Twisted Treatises

  And that's how I know I'm done writing for the day. The story this clip is from has been and still is a royal bitch to write. I'm about halfway through the whole work, which is to say the bones of the first draft are written and do hold up. Shakily. To reach this point, I've had to veritably give up this blog for damn near a month (or was it more?). But I have to blog as well or else I get to feeling like a bit of a lazy twat. My occipital lobe doesn't get any exercise and that fucks with my center, see. Now, it should take maybe twenty minutes or a half an hour to write one of these, right? Hell no.   Why? It still has to be somewhat right.  Because if a piece people are going to read isn't right--doesn't matter how many readers it is--the writer is going to stew in neurosis at every idle moment over the piece. Luckily, I can go in and edit my blog when I want to. But what if I couldn't? Better yet, what if I learn to think like I couldn't by not

I have loved Nick Cave's music for a very long time. Christ, almost three decades. Sometimes I have trouble believing I've been alive for so long. I hadn't listened to Cave in years until about two weeks ago when I thought I might like to check on his body of work for newness. Or maybe I was checking back up on life. Since struggling to regain myself after so many years smacked out on the street, I feared checking my periphery for the old me. I fairly just wanted that fuck to die. Only that fuck is me and I can't merely ignore him to death as much as I'd like to. When I saw Cave made a record called "Carnage" I wondered if he'd endured a similar thing. Fellow (EX) junky, you know. It goes that way with us.  From the first track I knew I'd hit home. "Hand Of God" at first sounds like someone going down to the river to be baptized. The line, "let the river cast its spell on me" conjures up images of baptism, but close listening re