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What's the difference between fog and mist?

Really don't have a clue. Mist sounds lighter, more like a morning phenomenon. The morning dew, soft on the leaves and crystalline up close.
Fog is more foreboding: heavier, and thicker; akin to smog. A daytime occurrence, muffling sound as well as sight.

I like white noise.

Happy belated seasonal hahas

Tra-la-la and all that.                                                                                                                                       It's been an odd sort of few days, to say the least. Maybe its age, or something else, but Christmas felt a little different this year. Even waking up on Christmas morn, I didn't feel all too festive at all. That's not to say it wasn't nice to spend a few days at home with family. Minus the usual drama, it's been a very food-filled season.

 Ho ho ho.

Roll up roll up, it's the time of the year when we celebrate plenty and consumerism! Really though, it pisses me off when people complain about their gifts. Christmas is all about giving - fuck that, why does this have to be confined to Christmas? It's a sad world we live in, indeed.

Enough with the pessimism though, let's do a seasonal update! And because I'm a boring fuck, its just going to be about my recent music addictions:

shoegaze (again)

Perhaps its the early nights and the mild cold, but shoegaze has once again been on play non-stop in my head.   Aside from Slowdive and My Bloody Valentine, I've been trying to dig out a couple of new artists, Ringo Deathstarr being a pleasant little find.

Ringo Deathstarr - "Other Things" by jbird1125

Not quite as blissed out as Slowdive and MBV, but a nice little evolution that's just a smidgen more suited to sunny days. In comparison, my favourite Slowdive song, ever:

▲† ‡ †▼witch house ▼† ‡ †▲

Yes, the name is a fucking joke. And yes, I feel like a right idiot everytime I talk about it. But hey, its catchy, probably as a result of my Crystal Castles binge a while back. It's brilliant fun, I can pretend I'm all occult and kool-kid like.

Again, it might be the early nights and general winter feeling that makes this stuff bearable. A little side away from this lies the land of Charli XCX. Apparently making music since she was 14, at Hackney warehouse raves shouting "T-REX! DINOSAUR SEX!"

...

Whatever, Salem remixed one of her tracks

I really don't know why I'm listening to this stuff, it's about as far removed from my usual listening as possible. Well, maybe not quite...

electronic experimental hip hop I don't know what

As strange as it sounds, I blame my Physics teacher on this.

15 FUSE by xander71

slow club


To round all of the weird stuff off, lets have some seasonally appropriate stuff. Really quite bummed I missed these guys doing their Christmas special at the Union Chapel (which by the way is a beautiful venue).

Have a very happy rest of the year, all.

WHERE

DO I WRITE MY
POST-MODERNIST BULLSHIT THAT STARTS WITH CAPITAL
LETTERS?
WITH INK, LIKE OF OLD, OR WITH LIGHT, LIKE OF NEW.
CAFFEINE, MORE CAFFEINE, ALWAYS
MORE CAFFEINE.
WHAT IS WRITING IF NOT THE MOST MANIC
OUTPOUR?

It's sad - it all is.

Enough with that - I'm a shit poet, and an even worse post-modern one at that. I'm just happy to have a working laptop again, with a screen larger than a postage stamp. It is odd that I do need a certain atmosphere around in order to be able to write properly. Or even read, for that matter. Considering the fact that both of those activities are relative sources of escapism, one would think that the situation wouldn't matter. But whatever. There is always a way around it, splashing money on a replacement laptop charger being one example. I guess this means more frequent updates, and perhaps even a redesign -oooh- some point in the near future. For now, enjoy an unemployed astronaut.

Wind

The constant struggle of air to maintain equilibrium is what most societies define wind as. A slight breeze at first, quickly escalating to a gale, then back down to a whisper - this is what many will have experienced in day-to-day living. It is thus perhaps a little strange, then, that it should all remain invisible. After all, things that happen to one over and over again, even if consciously blocked by force of habit, do have a tendency to reveal themselves once in a while. Wind stays resolutely invisible, not wanting to be seen, but revelling in its power to raise everything, just for a moment, above the mundanity of gravity. Even to disregard this, wind will always find a way of making its voice heard above the humdrum of silence. Sunlight may heat and blind, but does so quietly, without so much as a whimper. Starlight freezes in the night, content in its own solitude. Fire, perhaps comes close to being a cousin of wind, in its never-ceasing voices, constantly announcing its presence. -but it is seen.

I can hear the wind.