Still not much to say about music -- it's not bothering me as deeply anymore that the words aren't coming, because I'm pretty certain, after years of being ambivalent, that I do not want to be a music writer. Or any kind of writer, or editor. Either my heart's not in it, or my heart's too into it. I take everything personally because the things (musical and otherwise) I love and care about and believe are a matter of life or death for me, and even if I can't express it on the page, I feel it in a big way, and it eats away at my mental stability and distracts me from the larger picture.

Anyway, though, I listened to some good records this weekend: Robert Wyatt's Ruth is Stranger Than Richard, Pee Shy's Don't Get Too Comfortable, Nurse With Wound's Spiral Insana, and the Silver Jews' American Water. And I'm a few drafts into the tracklist for a new mix CD, but with all the great songs I've chosen, it's still not coming together as a mix. I think I'm trying too hard. But that's fine; creative impotence isn't the end of the world, and probably not even as permanent.