Angry

My existence in Virginia seems to be at a pestilential climax. I feel as though I'm plagued by an artistic void within my own being, yet my being and existence is the barricade blocking anything from filling that emptiness. There is a will to write, and shouldn't there be a way to answer that desire? Yet there is no subject matter that entreats me to set it to verse or prose, no creative outpouring, and nothing to convince me of a subconscious masochism. There is, however, an abundance of disgust, and while much of that is directed at myself it's mostly toward the world at large. It's difficult to mingle with the idea that I'm a product of the society which I despise, that almost every single thing touched by the fabric of this American society is repugnant in my philosophy, yet its effects upon me leave me distraught nonetheless. I fail to remove myself from its wretched, materialistic, narcissistic and ill-informed grasp.

Today's offenses, to which this blurb is a direct response, are as follows:

I read Letter to a Christian Nation earlier today--it's a brief invective against the "moral" majority's crusade to cleanse America (and the rest of the world, too) of its atheistic and humanistic heathens. Sam Harris makes a simple case, one which is almost too easy to follow. His logic basically is there's a "right side" and a "wrong side"; if one religion is correct, then it would follow that the rest are flawed. If there's one tenet of scripture that's to be followed, then all tenets set forth in the scripture must be followed just as strictly. The Christian conservatives in this country are, to me, as scary and threatening as any Muslim "terrorist," though I'm not nearly as incensed by religious moderates and liberals as Harris seems to be. While I disagree with the existence of the Biblical deity known as God and therefore deem the Bible itself to be little more than an outdated, misguided and often insane dictum on morality, there are numerous sects under Christianity's umbrella who I've found to be open-minded and endearing folks.

If I had the energy, I'd delve into my thoughts on animal breeders and the banning of books in high schools, both subjects that disgusted me today. Those will be saved for another day.

Blah

According to this article on Pitchfork Media, a handful of indie rock bands have been commissioned to design t-shirts for Playboy's Sex and Music issue, or something. Metric, the Flaming Lips and Oh No! Oh My! are among the groups to grace the models with their designs, I guess. It's very disconcerting to see people you always assumed to be above these things, or at least full of enough artistic integrity, to avoid pandering their art to something like this. I guess you've gotta get rich somehow, though. Not much art for art's sake anymore these days, sadly, just art for money and a chance for fame.

Phonograph

Phonograph is an Americana band from Brooklyn. They sound a lot like Wilco, and get a lot of comparisons to Tom Petty as well. Arclight Records is releasing their debut album next week, though I've had the songs for about six months--while I was living in Austin I had planned on doing some work for the label, since that's their base of operations. Anyway, I think it's a pretty solid record, despite its similarities to other things. Someone from both The Mekons and Pere Ubu guest on the album, so that's pretty much all the cred needed.

"Watch and Ward" [Download]
"In Your Mind" [Download]

Sea Wolf

Sea Wolf is the project of Irving bassist Alex Church. I think it's better than Irving--he's got a lot of people on stringed instruments included and while it's not as poppy as his other act, the songwriting and lyrics are stronger. Stranded in Stereo did an interview with him not long ago, and the group is supposed to have a full-length record out later this year on the Dangerbird label.

"Black Dirt" [Download]
"You're a Wolf" [Download]

Bored Days

Unfortunately the library has given me only eight hours of work this week, which means I'll be struggling to cover some bills and my trip to New York City next month. I'm really not looking forward to the ensuing cash dilemma, but I don't know what else I can possibly do about it. I guess I'll manage, somehow.

Today's agenda is to write more mediocre reviews for Silent Uproar while making sure Strummer doesn't destroy anything. There's snow outside but I'm gonna try to make it to the gym later this evening.

I've also considered integrating an mp3 blog into this one, because while I enjoy sharing music with people, I don't have the time to regularly update a page made specifically for that purpose.

It's pre-noon and my brain and vocabulary are only halfway functioning, but Gillian insists upon me making a new entry in this psuedo-diary which only a handful of lonely, dull e-surfers ever happen to stumble upon. Less than that read it, I'm sure, but it's her birthday tomorrow and I suppose I can appease her in this simple way.

There's been a new addition to the family--last weekend Strummer became a big brother. The little baby this time is Shuggie, two months old and breed unknown. He started off acting like he was potty-trained, taking to potty pads like, I guess, a duck to water? Unfortunately he's decided he now prefers the floor.

I almost made a post the other day when I had something important to say, and was in the correct frame of mind to say it. When I find another moment of inspiration next time I'll try to not let it float away.

Blah.