Lowlife highlights

Dear folk(s): I'm somewhat sorry for the long silence, and genuinely sorry for leaving that goddamn poem about "goddamn" up for so long. God damn, but there's no topic more topical than "goddam(n)," what? Your arrogant narrator's been a tangle-limbed distractopus these many days, as he's sweated over contract work, underprepared to return to college this Wednesday, seen a buncha bands, and changed a googolplex of soggy diapers. Some highlights of the past few weeks include:

--Catching Iggy & the Stooges, the Decembrists, and Kinski with Messiahbomb Michael at Bumbershoot. Iggy's bellowed "motherfucker"s could surely be heard all the way to Kentucky.

--Seeing Dead Can Dance at the Paramount with good son Elric--our first show jointly attended, and long overdue for us both. Elric's heard them his whole life, so was a day of reckoning for us both. And such a show! Less than half way in, I stopped believing Lisa Gerard to be a human being. Nothing recorded even suggests the sublime terror of that voice--not needing a microphone at all except for the soundboard recording--which combined with her flowing robes and pulpit-like music stand to suggest a church service which God attended in the poor man's pews. And paunchy bald greybeard Brendan wasn't bad either.

--Attending the blessed wedding of Oomingmak and her beloved Jmichiko, or rather of their secret identities. The Genuine Right Reverend Messiahbomb performed the service, held at a rustic hunter's lodge in the wild woody east, where children romped on the lawn for hours and everyone remembered what love was.

--Attending New Model Army's show at the Tractor--a letdown from their last more stripped-down and immediate affair, but still powerful... and Jesus, Justin's eyes!

So much for pleasures. This week's the one to consume me. I'll do my best to be less stingy about the coming details.