Tuesday, December 28, 2004

i'm at rehearsal. i'm not rehearsing at the moment. i'm in the kitchen, talkin' to salad, waiting my turn. we're rehearsing for brett's solo-with-band front-man escapade at the derby on thursday night. tomorrow night, the genitals have a show. brett's been rather focused on his show, yet managing to take care of business all the same. growth and change. new opportunities. branching out.

evangina's gonna do it again in long beach, first wednesday of the new year. my mom's in town. she just met my boyfriend's mom. it went alright. the mom's chatted and the boyfriend tried to locate his cousin who was just arrested for assault. he didn't do it.

holy shit. i just got called in to play tamborine.

i'm not kidding.

Wednesday, December 22, 2004

when "other than" really isn't an option... i'm left with just being myself.
poop. woot. hooray.

i've been feeling kinda blue lately. perhaps it's the season. perhaps its the perils of finding myself in a relationship after many, many years of unwillingness to be in a relationship. as soon as i find myself *in* one, i remember why i was unwilling. it is scary and at times painful. it strikes me as almost completely unneccessary. i do not understand the purpose and function of romantic relationships, other than for breeding and rearing children.

i'm reading this book about love. it's not a self-help book or anything, it's a study on the nature and chemistry of romantic love. lots of research about brain chemistry, neural networks, animal behavior. it pretty much verified for me that the reason for the evolution of romantic love *is* in fact for the purpose of breeding and rearing children. mystery solved. we get duped into it for the sake of humanity. it's totally natural, all of it. the agony and the ecstacy. anthony de mello can suck my teat, today. the zen-masters may try to free us from the pain of desire, but that shit seems to be hard-wired in there... the attachment, the desire, the longing.

it appears that *my* mode and manner of loving is more like that of a praire vole, and *his* manner of love and affection is more like that of a male grizzly bear. interesting.

i like milton's version of the adam and eve myth in paradise lost (if i remember it correctly). instead of the common biblical interpretation that SHE gave HIM the fruit and got them expelled (hateful source of a chasm of distrust, suspicion, and animosity) milton tells it as a love story. after discovering that eve has eaten of the tree of knowledge, adam eats as well, out of love. he would rather be expelled from paradise and trudge the road of difficultly with his eve than remain, alone, in paradise.

i'm such a dork.

read lisa's blog.
we're gonna lay it on the line tonight. no holds barred, bleeding heart bingo. good times.

Praire Vole: (yes, it's vole)

Friday, November 12, 2004

i'm exhausted. just worn out. it's so peaceful.

last nights show was wonderful. a great turn-out for a thursday night, and so much love. it's the love that floors me every time. so many hugs and smiles and excited people. our limited pressing of the first album sold out. my mirror-image reverse screw-up unicron shirts sold out. folks are feeling it and it left me sitting at home, wearing nothin' but my socks, wrapped up in blankets, just sittin' there for a minute and feeeeeeeeeeeling it.


holy shitballs.

how do i thank you all? how do i thank the people who play with me, the people who listen to us, the people who give us places to play, my employer who lets me have a ridiculous schedule and run my band site off the work server, my boyfriend who delights in my schizophrenia, his folks who dig me, my mom who supports every jack-ass adventure I invent, my siblings who think I'm cool, my landlord who took a chance on me, then let me move my closest friends and bandmates into the building, my best friend who defends me from the peepers, all the boys I loved before, whether they know it or not, John Maus, who gave me my first guitar, John Brandt, who gave me bass lessons in New York, Tim Emmons, who taught me the Sergio line, Gordon Torncello, for keeping me safe all those years, Alana and Alice, for making the world so lovely, Lisa and Brett and Jones and Dub and Claire and Irina and Melissa and Goodson and Shaughn and Travis and everyone that's put their energies into me. the list goes on and on.

can you tell I'm feeling it today?

i see an ad campaign coming on.....

Gratitude. Feel it. Live it. Dissolve in it.
You won't regret it.

Are you feeling it?

Friday, November 05, 2004


Dear Friends,

Ok, it sucks. Really sucks. But before you go and cash it all in, let's, in
the words of Monty Python, 'always look on the bright side of life!' There
IS some good news from Tuesday's election.

Here are 17 reasons not to slit your wrists:

1. It is against the law for George W. Bush to run for president again.

2. Bush's victory was the NARROWEST win for a sitting president since
Woodrow Wilson in 1916.

3. The only age group in which the majority voted for Kerry was young adults
(Kerry: 54%, Bush: 44%), proving once again that your parents are always
wrong and you should never listen to them.

4. In spite of Bush's win, the majority of Americans still think the
country is headed in the wrong direction (56%), think the war wasn't worth fighting (51%), and don't approve of the job George W. Bush is doing (52%). (Note to foreigners: Don't try to figure this one out. It's an American thing, like Pop Tarts.)

5. The Republicans will not have a filibuster-proof 60-seat majority in the
Senate. If the Democrats do their job, Bush won't be able to pack the
Supreme Court with right-wing ideologues. Did I say "if the Democrats do
their job?" Um, maybe better to scratch this one.

6. Michigan voted for Kerry! So did the entire Northeast, the birthplace of
our democracy. So did 6 of the 8 Great Lakes States. And the whole West
Coast! Plus Hawaii. Ok, that's a start. We've got most of the fresh water,
all of Broadway, and Mt. St. Helens. We can dehydrate them or bury them in
lava. And no more show tunes!

7. Once again we are reminded that the buckeye is a nut, and not just any
old nut -- a poisonous nut. A great nation was felled by a poisonous nut.
May Ohio State pay dearly this Saturday when it faces Michigan.

8. 88% of Bush's support came from white voters. In 50 years, America will
no longer have a white majority. Hey, 50 years isn't such a long time! If
you're ten years old and reading this, your golden years will be truly
golden and you will be well cared for in your old age.

9. Gays, thanks to the ballot measures passed on Tuesday, cannot get married
in 11 new states. Thank God. Just think of all those wedding gifts we won't
have to buy now.

10. Five more African Americans were elected as members of Congress,
including the return of Cynthia McKinney of Georgia. It's always good to
have more blacks in there fighting for us and doing the job our candidates

11. The CEO of Coors was defeated for Senate in Colorado. Drink up!

12. Admit it: We like the Bush twins and we don't want them to go away.

13. At the state legislative level, Democrats picked up a net of at least 3
chambers in Tuesday's elections. Of the 98 partisan-controlled state
legislative chambers (house/assembly and senate), Democrats went into the
2004 elections in control of 44 chambers, Republicans controlled 53
chambers, and 1 chamber was tied. After Tuesday, Democrats now control 47
chambers, Republicans control 49 chambers, 1 chamber is tied and 1 chamber
(Montana House) is still undecided.

14. Bush is now a lame duck president. He will have no greater moment than
the one he's having this week. It's all downhill for him from here on out --
and, more significantly, he's just not going to want to do all the hard work
that will be expected of him. It'll be like everyone's last month in 12th
grade -- you've already made it, so it's party time! Perhaps he'll treat the
next four years like a permanent Friday, spending even more time at the
ranch or in Kennebunkport. And why shouldn't he? He's already proved his
point, avenged his father and kicked our ass.

15. Should Bush decide to show up to work and take this country down a very
dark road, it is also just as likely that either of the following two
scenarios will happen: a) Now that he doesn't ever need to pander to the
Christian conservatives again to get elected, someone may whisper in his ear
that he should spend these last four years building "a legacy" so that
history will render a kinder verdict on him and thus he will not push for
too aggressive a right-wing agenda; or b) He will become so cocky and
arrogant -- and thus, reckless -- that he will commit a blunder of such
major proportions that even his own party will have to remove him from

16. There are nearly 300 million Americans -- 200 million of them of voting
age. We only lost by three and a half million! That's not a landslide -- it
means we're almost there. Imagine losing by 20 million. If you had 58 yards
to go before you reached the goal line and then you barreled down 55 of
those yards, would you stop on the three yard line, pick up the ball and go
home crying -- especially when you get to start the next down on the three
yard line? Of course not! Buck up! Have hope! More sports analogies are

17. Finally and most importantly, over 55 million Americans voted for the
candidate dubbed "The #1 Liberal in the Senate." That's more than the total
number of voters who voted for either Reagan, Bush I, Clinton or Gore.
Again, more people voted for Kerry than Reagan. If the media are looking for
a trend it should be this -- that so many Americans were, for the first time
since Kennedy, willing to vote for an out-and-out liberal. The country has
always been filled with evangelicals -- that is not news. What IS news is
that so many people have shifted toward a Massachusetts liberal. In fact,
that's BIG news. Which means, don't expect the mainstream media, the ones
who brought you the Iraq War, to ever report the real truth about November
2, 2004. In fact, it's better that they don't. We'll need the element of
surprise in 2008.

Feeling better? I hope so. As my friend Mort wrote me yesterday, "My
Romanian grandfather used to say to me, 'Remember, Morton, this is such a
wonderful country -- it doesn't even need a president!'"

But it needs us. Rest up, I'll write you again tomorrow.


Michael Moore

Friday, October 29, 2004


At the stroke of Midnight (more or less) under a full moon (more or less) The Red Demon breathed what might just be its last breath at the mouth of the 110 freeway in Pasadena, California, USA.

I offer up this epitaph, which was one of the first bits of prose ever to grace the Genitals site, back in the Borrego Days of Yesteryear.

It fared with her as with the storm-tossed ship, that miserably drives along the leeward land.

Know ye, now, the Red Demon?

Glimpses do ye seem to see fo that mortally intolerable truth; that all deep, earnest thinking is but the intrepid effort of the soul to keep the open independence of her sea; while the wildest winds of heaven and earth conspire to cast her on the treacherous, slavish shore?

But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God -- so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be gloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!

For worm-like, then, oh! who would craven crawl to land! Terrors of the terrible! Is all this agony so vain?

Take heart, take heart, O Demon! Bear thee grimly, demigod! Up from the spray fo thy ocean-perishing -- straight up, leaps thy apotheosis.

The land seemed scorching to its feet; Wonderfullest things are ever the unmentionable, deep memories yield no epitaphs .

Aye me....

So it goes, the cycle of life, the inspiration and expiration and life and death of it all.

Shall I repair her?
Would it be nothing more than sentimental foolishness to hang on?

As I said before, and I'm sure to say again:

I've been know
to hold on
to the bones
long after
the meat
has gone.

Monday, October 18, 2004

it's a crazy little posse we've got forming. growing in numbers. united in a feeling that can't even be put into words but we signify it by pointing to the banner flying with the L-O-V-E in biggun letters made of that gooey stuff that is pumpin' through your guts just after you hang up the phone with the one you're really feeeeeeeeeeeeeeelin' it with, at the moment. whomever they may be, on that day, at that time, in that instant.

i once fell in love with a man riding a bike up a hill on a hot day, simply for the effort he was exerting. i love effort. i love the effortless, too. but shit on a sandwich, do i ever love effort. right effort. right thought. right practice. in a world without right and wrong. how completely audacious!

it is hard for me to make a sentence go in any one direction. luckily... when reading (in the english language, and a few others) we move our eyes from left to right, top to bottom, and follow the phrase withersoever it goes. (e e cummings had some other ideas) however, the instinct of the masses remains. the hoi polloi, in general, reads LEFT to RIGHT.

when listening to another speak -- save for flights of fancy, blank spots, possible drug interference and intentional or unintentional ignoring -- we listen as we live, in real time, experiencing linearity, following the narrative, abstract though the subject matter may be, withersoever it leads.

all i ask on this night like any other night is the courage to follow, withersoever thou leadest my aching frame, to heed the call of adventure, wheneversoever it heralds, and to love. dear god, to love. to cultivate the unconditional giving of self to thy chillin's and plebs. thy hoodlums and wackos. thy dejected, rejected, snotty and shitfaced. oh lord, sweet lord, daddy of the sugars, momma of the chickens, sister of the lovesick, brother of the bigness, cousin of the unconscious, uncle of the uglynasties, friend of the faithless, lover of all things just as they are and however they may want to be... give it up. give it up to us like a 5am jackpot after a long night of pullin' dry on the one armed bandit.

i can see it. it's already happening. it's as ridiculous and pathetic and gorgeous as it can be. the love is raining down, everywhere i'm looking. the sky is fucking falling and it's about time. the rain is helping it all soak in.

Sunday, October 17, 2004

today is one of those days.

an entire day has been wasted. or, rather, i spent a lovely day with my boyfriend. it rained. or, more specifically, it rained on my car. my car that has no roof. my boyfriend let me drive his car home, so i wouldn't get rained on. i cried in the car on the way home... i'm not sure why. it had something to do with the temporary sensation of the unfairness of all things and the fact that i can't seem to ever be sufficiently "honest" for my own rigorous quality standards. time. money. space. perception. the haves and have nots. the hard and the easy. the simple and the complicated. the simple hard and the easy complicated. the utter unknowability of anyone. diseases and treatments and treatments that are worse than the diseases themselves. i am tired. soooo tired.

i've been having one of those fish-bone jammed in the throat feelings every night lately, or at least on the nights when the boyfriend is in the bed with me. i find myself wanting to tell him that i love him, and the wanting to tell him that i love him makes me feel like i'm choking on a fish bone. (understand, he already knows, see... it is not the big "reveal" that i am speaking of here, but simply the g'night & g'bye chattering relish and repetition of the sentiment)

so, what exactly is it about the saying and repeating and assuring and vocalizing of the love pledge that i seem to think is so necessary and/or important? (not necessary enough to actually say it, though, just wanting to want to enough to choke on the bone and NOT saying it, thereby, one would hope, relieving myself of the affliction of both the bone AND the desire to say it in one simple utterance) who am i trying to convince? who is in need of these vocal cues and assurances?

simple? hard? easy? complicated?

where choking is involved, fear tain't far behind. i think confusius said that.

fear of the fear of the fear of the fear.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

I live in a world of pain. I ain't talkin' about the ills of the world and mass psychic human suffering, neither. i mean straight up, in my body, aching burning crippling fucking PAIN on the 24/7 and it just don't stop for nothin'. Save for a hump. In the midst of a hump, it's a pain-free zone. Or at least something powerful enough is happening that I am not tuned into the constant hurting. At work... it hurts. Even when I sleep... it hurts. Sometimes when I'm driving, the frosty bites of my topless vehicle hurling down the freeway and the lack of safety and guarantees on the freeways of Los Angeles are sufficient to over-ride the ache. Sometimes when I'm deep in thought or laughing really hard, it spares me from the act of feeeeeeeeeeeeeeling. For a bit. But then it comes back. The hot coals in the shoulder. The baseball-bat cross the upper-back. The chronic migrane. The calf-muscle ever-threatening to seizure in a full-blown Charley-horse. This is the frame I live in. This is the body that I beat senseless for 29 years. I am neither surprised nor resentful. More than anything, I am amazed that it has held together so well. A sigh of gratitude and a stretch. Bones crack and the neverending flame burns on. I hurt.

Monday, October 11, 2004

live music
live music
photo by: livemusic

Evangenitals on Phone Cam...photo by Steve Diet Goedde
Well... That party last night was something special. Alana (aka Rev Mindy Chiu) did it up right at the Hotel Cafe and laid down a spread of good eats on which even my pre-show jitters couldn't deny me some good-time chewin' and grubbin'. I ate. I wore a dress. I was wrapped in silver with a tiara on top. Lisa tried to put fake eyelashes on me, but glued my eyelids together and one of 'em kept curling up on the edges, so no falsey bat-bats for me. Don't fret... I was still wearing the flippity flops. Ya don't stop.

Douglas Kearney hosed us all down with fire and brimstone from his flapping hip-happening lips of action. The man is a poet. Fascinoma tore it up. The addition of a bassist has catapulted them into some seriously rockin' terrain.

I'm digging the little big family we've got growing up around us. Everywhere we go, it gets more and more home-like. That's the trick with having a posse. Rather than rely on Fast Food Restaurants and Strip Malls to make us feel at home, wherever we roam, we just keep doin' shows with familiar folks. And the family is growing and growing, good vibes a'flowin'.

Please forgive the mad rhyming. Doug Kearney put the music in me.

Next up The Derby, Greatest Hits Show. 11pm on a Friday Night. That's a hot ticket. There ain't no buddy bands on this card, neither... so we're depending on the friends and family to show up, fill the rug, sing along, and help up warm our newest home away from home away from home... the world famous, movie-magic, built by Cecil B Demille (you can thank brett for that trivia-bit) DERBY. We're taking requests for this one... so bring 'em on. Tell us the show you'd like to see. Let it be. Set yourself free. Give it to me. What up, g?

Friday, October 08, 2004

so... i'm a bad web writer. i admit it. i don't have the flow. the consistency. there was a time in my life, not too long ago, that every little thing that happened was immediately filtered into cyber-space. the reach, scope, readership, interactivity excited me. i had cyber-friends, cyber-chats, cyber-love affairs, cyber-plots and counter plots. it was exciting. and what happened? the well ran dry. it stopped working. the "reality" (as opposed to the virtual-reality) of it all hit me. whilst my mind and fingertips were engaging in all sorts of relations, my body... this shell, this vessel of fleshy meaty goodness that "I" lives in was just sitting around getting headaches and backaches, staring into the glowing void. it depressed me. my inner hippie started its lonesome revolt, attempting to rouse the support of my legs and arm, lungs and eyes, demanding a return to some sort of "nature"... demanding fresh air, exercise, liberation.

it's a slow process, recovery. i get out sometimes. it's still necessary to put in some time with the beast. to make some money, pay some bills, answer some emails, check some links, spread some news.

i wonder if my back and shoulder and head and legs didn't hurt so bad.... would I stay in more or go out more?

i got love for the beast. no doubt. welcome to high tech. reach per millions. the world wide web.

Monday, September 27, 2004

i have a headcold. that's the name for it. my sinuses are clogged. i feeeeeeeeel like my nose is running constantly, but it's not, cause it's stuffed up. the taste of the sickness is hanging dank in my throat. feels like there's something in there that if i only pushed hard enough i could make it come out. i'm tired and the hot-coal in my shoulder is burning like hell.

my mom is coming to town for the derby show. i had to reserve her an airport shuttle, cause we're gonna be practicing when she arrives. i hate being sick. the simplest things get hard when i'm sick. and singing ain't no breeze, neither. no sir. luckily my vocals can be a little raspy and squeaky and still fly. evan-tastic. wee-haw.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

i like raccoons. those suckas are freaky rat-monkey hybrid creatures with the mysterious eyes and picky fingers. walkin' with the hind legs a little bit higher than the front. runnin' with the stiffness AND grace. trippy little thieves. kinda big little creatures. i wanna find a baby runt and bring it home. raise it with love and kindness and let it sit on my shoulder. vaccinate the beast for rabies so when it bites the hand that feeds it, a bitch-slap will suffice. no choppin' off heads or rabid juli's and shit. i got love for the 'coons.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

yeah yeah yeah.... so i'm a hippy. so what. everybody needs to read this....

On Love
(An excerpt from "The Prophet" by Kahlil Gibran)

Then said Almitra, Speak to us of Love.
And he raised his head and looked upon the people,
and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest
branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them
in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant:
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire,
that you may become sacred bread for God`s sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you
that you may know the secrets of your heart,
and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life`s heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only
love`s peace and love`s pleasure,
Then it is better for you
that you cover your nakedness and
pass out of love`s threshing floor,
Into the seasonless world where you
shall laugh, but not all of your laughter,
and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself,
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed:
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say,
"God is in my heart," but rather,
"I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course
of love, for love, if it finds you worthy,
directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
and give thanks for another day of loving:
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love`s ecstasy:
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in you heart
and a song of praise upon you lips.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

You are a neurotransmitter. You believe in the
good-naturedness of man's biology and soul.
You're happy, everyone's happy, and no one will
ever take that away from you. Or else you'll
make them go insane.

Which Biological Molecule Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Friday, September 03, 2004

things get confused. i don't really know which blog is for what. i got a livejournal. i got my own column. i got a web forum. i got a job. i got the band site to tweak. i got the calendar and news to update. i got emails to which i haven't responded. i got plays to direct. i got a mother i don't call enough. i got a boxing trainer who misses me. i got a sick boyfriend. i got myspace and friendsters. i got a car and an apartment. i think i got shit. i think i got something. i got a band i believe in. i got friends i love. i got a smile on my face and a taco salad. all is well. all is well.

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

so so so.... sunday august 1st was my birthday. i turned 29 years old. i am now in the last year of my twenties. i don't really feel much of nothin' about it all, since i've felt like a nerdy 13 year old ever since i was 10. what can ya do?

there's certain birthday's that i'll never forget: my 21st on the corner of 9th Street & Avenue C in Manhattan, downstairs from my apartment at the RedBar, then BarCode, now who the hell knows... but there's still a bar there. I know that because when the clock struck midnight this year, I happened to be in Manhattan, in the midst of one of my more jackass adventures, and went for a walk down to my old corner...

the bar is there (under new management) the pizza joint i used to have deliver when i was too fucked up to take the stairs 3 flights down is there too, the chinese place i blamed for the mouse epidemic... there's a ton of new cafes and fru-fru digs down on C these days. the puerto rican panderia is gone, but the laundry is still there and there's more public gardens, making trees happen in the cement. it's alright. some things change and some remain. la dee dah.

we stopped in a Waffle House in Ohio on the way to Chicago from NYC the next night and Chaorta played me happy birthday on the jukebox. that gesture made the birthday stick in my mind. i'll remember where i was for 29.

i experienced homesickness for the first time on this trip. full-on. mighty pangs. homesick, lovesick. there's no place like home. (ironic that i even drove through kansas, twice, on this trip) there is no place like home. didn't even know for certain that i had a home till i went away.

i had a friend who used to say, "let's leave so we can come back"... i always liked that. the homecoming is a good thing. the heart exercise of missing everybody was good. the hard work and horrors of the road were spiritually edifying. i will take much from my journey, learn the lessons it offered up, have no regrets... never fear. walk away, stay put, whatever, whichever. nothing matters. it's all good in the hood. gravy, baby. let me be at peace. 2 weeks of sleep deprivation will now come to an end. g'night my friends.

Friday, July 16, 2004


the lord is my companion, i shall not fear.
what can any man do to me?

Monday, July 12, 2004

my favorite kind of lover (and it don't happen all too often) is the kind that is also your best friend, your trudging buddy, and your partner in crime. the kind of person you can fuck up in front of, laugh so hard that liquid shoots out of your nose, get mad at and then drop it a second later like a forgetful goldfish, touch 'em whenever you feel like it, tell 'em what's on your mind, be fearful and fearless in the same moment, wear funny hats and play dumb games, have a healthy on-going competitive streak, respect the hell out of them, find them both awesome and humbling, both like and poke fun at each other's friends, be each others greatest fans and honest critic, and at the end of the day curl up like two peas in a pod, enjoying the feeling of being seen and being known by another human being.

my friends, i think i may have found a keeper. for as long as it lasts, till the wheels fall off.

i like him.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

pool shark julio throwin' down the mad skillz in switzerland, for your viewing pleasure.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

The Evangenitals have a ritual... and we're not ashamed to admit it!

Every Sunday round about 9pm you're pretty sure to find us (often after a nice fish dinner) sitting down round the televisor to watch Vincent D'onofrio laying it down Columbo-style on Law and Order: Criminal Intent.

Like me, you may have had your first encounter with Vincent when he appeared as the tubby young psycho Private Pyle, taking soap-beatings, gettin' gun crazy, and blowing his brains out in the latrine in Kubrik's Steel Metal Jacket.

Now, he's still fucking crazy... but he's a crime buster. And we love him.

So. We're adding a link on our links page to this great site we found, dedicated 100% to the unsinkable Vincent D'onofrio.

Check it out.

Friday, May 14, 2004

we all got our own blogs now!
check out brett's and lisa's blogs.
this one is pretty much mine, mothasuckas!

don't forget to come to the show.
this is pretty much your last chance before I take a month off for the PhD think-tank in Switzerland adventure. however, I'm sure I'll be bringing back all sorts of crazy new ideas to sing about, so it all pays off in the end.

to be sure. to be sure.

Thursday, May 06, 2004

Monday, April 19, 2004

haikus on mike kelley

mike kelley speaks of
postmodern art in navy
blue and spectacles

he was, at one time,
a most important pants man.
funny animals.

if you haven't heard
the music that he once made
you didn't miss much

Wednesday, April 14, 2004

You are lost and forlorn because you dwell in a world of words.
You feed on words, you are satisfied with words when what you need is substance.
A menu will not satisfy your hunger. A formula will not slake your thirst

if you are satisfied with the world where words are enough, you cannot enter the Kingdom of Sounds.

Here's a fun & dorky thing to do!!!

If you happen to be on Friendster(tm), you can be Friend's with the Evangenitals!
Here's a link to us: http://www.friendster.com/user.jsp?id=6521951
We use the bulletin board feature to post shows.

If you want to add us, here's the info:

First name: Evangenitals
Last name: Inc
Email: julio@evangenitals.com

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Wednesday, March 31, 2004



The Pangs. The Fucking Pangs.

There is a whole Opus Pistorum to be written on The Pangs.

The feeling: a sort of reverse-nostalgia.

A bittersweet, memory-like longing for something that hasn't yet happened. The girl you never knew that broke your heart comes to the party in the skin of a woman you've never met... will she ever understand that you already love her? Deeply, truly, thoroughly. Is this love any less valid because it exists in another dimension and has nothing to do with anything real* (*i.e. having any connection to that which actually happened in this lifetime)?

The relationships of the mind, whilst listening to songs, whilst watching the sun go down, whilst watching movies, sitting in the tub, are so full, so beautiful, so sad and perfectly imperfect. Inside of these images of imaginary love affairs, cinematically painful, slowly and quietly intense and dramatic, we always look beautiful when we're crying. Our faces are never red and puffy and pathetic, and if they are, they are adorably so, intensely so, sweetly so. Pain is a pang, a slide-guitar gut sensation, a minor note felt in the aorta, a heart choke. Eyes blink in the soft light, tears roll down the cheeks, always in slow motion, with a sound track, slow, with ringing harmonics which die away, open tuning, the sound of the metal rattling on the fret. Imperfectly perfect, and slow.

Behind, above, surrounding it all, there is the glowing specter of a heart, full to bursting with love, that grows and grows and grows.

The people-in-general, the hoi polloi, the vox populi go on about their business. Another day, another nickle. Back to work. Me too. Here I am. Senor Cog: Welcome to the Urban Junkyard! Your Civic Duties await you! Please report to the office and place your Cog in the Machine. Although the System runs quite smoothly without You (it is, in and of itself, a self-propagating, self-copulating, self-emulating machine) We sure do like having You around. All is Better Back in Line, waiting for your side-order of fries. Here we Go.

Need to get simple and monosyllabic for a minute. Yes, no, good, yes, ugh.... simple simple. Even simple has two-syllables. Too Many! Need the Ones: Plain. Good. Girl. Boy. Beach. Sky. Sea. Camp. Walk. Sleep. Read. Light. Dark. Beef. Fish. Eat. Love. Joy. God.

It is time to cry. Really cry. Not just weep that bittersweet lovesick weep that's burning in the throat 24/7, but fucking WAIL. Wail to the heavens in a combination of a "thank you!" and "why? fucking why?" A question and an exclamation. Why is she so beautiful? Why can't it last forever? Why would I want it to? Why do I deserve such light? Such feelings? Such a friend?

I love those days when one knows, beyond a doubt, that happiness is right here. Nothing more is needed. I could live in a dirt shack chicken coop, and so long as the face turns toward the sun now and then, happy is here.

And yet, simultaneously, that thought horrifies me.... this is it? this is all you want? this is happiness? no no not enough never never never enough.... I am the bitch of ambition! I am the slave of the self talking mind! I am the hog-tied POW of "not enough" "less than" and "falling short", and am a shit sandwich with a side order of failure and a self pity shake.

Those are The Pangs, mang.

Tuesday, March 16, 2004

This is a Banner Ad.
If you click on it, it will take you to Newgrounds.com
On that site, there are a lot of games and fun stuff
This simple game, however, is mesmerizing.

I've never been a "gamer" and this is probably a good thing.
I'm a rather obsessive girl, and I can see how that stuff could quickly get out of hand.

I played The Sims once, when a roommate at Grad school had it on their computer. I constructed my whole life on there. My friends, my lovers, Kurt Cobain was our neighbor, I had the trick code for unlimited money, and an underage houseboy named Enrique. One day I sat there chainsmoking and drinking a gallon of blush wine watching a little simulated me wake up, go for a swim, read a book, paint a picture, have a dance party, make out with Kurt Cobain, cook meals, play pool, exercise, read another book, sit in the hot tub (with Kurt) and go to sleep.... my roommates left that morning for school, and when they came back I was still sitting in the same spot, watching a simulated me do everything that I wanted to do that day.

Upon their return, the horrifying realization set in. A flash-premonition of a matriqued future in which we all humanity sat in little cubicles witnessing our virtual lives as our useless meat-sacks turned to jellylike mush and only our fingers, grown long like talons, remained capable of motion ... click, click, clicking away at our little mouses (the only remaining companion)

I freaked. Bulldozed the house. Deleted the personae. And I've never played again.

Beware the Game, my friends.

Behold the Muzak.