Friday, January 29, 2010

The Scream of the Butterfly!





I hate caterpillars. Every summer they used to form huge communal cocoons in my families peach trees. We burned em' out with torches (WD40 and a lighter) with no appreciable decline in the local butterfly population. The peach jam which resulted was none the worse either (really good on beer bread - by the by).

Even though I abhor their squishy little bodies, and their ability to inch their way up every exposed cuff and each unguarded plate of tatter salad, it's their body of musical work which is on the plate here, with just as many legs under it (How many legs does a Caterpillar have, anyhoo?).



Here, by request, is the Stranger's Caterpillar Crawl pressed on California's Titan record label (See: Surfmen) and like those fucking' writhing viper pits which hang from the aforementioned trees, this post is practically busting at the seems w/ bonus bugs.



Case in point; I actually prefer the Roommates 59' version to the original. It kinda has a seedy locomotive vibe to it (Think 'Ghost Train' by the Swanks), and as for the Caterpillar Song by the Caterpillars, what can I really say but fuck them Beatles...the Caterpillars are where it's at... provided they don't molest my peach trees any further (There's Brandy in them thar skins).

Caterpillar Crawl - Strangers

Caterpillar Crawl - Dick Dixon (& the Roommates)

Caterpillar Song - Caterpillars

RedBoy XXVIII





Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Lookie Loo!





Fresh from an all expenses paid spa treatment and hummin' like a set of dumped headers, this-here Fisher 400 has now taken the place of my dearly departed, if not much-maligned stereo receiver (It blowed up). What can I say; it sounds so good that now I have to replace all of my other second-rate audiophile crap I scammed out of area garbage cans. Regular posting to resume shortly. Stay tuned.

Monday, January 18, 2010

1 Million Served; 1.6 Critical Violations Per Inspection





Four out of five recitivist offenders agree: syrup goes good w/ just about anything, even assholes. And while assholes are definitly off the menu, Waffle's, on the other hand, are a great & well balanced way to start off any post.




Being a man of my word, here is another gem from the Wafflehouse jukebox for those patient readers w/ an unnatural adoration of all things waffle-centric. Eat up...waffles, I mean.



Waffle Doo Wop - Eddie Middleton

Don't Forget to Pay Ur Exit Tax, A$$hole.





RedBoy XXVII





Friday, January 8, 2010

"Liquor Filled Statues of Elvis Presley; Screw His head off and Drink Like a Vampire!"





Here's to the only musician who's decapitated effigy I'd be willing to drink skunked Jim Beam out of...

Happy Birthday, King.

Something to Consider Should This New Year Turn Out Like the Old...





Suspiria De Profundis (Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow)

Thomas De Quincey (1845)

"Oftentimes at Oxford I saw Levana in my dreams. I knew her by her Roman symbols. Who is Levana? Reader, that do not pretend to have much leisure for very much scholarship, you will not be angry with me for telling you. Levana was the Roman goddess that performed for the new-born infant the earliest office of ennobling kindness,—typical, by its mode, of that grandeur which belongs to man everywhere, and of that benignity in powers invisible which even in pagan worlds sometimes descends to sustain it. At the very moment of birth, just as the infant tasted for the first time the atmosphere of our troubled planet, it was laid on the ground. But immediately, lest so grand a creature should grovel there for more than one instant, either the paternal hand, as proxy for the goddess Levana, or some near kinsman, as proxy for the father, raised it upright, bade it look erect as the king of all this world, and presented its forehead to the stars, saying, perhaps, in his heart, “Behold what is greater than yourselves!” This symbolic act represented the function of Levana. And that mysterious lady, who never revealed her face (except to me in dreams), but always acted by delegation, had her name from the Latin verb (as still it is the Italian verb) levare, to raise aloft.

This is the explanation of Levana, and hence it has arisen that some people have understood by Levana the tutelary power that controls the education of the nursery. She, that would not suffer at his birth even a prefigurative or mimic degradation for her awful ward, far less could be supposed to suffer the real degradation attaching to the non-development of his powers. She therefore watches over human education. Now the word educo, with the penultimate short, was derived (by a process often exemplified in the crystallisation of languages) from the word educo, with the penultimate long. Whatever educes, or develops, educates. By the education of Levana, therefore, is meant,—not the poor machinery that moves by spelling-books and grammars, but by that mighty system of central forces hidden in the deep bosom of human life, which by passion, by strife, by temptation, by the energies of resistance, works for ever upon children,—resting not night or day, any more than the mighty wheel of day and night themselves, whose moments, like restless spokes, are glimmering for ever as they revolve.

If, then, these are the ministries by which Levana works, how profoundly must she reverence the agencies of grief. But you, reader! think,—that children are not liable to such grief as mine. There are two senses in the word generally—the sense of Euclid, where it means universally (or in the whole extent of the genus), and in a foolish sense of this word, where it means usually. Now, I am far from saying that children universally are capable of grief like mine. But there are more than you ever heard of who die of grief in this island of ours. I will tell you a common case. The rules of Eton require that a boy on the foundation should be there twelve years: he is superannuated at eighteen, consequently he must come at six. Children torn away from mothers and sisters at that age not unfrequently die. I speak of what I know. The complaint is not entered by the registrar as grief; but that it is. Grief of that sort, and at that age, has killed more than have ever been counted amongst its martyrs.

Therefore it is that Levana often communes with the powers that shake a man’s heart: therefore it is that she dotes on grief. “These ladies,” said I softly to myself, on seeing the ministers with whom Levana was conversing, “these are the Sorrows; and they are three in number, as the Graces are three, who dress man’s life with beauty; the ParcoeĊ“ are three, who weave the dark arras of man’s life in their mysterious loom, always with colours sad in part, sometimes angry with tragic crimson and black; the Furies are three, who visit with retribution called from the other side of the grave offences that walk upon this; and once even the Muses were but three, who fit the harp, the trumpet, or the lute, to the great burdens of man’s impassioned creations. These are the Sorrows, all three of whom I know..."


The entire essay can be found here.