god is dead

For reasons too heartbreaking to go into, God's Son eluded me. I don't want to talk about it. I have already commenced finding an alternate life-purpose.

Later, I saw Animal Collective, which of course did not make up for MISSING THE BOAT WHICH CARGOED MY DESTINY, but was surprisingly thrilling--best I've ever seen 'em. What's up with New York, though—applause was just polite, even after a horse's-length of spastic, backwards cloud-song barking, spirits freed, like we'd walked into the AC's boy slumber-party and they hadn't yet figured out we were watching their pillow fight. Totally bananas, totally heart-in-your throat; the next logical step for them was to strip buck-naked and ritualistically liberate one of Siegfried and Roy's elephants.
The audience? Golf clap.
BUT, when Avey Tare began MEOWING listlessly, place went nuts. Midsong.
New York, are you cat-deprived? You should cop some of that crazy Meow Gilberto; shit is truly like crack, and traverses the whole of the animal kingdom.