Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't write too much about my personal life on here. This is about the music, and if my personal life doesn't relate exactly to the song I'm posting then I should probably just shut up. So, I guess I just answered my own question, I'll just shut up.

But then I can't just shut up. That's kind of the problem. I'm forgetting that important lesson: constantly talking isn't necessarily communicating. I'm always explaining myself into corners. You can't explain the way you feel away. You can't make someone understand how you're crippled by choice. It's just not possible to make someone believe that they love you more than they should.

A lot of the bad things I have done to people in my life have been attempts to do good things, or at least this is a lie I tell myself so often that I almost don't feel guilty to repeat it here.

Just yesterday I did a marathon reading session (for me, a couple hours) and finished Bret Easton Ellis' "Imperial Bedrooms". In it, the character Clay from "Less Than Zero" returns to us middle aged. While his younger self was simply an indifferent zombie, this Clay is selfishly driven by past indiscretions to fulfill every whim he has. He has no apparent interest or care for anyone other than himself, and has no qualms with vaguely faking it if he has to. At the start, he plays victim, like the story isn't really about him, and that's kind of the mystery of the novel---because the actual mystery itself is basically handed to you, and Clay, by characters. Clay never figures anything out on his own, because he doesn't give a fuck---because from the start Clay knows it's all about him.

I don't know what any of that has to do with anything.

I'm worried. Sometimes I worry. Am I, deep down, just an indifferent blond-haired blue-eyed California boy like Clay? Will I always insist that the shit storm of bullshit I invite on myself is simply the result of me breaking a few eggs to make someone else an omelet? How the fuck do you make an omelet without any eggs? Can you tell me? Do you just not eat?

Oh fuck, listening to this song is going to make me want to skip out on the fourth night of the Saint Motel residency at Spaceland because Wye Oak is opening for Blitzen Trapper (all previously featured) the same night.

You see, this song is magical, and I just found partially complete lyrics while sitting here in the library, so of course I just had to put my earphones in (which are, unfortunately, normal iPod earbuds) and, of course, I'm high as shit. The air conditioning here is sublime, and I feel totally anonymous sitting in this vast building with so many words printed on so many yellowed pages---so fuck, I say to you, what the fuck am I supposed to feel but utterly blissed?

But no, my allegiance to Saint Motel is one of a freshly minted fan to a freshly minted band: silly, and perhaps misguided, but full of joy 'n vigor, so I'll miss out on Wye Oak... but it's not like I'll never see them. I haven't even listened to their first album yet, just this one.

The rest of the album isn't quite like this song, but it's still pretty good. For Prayer is a good song that is similar to this one (it comes before this one on the album, for instance, so their track numbers are obviously close to each other---Was that funny? No.) in the loudQUIETloud "pixies dynamic". the guitar goes dang-dang-dang-DAAnANNaNNNNNN--

This song was supposed to be in hello, my ghost but got edited out because the album's mix is much quieter than most modern albums (or my rip of it is critically flawed).

I can tell the guy across from me is annoyed by my machine-gun fire-like typing speed. I should do a speed test a couple times just to annoy him further.

What the fuck does 502 characters a minute measure to? This test is stupid.

This one gave me 96 WPM. That's cool. I'm focusing so much on typing tests I can't even pay attention to see if the guy next to me is annoyed. What a crock of shit. Totes backfire.