zx3 @zx3@driveinsaturday.org

i love how Depeche Mode's "Black Celebration" is less an album and more A List of Red Flags about Your 37-Year-Old Goth Boyfriend

also love how "A Question Of Lust" turns into an Erasure song once Dave reaches those higher register notes

what a fantastic Death Abyss. tell the others.

#noreason

i have been taken down by a bout of terminal lethargy, and have spent most of the weekend in bed, not having fun.

my brain problems have been many and complex lately, but i think i can sum it up fairly simply:

Nightmare Mode now comprises 97% of STRUCTURE X. PRESIDENT FRANKENSTEIN is MIA. there is no contingency plan.

waiting is my only option.

i haven't been speaking up much. not here, or in my few usual spots. either the thoughts i have aren't worth externalizing, or what i want to talk about feels too...unwieldy to put in words. it's like trying to strain gravel through a sieve. i simply don't have the language.

i'm bitter, i'm tired, and i'm waiting.

but...maybe i should speak up a little more often. shake the sieve. see what slides through.

bear with me.

here i am.

celebrating the 20th (+ or -) anniversary of The Postal Service's "Give Up," one of exactly three good things that happened to me in 2003. this is, most likely, unless...holograms?...the last chance i'll ever get to see Postal Service (yes, and Death Cab) live. and that's fine. i guess. i'm not fond of finality, but the world keeps reminding me that finality doesn't need to be liked. it just shows up. and you must deal.

i hate how old i'm feeling. and the chance of a transformative event in my life transpiring to make me feel young again sounds both unlikely, and if it did happen, intensely painful to weather.

i think i could make it work if i could somehow derive sustenance from music. some albums are banquets, some are a pilfered donut in the break room after everyone else has gone home, others are that meal you have after a funeral and nobody knows what to say. "Give Up" has been, for me, a movable feast that never fails to sate and then make me yearn for more as soon as it all goes quiet again.

2000 mg of painkillers, iced coffee and the "Clockwork Orange" soundtrack.

[sigh] let's FUCKING go.

i am still here, just not checking Masto as often as i used to. i will swing back eventually.

you are all still doing very well. don't stop.

how am i? well i'm currently in my "reading 'Valis' for the fourth time" phase in my mental health journey. so...yeah.

brb, cheese

i say that as somebody who gets military fetishism to an extent. guns and armor and planes and tanks are cool. i like GI Joe and Metal Gear as much as the next dumbass Gen-Xer. but i dont want to go to someplace and see the same people who are currently shooting poor people in the face in impoverished countries walking around thinking they look badass. you don't. the difference between you and a guy dressed like Michael Myers is that the people you are emulating have a real body count.

if i ran a fan convention where people dressed up as various characters, my number one rule would be for anyone who wants to cosplay as a soldier in BDU's for a modern military outfit or an "operator" (read: corporate mercenary); their con ticket will cost seventeen swift kicks to the crotch with steel-toed boots. and then $50.

fuck that shit. dress like Sailor Moon or something. i don't care how much you like Cawla Doody. keep your warboner out of my festivities.

one more before bed, ran into a couple of Minnesota cousins at the family reunion. the purple one wouldn't shut up about Richard Baseheart, and the other two just wouldn't shut up.