I am currently perousing through my newly acquired Dagoba albums; a French metal-industrial-very damn heavy band introduced to me by a friend. They're definitely one of the better new headcrushers that I've heard in quite a long time, fusing the ambient electronics with the soul-stomping riffs while the vocals aren't the average, instant growl-to-melodic transition. The singer likes to experiemnt in between while basing the foundations of the vocal melody on either ends of the extreme.
I am also battling a virus that I probably brought on to myself during a four day "happy juice" binge. It crept up on me, and before I knew it I was 3 days into editing my book, 2 bottles down (not to mention the drinks consumed during the friendly outings in between), and 5 drawings done. I wondered why I stopped but then I recalled the chunk of meat inside my chest called a "heart" that was ready to explode. Even now with every hacking cough I feel my chest tighten, like it wants my chest cavity to develop fault lines.
The book I'm editing is still my Parrish character and his band of night club and noire misfits, but I'm ready to start working on my Drunken Monk concept. Maybe this last weekend was a subconscious soul searching tool, hoping to inspire ideas for the Drunken Monk story. And if it wasn't, too bad because that's what happened.
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