What's wrong with a little rambling?

So I have two pieces to publish soon, but I need the artwork finished for them before I can do that. So until then, I'm going to post this rambling because, what the hell... what's wrong with a little rambling?

I've started reading Igi (thank you, Lana), and I've listened to a steady run of new music this year, as with last year. The cheat method on Spotify, but often on the day the albums are released—or "dropped", as the kids say.

I'm going to do a digest of album reviews from January to July in August, and then August to December in December. Miniature reviews, with a clear theme of there being absolutely no sense of rhyme or reason when it comes to genre.

Last Friday it was The Strokes and Charli XCX, and I consumed both with glee. I still need to listen to Meshuggah's remastered releases from Friday and the new album by Baby Queen. I'm still rocking the third album by Yard Act from a few weeks ago.

And Fenian by Kneecap gets as many spins as Converge's Two and anything else I can remember or think of.

As well as new music, I've also been dipping into the great catalogue of the past, with everything from Can to jazz, jazz and more jazz; Merzbow and Sonic Youth; the unchallenged Nina Simone to Gil Scott-Heron. From Warning to Paradise Lost and My Dying Bride... just everything, anything you can think of.

Miles Davis is becoming a great favourite, as is Zappa, and that new album from Charli XCX is actually very good. Arty and clever. It has Martin Scorsese and John Cale on the cover and features David fucking Cronenberg on the final song.

I shit you not.

One of my heroes when I was far too young to be watching his movies.

I've read Post Office by Bukowski and started The Elements of Style because nerd, nerd, nerd. I'll continue to read Igi and then post it to Lana, or wherever it needs to go next.

My next two pieces are polar opposites.

One is a chaotic dance with near death from dehydration, and the other is poignant and features balloons.

Oh, and I need to publish my final entries for Sasha's challenge.

Plans, plans, plans.

I have another plan for another unofficial challenge too. But remember, you can still explicate the fuck out of my poem Ledger until next month. So many have entered so far, and two have gotten Top Stories for their efforts: Paul and Sara.

At least one managed to make it all about herself—Cali. I was delighted with the experience.

And three so far have slaughtered me with love: John, Diane and Jesse.

Tim and Harper put in sterling work, and I am excited to see what everyone else does.

Because I am an ego, living and breathing, and please don't look away or I might shrivel up and die.