Got the tapewurrrrm!

So, I wrote a couple of pages lamenting the lack of wordflow in my life, charting the devolution of my sometimes awesome letter-writing to sporadic email to an almost tongue-tied standstill.  It all sounded very déjà vu and turned into a rant against F*ceb**k, which was nothing new and really not what I wanted to express.
This post starts back on Memorial Day when my FB status update was going to be "listening to Pigface & getting girl-drink drunk".  I decided against it.  On the surface, it was true, but what did it mean?  It didn't feel right, given that a good friend's father had just passed away.  But aside from that, I can't shake the feeling that FB is a type of Tourette's.  People type the darndest things, no matter who might read them.  In a way, it's a relief.  It gets tiring sequestering parts of your personality and muzzling your interests according to whom your interacting.  But without context, what kind of image are we really projecting?  I need to inhabit my words, and I'm more than a soundbite.  So I decided that if it's worth a status update, it's worth fleshing out.
I have a b&w subway poster of Ohgr covered in blood and strangling on his microphone cord.  I don't have it up at the moment but I'm considering it.  I don't think the dog will object.  My favorite thing about that poster is that my friend Matt S once told me he had a dream that Ohgr was coming out of the picture & trying to tickle him.
On January 29, 1990, I went with Beth T & Stacey P to Cain's Ballroom in Tulsa to see KMFDM and Ministry.  I've seen Ministry at least three times since, but that has got to be the most fish-out-of-water group of people I've ever been to a show with.  We danced our asses off and Stacey got hit in the head with a beer can.
It's funny how our memories get cross-referenced.  I can't listen to anything vaguely Wax Trax-related without recalling Imma owning the dance floor to Front Line Assembly's "Virus".  She was surrounded by people throwing devil horns & I was never prouder.
Anyway, these moments and more float to the surface when I hear the first gurgly, fuzzed-out, screechy seconds of "Gub".  It opens a doorway into J & L's apartment on North Byers.  A shadowy living room with a fan in the window. Chocolate chip pancakes.  Two people in a claw-foot bathtub.  Don't judge.
I always have music going.  So if there isn't something specific I'm wanting to hear, I'm following the alphabet to insure it all gets listened to.  I am currently in the P section.  This time around I'm incorporating Jason's cds into the mix.  I'm finding things unfamiliar to me that I like & things I won't listen to again, I'm finding things that were mine that somehow strayed into his, and things that we discovered together.  Those are the best.
The carousel moved cd by cd until it came to the Pixies.  "I remember your red dress, like a field full of poppies".  But that's another story.
As for the girl drink...that involves a trip to a flea market with Matt, which watered seeds sewn by Imma and an episode of the Brady Bunch, which blossomed into a book case full of tiki mugs, exploring the drink menu at Grand Fortuna and, later, an interest in SHAG art, an early Summer that teased out my rarely worn Hawaiian shirts, my first rum purchase in over four years (Cruzan's Black Strap is very nice)...
There's a lot behind that status update.