside him in the wheelchair whom he pushed, slowly, along the side of the road

-The mouse zipping, frightful, along the baseboards of my bedroom

-The house cat on top of Arthur's seat, watching the sun creep up over the city

-The bent rear wheel on my bicycle

-The recycled wheel with which I replaced it

-An entire weekend's worth of Bloody Marys

-Two XXL pizzas, over Jumanji

-George Orwell: Inside the Whale and other essays

-A party in Bruntsfield where the martinis were served in Waterford and some kid told me he once witnessed, from a restaurant window, his friend's father get swept under a semi-trunk on his motor-bike

-Shaun spilling red wine all over Caroline's dress

-A sunny day on the hillside with Suzie

-The woman standing in the sun with her two beautiful Dalmatians

-The Beagle tied up outside Caroline's apartment, howling, his soft ears

-The Great Dane running agile around the garden below our window

-The little Indian chick with the round lavender glasses

-Salmon eggs benedict

-Canned mac & cheese

-Rosemary's Baby

-The taxi barrelling over the sidewalk, the headlights rushing toward me, urgently staring

-The feeling I get when I see the Crags' enormous black silhouette looming against a dark indigo sky

-The feeling I get when I remember old friends wrapped in white duvets

-The feeling I get when I'm sitting at my desk overlooking the tops of grey-stone buildings, listening to Art Tatum as the sun sets softly into a peachy patch of sky, and the low clouds drift quickly past it, and then more slowly until their movement almost seems to freeze, and I see a bird perch himself on a weather vane far from here, closer to the sun, and to the fading day.

The irrepressible sounds of jackhammering outside my window, early in the morning on the Day of the Lord.

Listening to Slum Village makes me forget everything mentioned above.

Paul Erdős

I know who this remarkable dude is thanks to Radiolab's brilliant recent episode dedicated to numbers, how we perceive quantity, etc. It's really worth listening to, but, then again, so is pretty much every episode of Radiolab ever produced. I'd expand on this, but my mind has momentarily disintegrated.

[WNYC]

Don't even mix coke with the Henney

O Lord Thou pluckest me out

As Balzac said, 'There goes another novel.'

From Woody Allen's Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex *But Were Afraid to Ask.

Fuck last night.

Failure on all levels + worthless tequila aftermath = just your typical Wednesday morning!

Balenciaga Fall '10 RTW: The Damn Shoes

[Style.com]

Dreams of retirement in Cancun, burning ever brighter

"Paris is simply an artificial stage, a revolving stage that permits the spectator to glimpse all phases of the conflict. Of itself Paris initiates no dramas. They are begun elsewhere. Paris is simply an obstetrical instrument that tears the living embryo from the womb and puts it in the incubator. Paris is the cradle of artificial births. Rocking here in the cradle each one slips back into his soil: one dreams back to Berlin, New York, Chicago, Vienna, Minsk. Vienna is never more Vienna than in Paris. Everything is raised to apotheosis." Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

"I'm gonna do all the grocery shopping for the White House myself."

Faulkner 3

"The dead air shapes the dead earth in the dead darkness, further away than seeing shapes the dead earth. It lies dead and warm upon me, touching me naked through my clothes. I said You don't know what worry is. I don't know what it is. I don't now whether I am worrying or not. Whether I can or not. I don't know whether I can cry or not. I don't know whether I have tried to or not. I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth." -As I Lay Dying

"Hassan Safari Park"

March is the month of McGurty. Hell, every month is. Bringing that shit back.

Peter et Lucy