A stunning chest-pulling, smile-giving evening at the Myer Music Bowl for the Yelling At Stars show (congratulations to all involved), surrounded by fog and concrete cold, we pumped our hams down to the Corner Hotel to see the Eddy Current Suppression Ring album launch, hard and loud and pulse-filled play. A warehouse of friends and fire-side burning. Misty-eyed morning.
And it is baby-blessings and engagement parties, such ADULT play, rinked with tea-lights in graters and patches for quilts.
And it is out for food, in a small well-lit delicacy that sits on your tongue.
And it is sewing and preparing and letting patterns play their own way out.
A drive in the country. Winery.Gallery.Lookout. Bathing in sparkling mineral water as the knots are kneaded out of the back.
And back. Blasted by the wind.
THERE'S NO FUN IN THIS. So ill. Poison in every muscle. Bedridden as the waking-dead. Fever dreams of soap-opera dramatic dying. Too many episodes of Arrested Development. The Bluth company will tear my head open.
Attack of the evil chi. Boo.
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