Patches of insight drawn from the prison of luv, embroidered by yo la tengo

In the interest of your and my search, allow me to donate, nay devote these certain sounds to the highway billboards of your consciousness- this exposure to your target market, opened and arrayed as an invitation to circle around, leaning against a continuous force, isolates the smokey flickr and stretched out combustion- stretching solid into dust and air- a moment of departing light- cars passing the window, the specimen shifts itself to nothing- a hard and dark salutation to departed light. And as it burns itself, the rhythm spectrum chews into the heartmeat of old and new time- it provides a distance and a space within which the patience fluctuates as a bending buzzcut sucking stone arch- thick and deep, wired into the earth, churning and breaking broken up on and of itself- accepting of the planes of passing sound within which can never find firm footing, tumbling with the cracked bones of the concretion...
-folding us all out into 2 dimensions of intentional space (once and for all within a series of moments)

just listen to the goddamn songs...

Pale Force

Let me introduce myself, young bloggywogs. My name is Ryan. I hope to help Dan emerge from his cocoon of hardened exoskeletal baggage and self-fulfilling mediocrity (perhaps, blogosphere, you can identify). Meanwhile, Dan will cheerfully lambaste me with devastating, relentless criticism of my voluntary purgatory of unconvincing platitudinous empathy. Let me tell you sometin' about ol' Dan: he's a thinking man's man, and he doesn't want to hear it, goddamnit. I'm more of the Conan O'Brian of the Pale Force mold: a wishy-washin-bed-wettin' sonofabitch, but I got sometin' in here (gestures toward torso), it may not be guts, it may not be a heart 3 sizes too small, but, you know, there's some twisted wiring and maybe a dinged' up computer chip (blazin' away and coughing up smoke) embedded in this body you've found me in. I suppose this venue's only prerequisite is honesty, if not personal, then existential; truth be told I don't know the value of Blogs, but Blog we shall! It requires reading, which I must confess an amateur stance to. I too want to be a writer; so it goes. Perhaps, though, we can all talk about some things we've read, which I do believe writing is all about: rearranging preexisting signs. Dan and I will hopefully accomplish something in this sense of collaborative analysis- we will exercise our notions upon one another: for humor's sake, as a dynamic spectacle, or out of boredom (could you imagine the ultimate creator of the blogosphere having a meaningful career?). Let this experiment in anonymous electronic essence commence!
Let there be no meaningful consequences! God Forbid!