The End

Komeit wake up really early on summer mornings to record their songs. There is a sense of the fragile light-headedness of watching the sky turn deeper shades of blue. Sleepiness prevails and results in songs awash with languid melodies and whispering boy/girl vocals.

This duo are from Berlin. They are a mixture of as many slow core bands you could care to mention, crossed with rhythmic beats, drones and strums. The simplicity of their music is to be admired, to not go for everything and the kitchen sink ethos seems to be a rare quality in these days of electro-clash, bootlegs and nu-metal. Less is more, just seems to be going out of fashion.

“I use words like a puzzle, until finally they fit”. The feelings evoked from listening to this group are contradictory, a sort of sombre warmth, happy sad. The opening song for instance sets the minimal-istic slightly harsh sonic tone, yet it is a quirky little song about the owner pet relationship.

Yet she was known only by her works. The Edinburgh Review (May 1823) declares: "She never appeared in public, nor mingled in private society, but kept herself apart, like the sweet bird that sings its solitary notes, shrouded and unseen." She spent a life in the quiet shade of domestic seclusion, unheeded amidst the bustle of the world, confining her activities to domestic duties and homely pleasures. "She was more than repaid by the enjoyments which were fostered in the shade; and perhaps few distinguished authors have passed a life so blameless and so happy." . . . She probably attended Sophia Lee's school at Bath, and perhaps the only reference we get about her person is given by Charles Bucke in an interesting footnote to a curious work, On the Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature, stating that "her countenance indicated melancholy. She had been, doubtless, in her youth, beautiful." We are not yet made aware of any of those amusing foibles which usually chequer the lives of successful authors: "here are no brilliant conversational triumphs; no elaborate correspondence with the celebrated, or the great; no elegant malice; no anecdotes of patrons or rivals; none of the fashion's idle pastime, nor of controversies, nor idle business". . . "At the same time The Italian appeared, probably no author was so generally admired and so eagerly read as this young woman," says Clara Frances McIntyre in Ann Radcliffe in Relation to her Time, but in the high period of her fame she chose to lay by her pen. Probably she was disgusted to see her mode of composition profaned by a host of servile imitators, who, unable to achieve her merits, rendered her defects more obvious.

Hurrah! I'll be known for something.

That's all.

(This Is)

Felt like being in Kevin Smith's head when he dreams up a movie but before he fucks it up by writing it down and then directing it. Good summer fun.

It does seem a little wasteful to have Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill in a movie.

Thought there was another thread about this movie? Anyway, I thought it was hilarious, definitely the hardest I've laughed at a theater since, I don't even know. Helped that the crowd was great and well into it.

Oops, just found it--didn't show up in a search for the movie's title.

The Evan Goldberg & Seth Rogen directed End of the World stars a bunch of famous people as themselves. I will anticipate it with morbid curiousity, join me.

"Hi god, it's me jonah hill...from moneyball."