Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").
got that wrong
fun social media stuff
Like my brownhouse:
eyes on the delta
Thursday, November 9 2000 Don't blame me; I didn't vote.
Don't blame me; I voted for the loser.
Don't blame me; I accidentally voted for Buchanan.
This is an account of something a friend and I did about a two and half years ago, as written by that friend: [REDACTED]
You lean back,
Why don't we pay our bill? you ask,
Yes, why don't we? I want you
At least let me get the tip, you say.
I lead you up
Pool players go through the motions.
The no-smoking room is deserted.
I turn and let my arms admit
Loud people come and go.
We get up eventually--
Down and out and round
You push me against a cool tank
We walk back to the car
Do the headlights of the passing cars
I feel faint,
I drive like a boyfriend,
I don't know where to go.
"It wasn't that it lacked a certain regular repetition of beats over time, but I wouldn't say it had rhythm. And it wasn't that the musical notes didn't bear a certain mathematical relationship to one another, but I wouldn't say it was melodic. In dance music you need to build tension and release tension. In this music all it did was gradually build and build and then squander the tension."
It's analyses like these that leads me to think of Frank as something of a Matt Rogers figure.
For linking purposes this article's URL is:
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