Listening to Delirium Cordia, an album by Fantomas that is completely worth purchasing if only to hear Mike Patton's forlorn Gregorian chant. I've only listened to the album a handful of times, though I've owned it for a few years. I was looking for something heavy and manic and got the complete opposite. It is one long piece of music that spans over an hour. Ironic, given their tommy-gun approach in the past. It is also creepy, which is another reason I haven't listened to it much, scaredy cat that I am. Time has passed, however, and there is nothing I am afraid of anymore. I have felt the light of One Truth and I have overcome the illusion of separateness which all of us have been muddied by oh these many....
Oh, shut the fuck up!
Anyway, I'm listening to Fantomas and am loving it.
At my show the other night (which got a great review in the Somerville Journal - "Big Dummy Half Asses His Way Through An Agonizing Set Of Sub-Par Folk Music", was the headline. Ouch.), I began my set with a cover of Bob Dylan's Isis, one of my favorite songs. I rarely perform covers and why I chose this one, which clocks in at about seven minutes and has a shit ton of lyrics, a few days before the gig, I don't know. Maybe I'm a masochist.
Whatever the case, I learned the song as best I could and only managed to screw up some of the words. It was a joy to play. Dylan's version of the song from The Rolling Thunder Tour album is incredible. It's way more urgent than the original and the band roll through it with such mastery I get the chills every time I hear it. Every. Time. Son.
Before I took to his songs, I was an admirer of Dylan. I respected his guts and his willingness to follow his muse wherever it took him. I watched No Direction Home, last night. It's amazing, with some of the shit he went through, that he didn't flee from the business and sequester himself somewhere remote for the rest of his days. He was a pioneer.
Yoga soon. Perhaps after I finish this post. Been reading Jacques Vallee's Wonders In The Sky, which chronicles UFO reports from antiquity to the Industrial Revolution. There are five hundred in the book. So far, amazing stuff.
Took a break for yoga and a hot shower. A good session; I feel rubbery and serene. I usually practice right when I get home from work, but I came home later than usual and opted to eat first so that my session wasn't rushed. I made a delicious salad with mixed greens, raw cashews, baby beets, chicken, onion, black beans, carrots, and feta cheese drizzled with olive oil. I was going to favor tempeh instead of chicken, but I wanted as much protein as possible before yoga. For all I know, tempeh has a plethora of protein, maybe even more than chicken. Should have read the label. Anyway....
Last night I got into some shady business with some mint Milanos and cool ranch Doritos. I had eaten well throughout the day, so it wasn't a major problem, this toxic indulgence, but it made me feel....dirty, if ya catch my drift. These days, I find I can still enjoy eating crappy food, but the difference is I feel the aftereffects more. It's like getting involved with a woman who's wrong for you in every way because the sex is so good. After a while, the headache of such a relationship becomes too much and is sought out less and less. Hopefully.
Do I want to get into Downton Abbey now? No. I want to wrap this up so I can play music and dance like there's no one watching. Nope, scratch that last bit. Let's replace it with a vigorous, self-loathing masturbation session.
Holla!
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