Upon the field they clash and strike
Each attack intended to end the matter
for no blow is unsportsmanlike
no lust believed the domain of the satyr.
(Refrain)
Crashing shields and broken spears
These are the things left on the field
Fear behind the false veneers
Led by rancid hate unconceal'd
Bakersfield? Buck Owens? What?
No evening blues, so, how about, maybe, Kind of Blue
Ah hell, make it an OT too, though I won't be tending it at all closely
Greetings cyber_comrades, I am out of pocket today. I decided to skip The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival and meander over to Merlefest.
I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Was just forwarded this via NPR (apologies, I'm loathe to support those Neoliberal hucksters pretending to be journalists).
The death of rocker Tom Petty in October 2017 came as a result of an accidental drug overdose with a toxic mix of drugs taken for several ailments, including a fractured hip.
The results of an autopsy were released Friday by Los Angeles County Medical Examiner-Coroner Jonathan Lucas.
Nowadays there is a fair amount of electronica on YouTube that really helps me with working existence. And this is, as of today Tuesday, the early part of the work week, so I'm in the soup. Some sort of musical accompaniment has to soothe the increasing annoyance I feel that, given the increasing foreboding we feel at the system's ultimate doom, we're still trapped within it!
maybe this could be one of them?
Start out with this famous classical musician...
And that guy with the glasses who looks a bit like his Dad...
Or the young woman (well, back then) who looked good in stripes...
I've been missing the friendly confines of c99 for a while. As usual, wonderful, thoughtful essays have been consistently posted since my last visit. Now if you expect thoughtful from a reptile, think again. I left my swamp a few weeks ago to visit my sister Alice in Southern Florida. But, damn, this Harvey guy was the biggest blowhard I've ever come across outside of DJ Trump and HRC (aka HerM).
Nope. No music videos. Nope. No praise of musical style or of musicians. This essay is about musical preference and growth and maturation. Thinking about musical preferences in my case led me to consider how these preferences arose. I cannot talk in particulars because each of us has own preferences in music--and in friends, food, politics, and most everything else. If this essay turns to first person, as it frequently will, does not mean to imply about any one else's preferences.
We're not here for a long time. We're here for a good time.
- Guy Martin -
I remember my parents getting this vinyl single when I was a teenager. I wish the family still had it; it would be a valuable collector's item now. By some random process of free association, my thoughts drifted back to this old barbershop quartet number:
Oh yeah I was nattering on about art, street and otherwise, mostly alternative and counterculture. I checked my 'essays' and found I gave up the ghost sometime during the surreal election. So now I'm back to do the Sunday OT. I'm finding during this madness that I'm once again turning to art. Old and new.
I can hear the cries of disbelief now.
"Gaming Music? Really? You're talking about those blips and bleeps and heavy metal loops that don't mean anything?"
Nope, not at all. What I'm talking about is the cream of the crop. The music that like opera and and the greatest of film soundtracks, manages to create an environment and an emotion. In many ways audio is more responsible for the immersion of some of the greatest pieces of interactive fiction ever made.
