The PK 27 -- Track Five
I've been drinking, but this is irrelevant. As the minutiae of my life begin to settle and my social and working myodesopsia subsides, I am finally finding time to find time.
It began with the completion of my tax return on Halloween. All souls and offsets. Then, my unprecedented - in the sense of it being without precedent - second consecutive win in the Melbourne Cup backing a horse known, et tu Brute, as Efficient. I also finally managed to watch Seabiscuit. Needless to say, it has been an impressively progressive two weeks.
It culminated last night, around 11pm, when I read TMH's sterling little Darkly number. After which it occurred to me that I need to get the 27 out of my life. William G is about to pen his own 13 and I know, deep within my amoral fibre, that the cunt will finish it before we do. It further occurred to me that the 27 thing doesn't even calculate. Did I miss the calculation memo? Do I divide it by 6 or 5? Either way, it doesn't come out to a whole number. Which makes sense, if I refuse to think about it.
But I regress.
Like Darkly, I want to get back to random glimpses of beauty that make us no money. PK is at its absolute best when there is no plan A and no plan B. I'm saying we get the 27 done, storm the vault and walk out with Zoe. Because that, dear reader, is what Eric Stoltz would do.
So, I'm getting this done. Track 5? In the blog world, we will always be the Brian Jonestown Massacre.
Fuck the Dandy Warhols.
3 comments:
I'll see your Fuck the Dandy Warhols and raise you a Fuck the Arctic Monkeys. There's bad music, and there's mediocre music; and damn my soul if I don't despise the latter more than the former.
Re: the 27
Sometimes I get crazy visions, son. [Word.] Sometimes I mail my ears to past loves (not both to the same gal, mind you). Sometimes I feel I don't have a partner; sometimes I feel like my only friend. And as much as I am ambivalent towards jazz, PK is jazz (like a motherfuck), or, to associate it with a similar art that I'm more familiar with, a freestyle cipher.
For my part, I play it by ear. Because I don't have any. Ears.
Worrd to Gangstarr, Main Source, and OC, I'm ready to throw a wild pitch right about now.
You and me against the world, Denzel.
(And any cousins or sisters your wife may have. That'd work good too.)
Dandy Warhols rock. Go Portland.
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