Really all you have to do is fool yourself

Wednesday 4/22/26

Here's the situation and how it really stands. I'm out of circulation, I've all but washed my hands. My social life's a dud, my name is really Mud. I'm up to here in lies. Guess I'm down to size.

That's from the Music Machine's "Talk Talk," converted into prose form. Gripping words. I recommend The Ultimate Turn On set, Music Machine-wise.

Down goes Frazier.

Down down, you bring me down.

Stone Roses.

Slow down. Brrrrrmmmmp.

Larry Williams.

I'm downloading Pagnol's Marius (1931).

I listened to the Grateful Dead's 11/2/69 version of "Death Don't Have No Mercy" again yesterday. Do you understand how good they were?

Also the "Dark Star" before it again. The first "Dark Star" to reach thirty minutes. They made the best music I've ever heard.

Down goes Frasier? Run through by a wicked retort from his brother Niles.

Nice of you to shave (he says to himself).

All the better to see you with. Wait. Wrong one.

For sidelong would she bend.

People don't know what wherefore means. But to be fair, it doesn't mean what it seems like it'd mean.

That's a lot of things, though.

There's this passage in "Dead Thomas" where Bonita tells Rachel that her life hasn't even started yet. Rachel, genuinely wanting to know--that is, not being snappish--asks Bonita whether hers has. And this sends Bonita into conflict.

At the end of his life, John Clare was taking to someone--or maybe just himself--and he started saying things like, "I used to be Lord Byron, I used to be Jesus," and then said, "But I'm John Clare now."

This has always struck me as one of the wisest and most important things a person has ever said. Do you want me to tell you why? Why?

Exactly.

A faery's tune. That's what she was singing. Name that tune.

Tropes aren't good things, you silly rabbits. You insensible, lazy, cosplaying creatures.

You're supposed to think of your own things.

Wait. Whoa. What.

I cannae do it.

Unreleased "Strawberry Fields Forever."

Also: hands too cold to play the chords.

Say it in your famous James Mason impersonation voice.

Ass. O. Nance.

Ponce. Nonce. Which way to go? The lost explorer, Nonce de León. Still searching. Like the Northwest Mounties.

"There be whores a'waitin' in the bushes," intoned the innkeeper as he reached to pour another draught, "but if it's bushless whores ye be a'wantin', you're going to have to wait a spell."

Here's what I'll do for you. (If you want me to.) I'll light a candle and I'll pray the Lord will bless you. Talk, talk, talking. Oh yeah.

I will never change my personality to make someone love me. loving Me is your choice, and hating me it's your decision.✨

Who are all these jackasses talking to?

People are always trying to fool people, which is ironic. Because really the only person you need to fool is yourself. Then you can think like you fooled everyone else anyway.

Trick of the trade.

Pigpen searching at the Capitol Theatre in November 1970.

Downloaded. Will I be able to locate the rest of the Marseille Trilogy? Stay tuned.

I don't want to know. You better turn around and go.

Zombies.

Fine then.

Watched 2003's Dead End, which was far better than I expected it to be.

This morning I've been listening to a very rare demo of the Beatles' "Don't Pass Me By" from July 1966--two years before the White Album. Ringo Starr sort of sings it in his "Yellow Submarine" voice.

The truth is the light. The light is the way. The less folks know, the more they have to say.

Prose Remains.

All the prose that remains. The prose that ever was if ever there was a prose that was.

I've been working on "Fitty" again this morning. Wait. What. Whoa. What?

Ensorcelling.

"My spyglass, you motherfuckers," commanded de León as they entered the Strait of Florida after having hugged the coast for so long.

Boston Blackie got nothing on me.