Even as I leave she’s still walking the stage, taking and giving flowers and hands, smiling and talking.
If I wanted some beefy, macho shithead to yell at me, I’d join the Marines. Or call my fucking dad.
She’s from Finland, apparently. Remind me never to go there.
I want a little glamour around my presence: glamour is the last thing I possess right now. I don’t know if I’ll ever recapture that mood again.
I’m trying to avoid working here, so here’s another excerpt. Taken from 2001, I believe. FRIDAY AUGUST 17 2001 Clever, friendly and articulate, I notice I have no memory of the events that transpired more than three days hence. The sun beats down upon a town of ingrates and foreign students, each more desperate than […]
They couldn’t play live for shit when I saw them at ATP in January, but neither could Mazzy Star back when I last saw them in 1990, now I think about it. Anyway, these Sydney ladies are way more Opal than Mazzy Star, and all the better for it. At least, they are when they forget […]