please re-post this link. it is going to be taken down shortly.

download the never finished final this song is a mess but so am I album here.

yeah, freddy already played is final show. but i was in chicago, so i am going to book the reunion show this summer at a house party in the south bay. clues: fourth of july, hermosa beach, pennywise. see you there.

why do you always present me as ugly? am i ugly?
do i just try too hard not to be ugly that you must make sure i know that, i, in fact am?

“She’d say, ‘You didn’t come last night and this morning I took it out on my plants, I didn’t water them at all because of you; the garden will get ugly, you’ll see.’”
-Blood of Requited Love, Manuel Puig

jamie and caralee, move to LA.

look at this.

HOTLINE #14…..!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!……
HAIRLINE #14……….!!!!!!!!!!!!……
SLIT LINE #14………….!!!!!!!!…
SOUNDS
SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
CAN YOU PLEASE SAY THAT AGAIN?

fuck oakland
i fucking hate this towne
to kill oneself in oakland is redundant

it is hard as an american, if of a somewhat borish,middle class suburban , albiet of a freakishly desperate artistically inclined background to really present without being excessivly prosaic as to what it could mean to have, for the second time in one’s life, two weeks to spend in a sublime foreign city. the only premeditated task at hand being, with good friends, to make a record about sadness and violence and history. well prosacism cannot be denied, it was, by God, in Italy.
Blood Oranges, the wrapper of being spiccio. the concerted study of, being Spicchiology?
as i type this i am watching an italien film about terrosism in italy in the late 1970s. i did not know anything about this time until the men of larsen told caralee and me about it over wine.
now in america it is all that washington says, “terror.”
but they already knew and were ready to push past and through it again, holding our historyless hands.
before recording everyday i walked by a tower where that in the1300s the town excicutioner lived and where the bones of the people he was paid with taxes to behead were buried.
the oakland police department? please! werehouse shows? barf!
the souls of unbaptised infants live in the black painted and bured cathedral cum gallery where one of the three XXL guitarist curates art music shows. not to say that europe knows all but it has hurt itself for 2000 years and in america we have only just begun.
if the last XXL record was romanitc and fun , this one is broken and superior. look at your self! your matress is embarassed that you give it a job.
the farfisa is a real one, not a sampler. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA !!!

toni morrison
poems are not a luxury they are as normal as bread.
to jump from the towers holding hands you have found the meaning of life. did the terrorist and the pilot hold hands? why is that so hard for you to believe and so easy for you to go war?
their whole lives was different, protecting themselves from marauding
white people.
black woman writer, oh so boring, so limiting white males french writer?
instead of accepting it i would force people to wear it and see what would happen. but black music is the distinguishing feature of american music.
i am repelled by being called a continent or a blunt fact, to talk about rank is an embarrassment it is just a way to not talk about the book, i am not beguiled but it.

v.s. naipaul.
the nihilist who wish to destroy the world have nothing to put into its place
fundamentalism leads to nihilism and- this leads to tyranny.
i am the sum of my books.
you have to write about people who are losing their way, even in the developing world.
no one here understands early Christianity

orhan pamuk
the army could extinguish the conservatives.
someone could shoot me in the street but
my national reputation has protected me but not a Kurd.
i am criticized for not being enough of a Turk but as soon as i am out of my country i am only a Turk.
i want to believe in this God who is making this beautiful snow fall from the sky.

amy tan
where, where are they, the ghost of her mother. it lives on my computer. hello are you there? do you miss me?