Found Art and Rediscovered Mixes
Locked in a deep freeze, I beat a hasty retreat to the relative warmth of my apartment tonight to hide from a chill I carried with me. Is "going home to warm up in the bath" a sufficient reason to leave work early? I hope so, because I did it...
Sadly Crowbar Headquarters has all the insulation of a paper bag, so the warmth is comparitive, at best. Current outside temperature = -29 C, current inside temperature = -19 C (estimated). It's a trade-off: you won't keep warm living here, but the sniper sight lines are awesome and all the entrances are defensible.
Tom Waits is like audio whiskey and his voice brings the heat of the barroom in with it. I supply the smoke and through the haze I can almost believe I see the glint of a raised glass, though that may be a reflection off the frost on the windows. I unearthed an old Onan The Barbarian mix tonight, crammed full of back rooms and pool halls, and while placing it in the CD tray I noticed for the first time that Onan had labelled it with his own peculiar brand of wisdom. This is what it says:
"I peed on the third rail of love and my dick exploded and smelled funny, so I put it in the plastic bag of understanding, where it remains. It costs 2 dollars for a plastic cartoon figurine of a nun flashing her cookies on Yonge St. but for 6 bucks I can see the real thing. Go figure. If life hands you lemons put the lemons in the freezer for two hours and when Life has its back turned smoke him in the side of the head. I bet Life doesn't mess with you for a little while. Pants are for the weak, remember that son, but Dad drank so put that in context. The only reason flowers smell good is because shit stinks."
Onan sees with a different eye than most of us, I think.
Sadly Crowbar Headquarters has all the insulation of a paper bag, so the warmth is comparitive, at best. Current outside temperature = -29 C, current inside temperature = -19 C (estimated). It's a trade-off: you won't keep warm living here, but the sniper sight lines are awesome and all the entrances are defensible.
Tom Waits is like audio whiskey and his voice brings the heat of the barroom in with it. I supply the smoke and through the haze I can almost believe I see the glint of a raised glass, though that may be a reflection off the frost on the windows. I unearthed an old Onan The Barbarian mix tonight, crammed full of back rooms and pool halls, and while placing it in the CD tray I noticed for the first time that Onan had labelled it with his own peculiar brand of wisdom. This is what it says:
"I peed on the third rail of love and my dick exploded and smelled funny, so I put it in the plastic bag of understanding, where it remains. It costs 2 dollars for a plastic cartoon figurine of a nun flashing her cookies on Yonge St. but for 6 bucks I can see the real thing. Go figure. If life hands you lemons put the lemons in the freezer for two hours and when Life has its back turned smoke him in the side of the head. I bet Life doesn't mess with you for a little while. Pants are for the weak, remember that son, but Dad drank so put that in context. The only reason flowers smell good is because shit stinks."
Onan sees with a different eye than most of us, I think.
posted by Crowbar at 12:45 a.m.
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