Remember that day or two where this site had a black background? It was totally the Cocteau Twins' fault. Listening to The Pink Opaque makes me want to dive headlong into the ephemeral and start putting up weird blurry photos instead of observations and arguments. It makes me question why I'm so fond of the concrete specifics of pop when I could just bathe in the psuedo-goth dreamglow and transcend language entirely. The problem is that this morpheous quality is an illusion. I'm really listening to tight verse-chorus pop songs caked in gibberish and lots of effects boxes. My need for form is being appeased while my conscious can bask in enigmatic beauty devoid of agenda. Most bands who attempt this shtick either unable to hide their human fallibility (usually earthbound wordplay or an explicable band - ugh, how corporeal) or fail to involve me with their listless whale-humping. I've got a taped copy of Heaven Or Las Vegas my aunt gave me in high school around here somewhere, but I'm worried that if I listen to too much of their work my critical receptors are going to detect artistic evolution and I'll be stuck with unmystifying reality again. Nuts to that.

I used to have hair like the guy on the left.