i’ve got nothing to say.
really. the well is dry. the udders are dusty. the uterus of my mind is like a barren wasteland, replete with tumbleweeds.
i’m preoccupied with finishing the next record. so all interesting thoughts have been pushed aside by thoughts and concerns regarding such fascinating subjects such as ‘compression or not?’ ‘1db of 8k or not?’ etc.
can’t you hear the tumbleweeds just blowing around in the wasteland of my mind? have you ever seen a tumbleweed up close and in person? they’re tough little critters. you expect them to be kind of soft and fluffy, but oh no, they’re tough. if one were to hit you you might be surprised to find yourself kind of scratched up. and people would ask you, ‘why are you all scratched up?’ and you’d say ‘i just got hit by a tumbleweed’, and they’d look at you with a new found awe. cos very few people have an encounter with a tumbleweed and live to tell the tale.
like i said, i have nothing to say.
quote of the day was a journalist asking the guards at guantanamo (camp xray) if the prisoners were allowed to wear contact lenses.. wait, these are guys who lived in the mountains of afghanistan and we’re thinking that they might wear contact lenses? pray tell where does a member of the taliban find bausch & lomb contact lens solution whilst in the bombed out ruins outside of kabul?
‘oh, excuse me, i have to take a break from battling the infidel because i have to disinfect my contact lenses’? not to be redundant, but i really have nothing to say.
which means: sleep. one good thing about being dull is that i routinely bore myself to sleep. maybe tonight to bore myself to sleep i’ll try to remember what i bought when i went ‘back to school’ shopping in the 8th grade.
have a lovely day,
-moby