let's bury paul

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Back around 1970, one or two of my older sisters (not the oldest) were excitedly discussing all these clues on Beatles albums which, if properly decoded, would tell the excited fans where and when (Wednesday morning at five o'clock?) to wait. And a helicopter would take you away to a wonderful island the Beatles had, where indescribably cool things would happen.

Well, as we all know now, these were in reality clues for when to rise up and murder people in and around Hollywood. No, wait, they were clues that revealed for sure that Paul was dead. No, wait, they were really Satanic messages, designed to corrupt the youth of America (and other places, I guess) so they'd rise up and satanically murder Paul. Or maybe Ringo.

Anyway, WFMU's "Beware the Blog" is letting us relive those thrilling days of yesteryear -- the Satanic ones -- with an album presentation of Michael Mills - Hidden and Satanic Messages in Rock Music. I haven't listened to it yet because it's late and I have to go to bed now.

It's part of this year's revival of the 365 Days Project, from which I've gotten some great audio tracks (like Meredith Willson's "Chicken Fat" and "Captain Hook" the Christian Kid-Show Pirate). This year they've already given us Peter Cook and Dudley Moore's "The L.S. Bumble Bee" and some hot robot jive, and it's only January 3! (Okay, it says January 4, but that's GMT, and I'm EST, where it's almost midnight.)

Anyway, to sum up, I'm going to bed now.
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dream crumbs

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I was already having a fairly good dream. Being at some campus radio station somewhere, I was insinuating myself into the staff and making some new friends. Peter Bergman of the Firesign Theatre was visiting, too, and singing a song from his new album. I ended up leaving work (and waking people up) an hour early because my watch was showing 24-hour time and I misread, so I was out on the streets of Fort Collins wandering around in a part of town I haven't seen before, in a classic building restored to its original facade. I wandered inside, and as I was leaving, a cheerful person with a clipboard wanted to ask me some questions. I responded politely while looking for an exit, but somehow she got me to stay, perhaps by giving me food.

She was part of a grass-roots enterprise of some kind. Dubious at first, I found myself getting drawn into it. I heard my namem but they were talking about another Kip -- a profoundly retarded fellow who couldn't even stand up, but who sketched things off the TV quite well.

As the place filled up, a skeptic was making to leave. I thought about trying to talk him out of it. By this time I was hipped on the whole undefined endeavor (altruistic and for profit). When I went back to the front office, Mom was there, 50 years younger, talking coherently in a voice I'd never heard her use. Talking about how good she felt. This seemed like a turning point in her life.

But I knew Mom was old and very, very confused. Reluctantly, I floated up to reality. I was still just me.
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this is your spider on drugs

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When my cousin sent me a link to a YouTube video about spiders and drugs, I thought it was going to be like the one where they give LSD to an unfortunate cat (probably a huge overdose, the way those guys work). I'm pleased to report I was wrong.

( druggie spiders behind cut )