What? Who?
The following is a handful of our current circa 2o25 doings - dicey and dithering - where we pride our skeins in this tiny corner of the blithernet on bellowing well below the underdumb. If this has any percolations in your mug, then by gums... Read on, fellow vertebrate!
Slept Embers, Septembryos, Et al.
It is early yet and so we will post accordingly. Perhaps there's a sense that a slight scrambling is going down and off to an uncertain finish, and so the the information arrives in trickles, tickles, wrinkles, and fleas. Nevertheless, may we present the following accounts? Shore 'em up we say, emphatically and explicit, and per usual, tighten the wise knots.
Adding to the fodder and feeding rube, introducing the following accommodations with relevance, reverence, and elephants - to there being many heads in the sand, trunks and all.
As you might have gathered we do enjoy sending envoys. Every smudge, slice, and spicy button press could be a portal to other seasons of the lair. Not to worry, we would never whisk you off to the mangrove of computer bugs and sneezes, although we are not very modern and so the coding we use might just look kiddingly dumb, or render the eyes to desire elsewhere gyration. Press on, we say.
If you have a minute, we would love your audio score for this here blobular film. Entries can be emailed here.
Lastly, we will be scooting over to a new page starting next month. We are confident that you know what to do.
Aughs and Gusts.
Wending our way backside proper, we offer you the following findings in a sea of brine, boulder, brassiness, and brew. Business as usual is never quite the kicker, but to add lipids to regularity only results in a sadness squeeze. So, buck the heckle up, friendster, and imbue the following as testament to tithes, tights, and tottering tinkles, with simple wimps left to bray at their snotstril stains in the cough cough phone of bland-tasting tomes, drone bemusing, and the entire state of sullenary sedition.
Presenting the following fallen follicles and oracles:
July fries.
Speaking of nasal passages and as far as the skies can sneeze, we will attempt the following chicanery. Buddy Fest has always been a treat, and it'd be understated to say we are simply thrilled to attend once again. What more, the yellow flier is by our old pal, Jason Hodges - whom (many years ago) graciously did up a t-shirt with the similar extramammalian armed depicto. And so, yes, we will be venturing to Richmond, too. Further locations on this jaunt, specifically Raleigh, can be investigated by furthering your father flanger down the layline to get a pail of blubber. Apologies too, as we post these images when they arrive, ergo the time distortions and calendar mismatch tomfoolyoutwice. Failing that, we have a relatively active IG feed with all the trappings - and it's even kinda linear. Hup! Hup, hup!
And we would be a raft to not indulge you with certain findings. Which is to say we also continue to make stuff despite what a friend acknowledged as a shortage of audio releases on our behalf. Need every recording be a release, record, or cassette? Eh, maybe, and also maybe not. A lot gets poured into mic manufacturing too, and their funk clicks can wriggle side eyes in any number of formulas. The shiny shines below are some testimonial ditties we have been concocting in the shop for ageless antiquity.
June inasmuch. The month sees a spin easterly, hurtling words and uncovering data, as well as old combs, logos, squarely placed idioms, and tired batteries that come with warnings not to be offered as Halloween treats - all that which smells and taste tests like a brackish squarewave stuck in some kelp and oyster piss and ample toxic runoff, and yet, this presses positive, as where else would this uptick transpire than a trundle up the stairs in Sturgeon's Barn. And, as one can see, a tankard of radon water even induced the following breeches below. Go on, click a pic - like moths to flannel!
May 2o25. If you can find it, get this book. Obtain it, borrow it, buy it, plead with your local library to carry it, encourage that last remaining record or DIY bookstore in your neighborhood to have a few on the shelves for that one persistent teenage audio explorer who might be in search of something beyond the numb and dumbening despair of doom scroll, and by all means, have one ready on the coffee table when the thugs break down your door looking for their fahrenheit 451 moment of glory.
We are ever grateful for this document of noise. It reads better than any memoir on Ayn Rand or Aldous Huxley or the band, Alabama. It betrays the present state of objective toothlessness, too, with revelry and truisms about love and joy. And what better, our dear old friend Ron gave us ample nods - good loarde, he dint hafta - plentifold grins and regales and tales about our times together in the late 9o's and early aughts. Our best guess is that nobody would believe it were it coming from these particular gums, receding as they are. We get that a lot, too, from the ones who were too young to remember, that, yes, we were and are still are pals with Ron, GX, Pat, Mark, Chris, Jessica (the list goes on); we have simply gone on with our own times on planet blue, full of memory, and wary of coming off like a grandfather clock in the corner, chiming the creak and gloat of better times, when the sins of the signatures still accompanied our chins. What better read, though? We would offer a few recipes, were it up to us, but the droll lines read like a day in the record store - all the banter and laughter and cringe - and community, the most important thing we noise folx got, that tangible and sublime sense of uplift that brings out the best in human. Thank you, Ron and Frans.
In the interim, at the time of this writing, i.e., the midst of May, we reckon that we did at least witness some damage - not only to the pills, but their fokkers, too, shooting straight into the thyroid, all the while booting ginsome dithers into scoops of forage with a mighty swear-sword, a fuggem-all tutorial dictum edict, sending the pithy wanks scurrying, or so we told our cold elders much later in the timeline. Twofold hammers even anchored in, meeting our chalice of malware err to crud pressure lessons in thrusty encrusters, twin nips, like, whatever; a steadfast rollover popinward, poop hooting word adage incur cursory spurns such as: GALL, INK, and SMEH, the ponce of pump straps wearily withering once the rump ministers bellied up and finger middled the latent class fullfaced, were if they ever to, and machinations mooning, the day committed to the following disclosures.
April scripts, if you must know. What? Who? Why yes, and of course we have (or had) been steaming, silly. The ashes built up by neofissionist devivalism and their herr salud cacophonizers have also beckoned our finger selfies - the aforementioend middle one, yay - with the phollowing bitten pillow tithes and crumbling orchard of shipping valors. It is a beverage induced vertical cluckfest, all the snowmelts and oils leaving obvious diapers and oblivion coup from the murk we all knew about in thruple que, unique unqualified unabashed, and so, squeak the husksteria out of its grim spasm and stickly lingo, dammed up and frozen tills, all the figures given peeps and pepper lozenge, mightily, un-some, unitrue uncloven clenchers, benchsea aloof, fight truth with bales of bollux to rectango the ruly rue and sear their gout laden jowls through, sewer wet sung and fact failure, codify and redirect the semicolon, by gums, and in its wake a hake slapped and denounced. Interim deposit nightly: condemn them, period.
... and, were if that not dumb enough, times being whaaat they are and all, there is a something something lurking on this here text generated fisk, which is to say, click away and stay queasy...
Hen-hecked and hairy, a hoary reminder of tides (scripted simply as doug) bray a slowly ululating murm into rial tactilia and vorpal clung amps and shit. This rhyme, barely able to vamp and crisp, could not be less leary or larry of cheering axes and an axis bolt to row the ray. Gore the flesh? Cirmcumstanzas reprobation, by all steaks handled brimly and shunned, would and roar a wooden oar to pineline stencil gotter, a sin and seventeen work effrottage of guile practical et norms, worms, born againsts, and chesting, finest sins for a paramour pluck iDuct the eYes and soaring, boring, imploring placation holy rama, daze inward glamping shove, a busted lest we scary air the err in heirs, tongues pekid with green garment scales, time is a baste after toils, a boil one squeezes leases from at towards insurance failures to batten snatching gesticules, lumbar oils, frenetic genepool minus the dews of moutain lore, a purity behest to silo jaws atop the nearish fare farce value, yes we will repent to your foil, after signage along the watch glower fees are staid, stapled, and thripled.
Ahhh, whoops.
Needless to say, our link embed process was a bit too cumbersome for the mobile forecast, and so we have been compelled to split, divide, and continue said newness paging mechanism here. It goes to show you that our machinery is still not a dreamy foreshadowing of digitzed ghosts but a stiff lingo whose dialect lingers, rusts, and suffers from ample tankards of trust. All the same, it is a good thing to refresh.
Click on this here fisk to view the prior grims, if so inclined:
