I don't want to talk about how europe went; it was wonderful and I will only say that through a curious set of circumstances I ended up living in the gatwick london airport for several days, examining the comings and goings of sports fans during the big football match, the curious creatures with facepaint, the ones that you could find clustered around the televised games punching the air with their well-worn fists, which is why I usually hid behind things while watching them.

I think that god has a communication problem. god, awkward, antiquated gilt god of the victorian age, the one who supposedly spoke with us often long long long ago. which makes perfect sense, does it not, as being made in his image has made us speechless, coarse, unable to express ourselves. although it is a bit humorous and touching to think of a god and his creation, aching yet fundamentally unable to communicate with eachother. and that is why I cannot talk with you, dear reader, I cannot, cannot. there is a cavern in my mind, an enormous pastoral place, and marvelous things happen in it, but I open my mouth and only slivers come out. only little glimpses. the world is cavernous and complex, and the universe is funny, because I can see it all and I can say nothing remotely accurate about it.

my mind has been devoted to music lately. We (ice cream creatures) finished up our album of all-knew material, and it's in oregon at the moment, being mastered. it will be released online soon, watch for it.

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