Artist: Jeff Buckley/The Fire Theft
Song: Mojo Pin/Backwards Blues
Album: Grace/The Fire Theft
Year: 1994/2003

One of the great things about living in Seattle is that you frequently get to drive around at night in the rain. There's really no better way to symbolically slash your wrists than to ride in a tin can on rubber in a deluge, especially at night. You can turn your radio to dark songs and dodge all those negligent drivers and have a private communion with pity (Really, what good is it to have anything but private pity? You wouldn't want to post it on a blog, that's for sure).

Shift to 2nd, but dodge the flooded storm sewer. A few years ago I was on a pity drive (in the rain at night) driving anywhere and hoping to randomly run into my yoga teacher. Stupid really. I had a serious crush on her -- or at least her class -- and her presence induced a lot of comfort in me. It sounds stalkerish, but just the thought of randomly finding my yoga teacher -- that was solace enough for an intensely spirit fracturing night. Is there a better definition for religion? A student seeking his teacher for knowledge, comfort, and grace, even if the search is in vain -- a rocketship to the stars?

A 2nd to 4th shift (we're going fast enough, but don't kill the pedestrian in the crosswalk). Another great thing about living in Seattle is the ability to listen to DJ Larry Metro on KEXP. You can get him on the internet, but it cheapens his show. Really, his show should be tried start to finish on a mono AM/FM clock radio: pain and imperfection matching pain and imperfection in their magnetized harmony. Not that Metro's show is imperfect, but you'll feel imperfect after your done with it. As it should be too. When a guy can take his pain and slap you around with it and you call it art and come back for more -- that's one of those pleasures you only do when the door is closed and the light is out. Proof? How about Friday, September 20, 2003 at 5:39 AM? Metro played Jeff Buckley's "Mojo Pin" followed by The Fire Theft's "Backward Blues." No great genius there -- until you hear the transition. And Metro does this shit day in and day out and nobody listens. How's that for pain and imperfection?

Let's be frat boy stupid and drive in 5th on a residential street (at night in the rain). So you fuckheads (much like me) who proclaim all this Jeff-Buckley-this and Jeff-Buckley-that, but never listened to him before he drowned, what good is it doing him now? You might as well take all those postmortem accolades and stuff them in a bottle without a cork and throw them in the Mississippi River. In the meantime listen to Larry Metro and clear your conscience a bit.

Slam on the brakes 'cause I'm going to post a picture of myself. My friend caught on film the very self-portrait that I would paint if forced to do so in some community college art class. For all the dark verbal shit I spit on paper and send to everybody around me -- the happiness in this pic -- this is the me I see, the me I feel every day. I'd show it more often, but I've got some weird channels in me and some of them run forever but don't cover much ground. And if I'm swimming in one of those channels, or if I'm driving at night and in the rain, just switch your radio to Larry Metro and you will see what I see.

I may be the last one to believe it but I'll always be the first one to say it, "who gives a fuck, anyway?"

While waiting for life that sucks to die, why not listen to my favorite unsigned bands: TQ's Garage Band Playlist.