Belphegor - 05-26-2005 - Updated Tue/Thu/Sat

Days Since The Sun

The weather in my part of the world is grey and apocalyptic. Winds destined to drive me into traffic, floods likely to destroy the entire population of ground-based mammalian life... I feel responsible. Jokes like this should be cleansed from the earth. The broom of Jesus will sweep my depravity into the pits of Hell when the Rapture comes.

Tonight, I go to see The Decemberists, a shanty-slinging bunch of melodramatics with a taste for ballads about revenge, poverty, and petticoats. I'm truly excited in ways that make my innards shiver and my loins quiver. Perhaps they will play "The Mariner", an epic about a young urchin who takes to the seas seeking vengeance against the scalliwag who seduced his mother and broke her heart (causing her to fall into madness and disease), and finding himself trapped with the villain in the belly of a giant whale (blue, sperm, or otherwise... teeth are mentioned, so perhaps not a filter-feeder). Or maybe we'll hear their 20 minute celtic-myth-inspired song cycle, "The Tain", which rocks me in special ways unrivaled by quartz or bauxite. Or maybe something here-to-for unheard, a nautical sob-story, or whimsical Victorian jaunt, or existential inquiry into the profound scope of the english language...

We shall, in fact, see.

PS: The Supervisor Demon is not in fact from any cannonical text of infernal apocrypha, but rather a manager I once had. Actually... he's most of the managers I've ever had.