Sunday, July 27, 2008

Why this blog died for a while


Dear Mr. Lee,

It would please me greatly if you were to perform your current routine in my home city of Bristol, and I write in anticipation of facilitating such a venture. I will however be touring my broadly non-comedic Warp Records-signed musical act Gravenhurst over the next few months and it goes without saying that encouraging you to book a show on a date when I am not here is not in my interests.

Now, you will likely have just noticed that after breezily asserting that something 'goes without saying', I then immediately proceeded -prima facie redundantly- to say it anyway! What was that all about?! Well, I did it intentionally, in order to emphasise that my presence at your anticipated Bristol show is absolutely crucial. I wanted to ensure that this is fully understood.

The provision of an Excel spreadsheet detailing my forthcoming itinerary would greatly increase the chances of our arranging a mutually convenient date for your performance. I appreciate that this will involve time and planning, but I am sure, indeed convinced, be quite open with you Mr. Lee, of an impregnable faith, a staunch, unwavering faith; always intense and quite profound, sometimes transcendent, overwhelming even, I struggle to contain this famished, untameable beast of raw, indiscriminate belief, deliriously craving divine punishment, writhing in a demented state of near-masochistic arousal at the prospect of God's pitiless faith-tests, abandoned naked, powerless and hopelessly burdened by the pathetic, pleading fate of all humanity, laden with the wretched weight of infinite lost souls screaming impotently for His deaf mercy, and yet, and yet- I stand proud, erect and sure of foot upon the unshakeable foundations of my own blind credulity, nourished -nay! consumed by a searing, pistological madness --deeply troubling to my friends, family and work colleagues and unspeakably mind-shredding to even myself in its corporeal manifestations of increasing frequency and no prior sign or warning; patternless prolapses of spittle-spraying, tongue-chewing, lunatic ravings and self-mutilation; tenebrous dread-dances of demented contortions and jeering, mocking, cackling laughter, head and limbs jerking and flailing wildly in a spastic rictus of unbearable pain emanating from the deep, deep, deathlessly deep soul-drowning sea of myopic conviction that the gig will probably sell out in advance and it'll be totally worth it.

Or I could just come to one of your London shows.


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