Spit out your lies and chewing gum

Chrystal is not very receptive to my fm transmitter these days. Regardless of the channel I choose the radio crackles over the auditory delight I am desperate to absorb. To make use of the dissonance I resign to playing My Bloody Valentine and make believe the soft radio buzz is yet another droning guitar. Or if the interfering channel is more "talk" then I play Brian Eno & David Byrne and make believe the chatter is part of the dynamic duo's odd eclectic sound.

The moments I am not plagued by this "First World Problem" of fm transmitter malfunctions, I listen to bad asses from a semi-affluent Parisian suburb of Versailles: Phoenix. Only unfeeling robots would hold their foot steady for "Consolation Prizes."

One cannot be truly indolent unless absorbing Beach House's dream-pop melodies. My transition into nature's incubator has been smoother than anticipated.