Got the new Mars Volta already. For free. It's amazing. Who would have thought?

I've been writing a lot. Smoking too much. Drinking. Cursing.

I've been discovering a great deal of things about my life lately.
Ha ha. It's so funny how things work out. Long hair, don't care!

And goddamn, I love this album.



"When I turn the dial
and leave the gas on
I'm the matchstick
that you'll never lose

These are the splinters
made from a single blade
I'm the matchstick
that you'll never lose

I'm like the key
that locks you in
I'm the matchstick
that you'll never lose

When you wear the burning
of all my ferns
I'm the matchstick
that you'll never lose"




"The solution inhaled from the rag I hold
holds a maximum vacancy
As I held you in crippled bandages
don't you stay up and wait for me

Left dangling in the wind...

You're not there...
I poke needles in the neck of a doll
She pokes back...
asking why can't I just let her lie

How come every time I walk, you crawl?
Then you cut out all the letters that make up this note"



and the best lyrics of all....



"How much do you make
in that death factory
Severance hold in the chamber of revolvers

Empty jails fall from my scalp
shaped the glove and let me out
Still I can remember the day
that they took you from me

Seems like I've been running
from your trenchant memory
Harpsichord will warn me when its over

Cause if heaven breathes
then someone trade places with me
Cause I don't want to tear feathers instead of rags

Instead of rags

When do I get to see the body preserved inside this brim
sewn on the lips were her last words
I'll be damned I can still hear her laughing

Your angels have tangled their breasts again
the comfort of doubt, still it keeps you thin
And still I can remember the day that they took you from me

Seems like I've been running
from your trenchant memory
Harpsichord will warn me when its over

Cause if heaven breathes
then someone trade places with me
Cause I don't want to tear feathers instead of rags

Instead of rags

Does your temperature ache?
Is your glass about to break?
Are you purple with currant?
Will you now become the serpent?

Gordian knots in the power lines
sizes fill empty with pesticide
With a pharaoh to hold
bury me in gold

Will your sun refuse to bite
in the Stockholm city that we provide
If your heart does cease to speak
my fingernail claw will make your chalkboard sing"