Late Bloomer

I don't buy many records that could be classified as progressive house or trance. So when I do buy such a record, you know its shit has got to smell like roses.
David Garcet's Ero smells like a full blooming garden. This track is absolutely sublime. It shines. Very similar in production style to The Field but with more sex.

Gowhere

Two of my friends died this week.
One drove off an exit ramp and hit a utility pole.
The other--consumed with grief and negative emotions stemming from our friend's death--shot himself in the head last night.

The news is full of violence.
I want to leave.

...

let's go to Pluto the atmosphere's clear
we'll be really cool there with nothing to fear
let's go to Pluto it's cold and it's damp
where children are heroes death is high camp

I want to see Pluto I want to have fun
I want to turn blue under an alien sun
oh let me see Pluto it seems such a gas
with oceans of methane and petrified grass

let's go to Pluto
lets live on the dot
see the bad moon rising
in a lunacy knot

come on let's do Pluto it's really not far
an unleaded dream drive to the prettiest star
I want to see Pluto but maybe I'll wait
til the world turns to meet its plutonium fate
the days will be long here the years will be more
let's go to Pluto like we did before

let's go to Pluto
let's live on the dot
see the bad moon rising
in a lunacy knot

...
The Creatures - Pluto Drive

Final Days Of Loneliness

Are these the last days because I'm suddenly going to have friends and feel loved?
Or because I'm not going to exist any longer?

...

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

...
exc. from Charles Bukowski's The Genius Of The Crowd