Why does Artefact steadfastly keep refusing to release cds in the U.S.? I love pretty much everything I've heard from them, but that only amounts to a few tracks, because in order to buy any of it, one would not only need to pay in expensive Euros, but also add overseas shipping. (Addendum: Well, ok I see now they've added iTunes links, but that still doesn't help me. Why not take full advantage of this Internet thing, and offer real mp3/ogg/flac downloads of their albums? Like The Morrighan did; I bought their mixes album through Paypal in Euros last year, so I know it can be done.)

Bleeh. I'm feeling freakish, neurotic, and petty tonight. I choose to place the blame on the seething masses of endless customers, too many of whom are freakish, neurotic, and petty.

Honestly, I don't even feel like elaborating, or ranting about any of it. A waste of mental energy, that would be. I'm honestly not sure what I want. Maybe I really need to meditate, even though I don't feel like it.

Having run out of Artefact to play, I decided to dig in on the aforementioned Morrighan album. It's actually hitting the spot quite well. Blasting like hell through my headphones. (To achieve the decibel levels that are occurring inside my ears right now using speakers would most certainly disturbe the housemates, and possibly the next door neighbors as well. Thus, the blessing of headphones: I can ruin my ears as much as I want without bothering anybody else a bit.)

(Sidenote: I doubt anybody reading this knows; I'm just blasting my neurotic impulses into empty space. Are there any semi-decent clubs to be found in Lincoln? Google has not been able to help me here, and none of the meatspace bars I've passed have held much promise. I'm certainly not expecting anything as nice as Denver's Rock Island, but it seems like the town might be big/college-ish enough to have someplace that would play some industrial/goth/EBM at least one night out of the week. You know the shit I'm talking about. Or not.)

[My restless energy increases. An hour ago, I thought I so sleepy that I would collapse in bed. Now I literally feel like pounding on something. This is fucked up. (Meanwhile, the danger that this rambling will fail to convey any cohesive point increases, as we get ever more lost in parentheses, side statements, and overlong sentences that don't really say much of anything.)]

We're now on the verge of mindless spewing of irrelevent lyrics. Before that point is reached, I'm going to cut it short unceremoniously. Don't worry, everything will be taken care of by tomorrow.