If you absolutely lose your shit laughing at the whispering bit that's real and that's part of it

The Beatles don't mean much to me but I have one solid opinion on them that comes from a real place and definitely isn't a misguided reaction to any other more popular opinion and it is this: "Revolution 9" followed by "Good Night" at the end of the white album captures a very specific emotion that I find hard to describe but that I experience a lot, and it's the one and only thing I sincerely reckon nobody's done better than the Beatles did. You can absolutely opt out of the Beatles as a cultural thing to feel any kind of way at all about but that shouldn't keep you from listening to the last 11 and a half minutes of the white album at least once to find out if you feel seen the same way I do.

(It's a sister emotion to the one Swell Maps boxed up exquisitely in "Blenheim Shots" and "Raining In My Room", the last two tracks on Jane from Occupied Europe.  ) 

Bish bash bosh

I've spent four nights in a row writing something about parallels and connections between two of my favourite artists. It's much longer and more complex than I was expecting it to be, nobody has asked for it and there is a non-zero chance that nobody will enjoy it when it's finished.

I'm still going to finish it, but in the meantime, here's a fact that I can just state and not explore further: I have a drawer in my wardrobe which I have titled PURE, HIDEOUS WARMTH, reserved for items of clothing which completely wreck my physical self-image if I wear even one of them, but if I'm cold then at least they get me warm. Thermal shirts, trackpants, Explorer socks. Pure, hideous warmth.

Now that's what I call: a finished, and not unfinished, piece of writing.