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October 2007

I put my thang down flip it and reverse it.
.ti esrever dna ti pilf nwod gnaht ym tup I | Friday, 10.26.07
Did you know that if you play two copies of Radiohead's Kid A 17 seconds apart from one another, the songs somewhat sync up? I read about it somewhere on these here internets, and sure enough, it worked (kinda, I guess). I mean, it was louder. That's something. And some frail hipsters materialized on my couch, getting up only to pass judgment on every CD I own. That's also something. I'm not sure what worries me more - the fact that Radiohead created songs that are best enjoyed when you play two copies 17 seconds apart from one another, or the fact that some greasy Radiohead fan in an ill-fitting t-shirt featuring an iron-on close-up of Thom Yorke's useless left eyeball got really stoned one night and played two copies of Kid A exactly 17 seconds apart from one another and got so excited that he almost accidentally chugged his bong water like a 2-liter of Schweppes Gingerale.

I love creepy music discoveries. There's the age-old Wizard of Oz/Pink Floyd thing, countless satanic backmasking messages, and scary ass images hidden in those Aphex Twin and Nine Inch Nails song files. Some are real, but most of them come from a combination of imagination, wishful thinking and drugs... three things that I have in spades. So, a few nights ago I took a bunch of pills that the previous tennant left behind in the medicine cabinet, sniffed some glue and ate a bowl of lead-based paint chips to get myself in the right state of mind. Soon, the walls of my apartment shattered like glass and all of my earthly posessions grew wings and flew towards the sun except for my stereo, my CD collection, and a beanbag chair covered in duct tape. Here are my transcribed notes from that evening.

8:05 p.m. - If you accidentally pour half a bottle of Miller Lite onto a copy of Michael Jackson's Dangerous, the album artwork turns into a sponge. I wish the liquor store delivered.

9:17 p.m. - I spent the last 45 minutes staring at the UPC for 4 Non Blonde's Bigger, Better, Faster, More! and have come to the startling revalation that my skin turned itself inside-out and most of my organs have arranged themselves alphabetically on the floor. I've made many attempts to get out of my bean bag chair and actually play the album, but the buttons on my stereo are loud... so very loud when pressed that I'd much rather sit here and continue staring at the UPC code and imagine how well the album would sync up with movies written and directed by Jon Favreau.

9:30 p.m. - Flummox. Flummox. Flummox. Flummox. Faaaaaalummox.

10:01 p.m. - Holy shit, I actually found something... look at the tracklisting for Devo's Q: Are We Not Men, A: We are Devo!. None of the tracks start with the letter F. Now look at the tracklisting for Freedom of Choice... you guessed it, no F tracks there, either! How do you have two albums devoid of tracks that start with the 6th letter of the alphabet? That's fucking crazy. But, like, the album has the letter F in the first word so it's like they knew that the fans would be looking for the letter F, and they delivered in the album title, y'know? Fucking Devo, man. I played both albums at the same time and I faintly heard Mark Mothersbaugh say, "This is waffles, you are carpet smelt" at around 12:36. Their wikipedia page will be edited once I find my hands.

11:07 p.m. - You know that part in "Don't You Forget About Me" where he's like, "Don't, don't, don't, don't"? I had that shit stuck in my head for the past hour. What if I want to forget about you, Simple Minds? Stop telling me what to do with your fucking leggings and... don't don't don't don't, don't don't don't don't, don't don't don't don't...

11:35 p.m. - Ho. Lee. Shit.

11:40 p.m. - Things are starting to make sense, and I realize that the drugs are leaving my body every time I exhale. I tried holding my breath in an attempt to stay on the ride, but I've seen things that I can't unsee, and I've heard things that I can't unhear, and I should probably feed this baby that crawled into my apartment at some point during the night. My only hope is that it isn't that creepy ass baby from Trainspotting that was all crawling on the ceiling and then fell in Obi-Wan's lap. That shit was fucked.

 

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