(or, the internet hermitage of tyler w. weaver)
Filled out the hospice's survey / questionnaire re: my grandfather's care (with a black pen, and yes, I was certain to fill in the entire bubble): 10+ when they showed up the day he died, 4-5 for the week and a half I didn't see them between admission and death-eve but hey at least they're paying the postage now and they did get him that bed he liked.
In order to not run out of infusion sets while I await the incoming delivery of TruSteels, I've broken into my stockpile of AutoSoft XC 90s (which I fucking hate) and am, at present, waiting to see if I've already cocked the thing either during the overly-complicated insertion or by general movement in the moments after, the only way to be sure is to see if I reach into the realm of puke-inducing hyperglycemia for the next couple of hours and spend the rest of the day feeling like ass while hunting down a supply of TruSteels because yes, I would rather have a sliver of metal stuck in me for three days than deal with these plastic little dixie cup “innovations.”
Another recent Bandcamp find: rollicking, undulating psychedelia (think The Necks meets Jack White by way of Tanya Tagaq – though my description barely scratches the surface). Just hit play and read their own words:
Have a feeling this – and all of their releases – will be on heavy rotation for awhile.
Last week being the week of better-late-than-never first exposures to late 50’s-on NYC luminaries: first, John Cassavetes and SHADOWS; and now, Chester Himes and A RAGE IN HARLEM. By the end of the first chapter, Himes made it to my "favorite authors" list: character, rhythm, fury, life, hope, horror, love, hate ripping from every page. Everything I hope for from crime fiction and then some, another body of work to be devoured.
