Friday, April 11
i love it from inside anyway (i lurve it, i loave it, i luff it.) it's not so much that i don't believe in as that i've never managed to keep hold of raincoats for long, or galoshes. and i can see by the paths to sharples (though i'm starting not to be able to see them, as the trees in willets courtyard bud) that i'm going to wish i had 'em.
my gap between classes should somehow encompass fifty or so pages of judith butler, which will be interestingly punctuated by the dash (it tends to happen that i miss it in the fall and make it in the spring) and advising.
your generation confesses
before it transgresses
those secret movies
of daddy in your disco dresses
what i wanted to say about music:
like, screw pitchfork (yesterday.) i can see where they're coming from on the tengo - it really is a bit of a disappointment next to <3 and ø, and as their guy said it hurts to write that, but he might have been a bit more honest than me there ("brilliantly consistent" is a praising-with-faint-damnation subtle way of saying it's a little bit boring - á la dale's picking yesterday vespertine as his favorite because it's even-keeled), though from any other band it would still be an incredibly near-perfect record. but after what they said about my boy cex, i don't know if we can be friends anymore. too bad for them - they should have printed my review of that album when i sent it to them back in october, then i wouldn't have to be mad.
also: what the hayl language are the cocteau twins singing in? sure don't sound english to me.
and these lyrics don't in fact make any sense, do they?
to think of what we've been
and not to kiss again
is like pretending
this isn't the ending