He was listening to the radio, meantime. When he rubs his eyes there’s popping sounds like bubble wrap.

The head is a barren field, a superfund site where you’re told not to sit down on the strawlike grass. When he thinks his head makes popping sounds like when you dunk a cup in a sink full of water.

He ate the watermelon, which calmed him. The keen fruit smell filled the room. Eating watermelon was a fruity dive that made his lips smush like blossoms.

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Ah what a magnificent song. The robot, here, is reminded that there are not enough new moments in his life. Not enough significant changes. Not enough moments of trembling sublimity.

I never quite understood why death is the mother of beauty. But it makes more sense to me with each year. It’s that sense of impending life changes, when certain possibilities die and new ones arise. It’s the impermanence of these possibilities that makes them so keenly sought.

The best experience you can get from music is that first impression: that first time the song REALLY hits you. Sometimes it’s the first time you hear the song. Sometimes it’s the 20th time you hear the song. But there is always that moment when the song makes its impression on you and you feel its personality and its babbling melodies. The rhythm suddenly deeply clicks with you. It communicates. The tone seems like destiny. A song only has original power once. Everything afterwards is a comparison, in a sense sentimental.

During the winter months I’d put this album on and pass into the, reverie of the album. Strewn to a bed in the sky, I’d lie in sleep paralysis — fire crackling forth from my soul.

It seems the times I most enjoy a summer moment are the times when I’m lying on some grass with nothing to do. Sitting there for an hour while the barrier between where my mind ends and where the summer afternoon begins disappears. The mind and summer afternoon become one. It must be what cows feel like when they’re grazing.

I remember, driving through endless hills of Idaho fescue, Wyoming cows. The hills so hardy, their rugged vegetation with the weathered look of ramblers.

In the city that summer were rambles into crannies beyond facades of concrete. One beyond was the river valley that, though it snaked through the city, seemed like it was always hiding. In a little opening amid a wall of trees and shrubs one could find the pathway. It’s on the side of the street that has no sidewalk. (That street that broods in summer afternoons, so shadowed by trees). You don’t know where it goes. And you’re walking down. And you catch some cool whiffs of basil and earth. All the way down, until you’re out of the trees.

And now the vast river valley unfurls, twinkling before you. The prairie grass waist-high. How did I not know about this? The city is up on either side, arching high above with the bridges. Things move in a light wind. Sitting now, staring at nothing and everything as the sun goes down. As though your shoulders were your eyes. The barrier between where your mind ends and where the summer evening begins disappears.

Have you listened to any music from Surfer Blood? I downloaded their newest collection of songs, TAROT CLASSICS, last night and have been listening to the four songs non stop ever since. They’re everything that was good from bands like Pixies, Weezer, Strokes and Blink 182 all rolled into one. It’s poppy, guitar-driven stuff that sounds like a Florida beach in the same way Blink 182 would sound like Southern California suburban sprawl and Red Hot Chili Peppers would sound like the scarred, psychedelic unconscious of Hollywood.

This is one of those songs that is so good that, along with all the joy and visualizing it inspires, it’s also discouraging. You realize, if you like to make music yourself, that you might not ever be able to make a song this good.

But also, there is no musician who can pump out songs like this routinely. This is the kind of caliber song that most musicians never even achieve (concise, gemlike, zeitgeist vibe, etc). When it does happen, as it has here, you have to think that luck played a big part. Of being able to have access to your tools right at that moment of fleeting inspiration when you’re unconsciously channeling something. And even so, there is so often so much loss of fidelity in that conversion from what you hear in your head to what you end up being able to record. It might end up being a huge letdown and you lose steam and the song never happens. But then sometimes you get that initial feeling, you’re able to faithfully render it into sound, and then you find yourself further inspired within this new world of sound you’ve started to create. And that’s when it really lifts off.

I had this song on repeat for about two hours earlier today. Love how though it’s mainly electronic with the arranged voice samples, drum machines, and synths, it still sounds human and natural. A little sloppy and loose in all the right ways. It’s also a great music video too. It’d be fun to be at a club when this song starts playing and go crazy in the middle of the floor: feeling the mass of human rhythm around you, the way everyone seems to move slowly in unison when you’re not focusing on anyone. But focusing on one person you’re reminded of how good music can make dancing people so intriguing.

A human being is a part of the whole, called by us “Universe,” a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest—a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness.

-Albert Einstein