Icebox Records

It falls down like a struc­ture giv­ing way … every­thing at once. Torn between work­ing on the site and work­ing on the CD. They’re both there, 1/2 fin­ished, gawk­ing back this way. I hope the folks who are inter­ested in help­ing out with sights/sounds/words for this site will fol­low through. Good peo­ple, good tal­ent, and good inen­tions doesn’t always equate good (i.e., fin­ished) work.

And now, leav­ing for Brook­lyn and an ICU some­where in the build­ing I was born in. Ugh. Not look­ing for­ward to this. Pis­tol summed it up today as “going to say your good­byes”, and ini­tially I thought, fuck off, but yeah, that’s part of it. But on that … who do we say bye for? Or who am I say­ing bye for? Me? Fuck all, I’m in no mood to say bye, no. More for her (Nana, aka my grand­mother) I guess, but what’s the sense in that? Last moments, how long are you really going to remem­ber them, like up from under water at the peo­ple star­ing down at you, float­ing away, like seen through hot gaso­line air …

And Jason … ah, shit. It’s all scar­ing the healthy piss out of me. What­ever. Here’s a pic­ture of my desk. There’ll be a CD before March, and that’s all there is to it.