Good evening dear readers. Roughly two months ago your fearless writer found himself on the receiving end of every beautiful heartbreaking song known to mankind. Our demanding publisher has a Bluetint Playlist, and a piece I wrote at that time that at one point I screamed to publish and quickly retracted.  I found it cut too deep into the actual human I pretend to never acknowledge that lives and cries and hurts inside your favorite inconsistent writer. Who knows due to contractual obligations it just might see the light of day, but for now I’ll keep the all attentive readers abreast of my comings and goings since the world fell, crashing Right on my Puma wearing feet.

I found myself with more free time than I’d care to have for myself. I tried to cross-stitch and realized that I’m to old to learn that talent, I tried to start working out and eating better, however that seemed like something Josef Mengele would have advised and we all know that Nazis can fuck off.  So I stumbled upon a mother load of records for sale, about 2500 records, two console players, and a sweet ass portrait of FDR for the great price of 125$US. SOLD!  I figured what better way to get over the deepest love this writer has ever felt than to dig in and start collecting vinyl again?

It was a slow start.fullsizerender  There is just so many Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass Band one can possibly see in a sitting before wanting to try and perform open heart surgery using a snapped in half copy of Whipped Cream. If I could show you the methods of torture I’ve created with Andy Williams and Jim Nabors LP’s I’ve crafted, the State Hospital might bust out the red carpet for yours truly. Let’s move forward. Days became weeks and every day I found myself sinking into a deep funk during the day just waiting to run home and play that copy of Spiders from Mars to lift me up a little, a few drinks later I might slip in some Roberta Flack singing Cohens stunning “Hey That’s No Way To Say Goodbye” only to be saved by my unrelenting publisher who says never drink alone, and never while listening to Cohen music. Wiser words may have never been spoken.

As things emotionally started to shape up, so it seemed had my collection. My Police collection is complete, two away from my Smiths collection, two away from my IRS R.E.M. Collection, building up The 60’s brits Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Zep, Zombies. I search every Goodwill, every antique shop, yard sales, Craigslist, you name it. Where I’ve had my most economical and vast assortment of choices has been Instagram, yeah, that land of meme’s and duck faced nonsense. I’ve met great sellers, and buyers and all around decent humans looking to spread the love of all things vinyl. Just today I received R.E.M’s Document, New Order’s Low Life, NY Dolls, Van The Man Moondance, The Cure’s Japanese Whispers, Van Halen’s Debut, Janes Addiction’s XXX and The Alarm’s Declaration. A serious nice haul that I’ll be dancing to all night, through heartbreak, births, deaths, dark times that seem like an eternity, and a fucking stubbed pinky toe, records always make this writer take a moment to reflect and know that life goes on, music rages us Forward weather our minds bodies, souls want to stay within the sadness of yesteryear. Music rages us forward. Take care all.

Foley