Its Monday. This music is great. I think that I've fallen in love with DBT again. It's one of those obsessions that comes and goes, sometimes I can't take the uneven pace that each of their albums always promises; but since I saw them the other night, I'm getting more into them again. The song I have listed is probably one of the most harrowing collections of sound that I've ever heard.

He was ready for the big trip, he was moving to the city; he had packed his prize possessions and gave away the rest. He was almost doing ninety, the sky was blue, sun was shining. All the shit, he left behind for the big world waiting there. He was almost out of Leighton, when that phone truck didn't see him. Hit the brake and slided sideways, he never had a chance.

Plastic flowers on the highway. Bits of glass for the machine to sweep away.
Had to pass it on my way to where I'z going. For the next few minutes, I drove a little slower.

There's always been something about southern rock that goes for my jugular--there's so much groove,so much depression, and whiskey. I guess it goes with my being a southern boy. I enjoy the stereotypes I fit: Sweet tea, fried chicken, reckless, and gun-loving.

Getting back to the song: I've never come across something that hits my thoughts so precisely.  I'll never forget the wreck I saw over this past Thanksgiving: coming into Athens from 129 there was this terrible backup of traffic. The police had diverted traffic to a street that runs parallel to 129 starting a half mile from an obstruction that we couldn't see as of yet. As we came around the bend with the Meximart  we saw two cars that looked like they had been run through a meat grinder and attached to a taffy pull. We were practically at a standstill on this back road, when we saw the transfer truck laying on its side. And then we were surrounded by weeping people. There's something truly confounding about witnessing something so horrific and having no emotional connection with it and then seeing someone who is just as much a wreck as the heaps of metal without even being involved. I'll never forget the fact that Leonard Cohen's "So Long Marianne" was playing. The strangest thing about the whole accident was that there were sneakers all over the road--I guess that's what the truck was hauling. We all sat staring at that scene for about ten minutes before we were allowed to move forward in traffic. Today there are three plastic crosses in that bend in the road. It turns out that the people driving the cars were brothers and one had pulled out into traffic just as the transfer truck rounded the corner. One car wiped out the other and the truck driver rolled his truck. All three were killed. The family decided that even the man that killed their sons deserved memorial. That's what being southern is about.  That was the first time that the idea of death really hit me, that I'd be another plastic cross with a plastic bouquet. Full of sound and fury and signifying everything.

Sorry about the morbidity of the post. Its just what's been on my mind.

And if anyone from Food Porn is reading, thank you so much for everything that you've shared with me.

Current Music: Drive-By Truckers- Plastic Flowers on the Highway

 Going to Drive-By Truckers soon. Hellz yeah. My face shall be rocked.

Current Location: couch
Current Music: Porcupine Tree

Its kind of cold tonight. Not the kind that goes right to the bone, its the sort of chill that seizes your flesh and wrings it like some sort of reversed indian burn. That was a terrible sentance, but in the true spirit of gonzo journalisim, I must leave even my most embarrasing verbal catastrophies due to my slightly altered state.

Its been cloudy and rainy for the past couple of days. The weather was being predictably strange, an indian summer one afternoon and seemingly subarctic at night. But tonight was really pretty; not a cloud in the sky and all of my favorite stars in perfect view tonight. I'm on a quest for the Milky Way belt, but I don't know where the fuck it is. I really don't know what I can say to justify my fascination with them, there's something so permanent about them that I'm unreasonably envious of. They get to be such a brilliant spectacle and I dont even add a spark to the universe.

Went to a really weird party. Weird in the way of friendly awkwardness with ex girlfriends and her best friends. People started asking questions about my Motorhead t-shirt, so I was given the pleasure of explaining to them the physical stature of Lemmy Kilmister. If you don't know about Lemmy, you don't get into heaven--terrible fact of nature. 

Other than that, the only thing I've done is played video games and worshipped Cthulhu. Ah, my generation at its finest.

Current Mood: high
Current Music: Opeth