Parts-and-Labor-01Parts & Labor

Parts-and-Labor-02Parts & Labor

casiotone-for-the-painfully-aloneCasiotone for the Painfully Alone



Sian-AliceSian Alice

Young-Marble-GiantsYoung Marble Giants


The-Jesus-LizardThe Jesus Lizard



grails…and packing my earphones for the weekend.

[I haven’t finished my homework yet.]

Gone Darker



Official Electrelane re-appreciation week.

Which also reminds me how much I love Emma Gaze’s artwork.




Girolamo Frescobaldi (1583-1643), Engraving by Claude Mellan, 1619

Girolamo Frescobaldi via Spotify. Sheer brilliance.


Oh my broken lamb
I worry when you cry
Baby’s gonna fetch ya
Horses in the sky

Though dead hands ring the garden
And these are violent times
And violence brings more violence
And liars bring more lies

Though we was born defeated
Worried, tired and scared
And monsters build mean robots
Launching rockets into the air

And the wealth of our nations
Fed on angel blood
And our cities shot with moneyed schemes
Built on twigs and mud

And our schools look like prisons
And our prisons look like malls
And downtown’s just a sick parade
Where no-one cares at all

And our hero’s all died crazy
Broken, poor or shot
Let’s celebrate their tragedy
And sanctify the loss

And manifest the daydream
Like those who fell before
And glorify our small attempts
And hate ourselves no more

Blow words between these sucker’s teeth
And bind these panicked hands
Lose your heart like a clumsy bell
Please be well

And all true love
Is the light
In my sister’s darling eyes

ASMZ | Horses In The Sky

six_million_dollar_man_xmas_adventuresimage credits: dogwelder


Just came back from a Thermals’ gig. And for some reason I’m shaking. It could be the double espresso (traditionally from Camden’s Hot Rock Cafe) I gulped on my way back in order to be able to finish the work I have to submit tomorrow. Or the fact that I realized I’m flying back to Greece in less than a week. Or both.

I can’t stand the bus these days. I had to walk from Embankment back home. My mp3 player had nothing but some Pulp tracks loaded. It started playing Mis-Shapes in shuffle.

Mis-shapes, mistakes, misfits,                                                                we’d like to go to town but we can’t risk it
Oh ’cause they just want to keep us out.
You could end up with a smash in the mouth just for standing out.
Oh really. Brothers, sisters, can’t you see?
The future’s owned by you and me.
There won’t be fighting in the street.
They think they’ve got us beat, but revenge is going to be so sweet.
We’re making a move, we’re making it now, we’re coming out of the side-lines.
Just put your hands up – it’s a raid yeah:
We want your homes, we want your lives,
we want the things you won’t allow us.
We won’t use guns, we won’t use bombs
We’ll use the one thing we’ve got more of – that’s our minds.

I don’t want to go back to Athens. For the past week I’ve been refusing to listen to the greek radio or open the group e-mails with photos of ‘war scenes’ at Exarhia. It’s not the riots. It’s not the landing. It is the fall. And I was there seeing it happening, only to leave it at the back of my mind. All the phonecalls from friends going on and on about how miserable things are, my best friend’s 600-euro temporary job, the smoke from last year’s fires, the videos about the recent corruption scandals I didn’t watch.
Last night, E. was showing me the photos from Exarhia.

She said: “There is one thing I don’t get. What the hell is this weird mass of objects in the middle of the street? Rubble? Melt objects? Where does it come from?

From the back of our minds, maybe.