Am I being unkind? Björk got publicly kicked in the heart by a third tier fuckboy. Painful? Hell yes. Humiliating? Certes. But unexpected? Come the fuck on now. Guðmundsdóttir, we've all been there, so stop fronting like that frankly icky amalgam was something for the ages when your average hedge sparrow could've plotted that trajectory in advance with a fucking crayon on some butcher paper. Being shit on by someone never worthy of you anyway isn't character building and you won't find much worthwhile pawing through the debris. Dickbags will get their pound of needy, gullible flesh any time we hand them opportunity. Most of us have, at one time or another. Everyone's time is a wasting while you flush that sludge and grope for your creative centre.
In other news, I bought myself a fancy pepper grinder for my birthday because A no-one else will and B pepper is the dark grist to my spiritual mill. I have never, ever owned a decent grinder and discovered the glorious efficacy of the Peugeot ones in a cafe a couple of years back. We are generally too poor to even aspire to $70 fucking dollars for a pepper grinder. Then I remembered that our time on earth is by all accounts strictly finite and crap pepper grinders were just making it feel otherwise. So R told me to pull the trigger.
It looks like a Japanese dildo; very iki. It feels delightful in the hand. The grind is kinetically satisfying and yields a mythic ratio of various sharp, gritty fragments. I LOVE IT.
Coughing now. I don't know if I'll post anything else this week so you'll just have to git along without my bullshit. You'll live.
By the Way: just here for the bass.