*01.23.02 duty now for the future

Plan modification 1a: rental movies must be rented and returned sans car. the car goes wheee instead of vroom at the moment; it's suggesting, perhaps, that i should be climbing monster hills and coughing more.

1b: steer toward looking like kathleen hanna. i won't lie - the Plan is at least 75% vanity. health for health's sake is hogwash - i won't waste 50 years at the gym on 25 bonus years at the gym. who wants a long life if it's a clean life? mind-boggling pulchritude, on the other hand - for that i'll give up cheese.

that's better. i feel frivolous again.

salon went with "sympathy for the devil" for its masterpiece doo-dah this week, and i am all smiles. mick jagger deserves to be compared to baudelaire/byron/bakespeare every now and again, and it hurts me when folks kick him in the ribs for goddess in the doorway. sting doesn't take this much crap for his godawful solo career, and the police never held a candle to the rolling stones. if one must hate, one should hate jann wenner. he's always been an ass.
DEVO's like a verb. Maybe it is bullshit, but it's good bullshit. It's like an atmosphere; it's not a solid. DEVO is anything that people really like. People like something that's somewhat mysterious and something that's left somewhat to your imagination. As soon as you have it figured out, it ceases to be interesting; it ceases to have magic or life or vitality. The music and the look and the rap - it's all one thing: it's just an ambience. The clues to it have to do with infantilism, things falling apart, things unwinding - a minimal, primitive statement; direct. DEVO is like surgeons, the clean-up squad of the '70s - getting rid of all the flabby, horrible, derivative rock and roll crap. The 'industrial look': the clean-up crew, the robots, the spuds following their genetic imperatives.

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