Dude. Yeah, so, I used to really dig the police, and all that, no...FUCK THAT. I really dig the police, and i like reggata de blanc and i like outlandos d'amour and i dig some stuff off of synchronicity and i like zenyatta mondatta and all, but the shit, the absolute SHIT, is fucking ghost in the machine. and the whole fucking album rules and sting's recent remake of invisible sun is a fucking tragedy, a heinous shit explosion of a psychically tone deaf pimpjob, because the edge of hope-against-hopeful despair in the original is pristine, is like the bottom of a pool when you (with no thoughts of suicide at all before you went down there) think yeah, i mean, i don't want to leave this, this would be a good way to die, it's so fucking BEAUTIFUL. but even better than that is darkness.

this weekend I listened to regatta del blanca and outlandos d'amour or whatever those albums are called for the first time. it was nice to sit in a cool room with high ceilings, opening the blinds to let the sun make patterns on the dark parquet floor, drinking coffee, watching my newly unemployed friend plot next week's journey on a map of moldova, romania and western ukraine, and listening to these new-to-me albums from so long ago. I prefer the songs sting wrote to the more experimental copeland ones, but I like the system of checks and balances that they must have had on each other, with summers and copeland restraining sting from following the melodramatic impulses that go unharnessed in his solo work.