2) Sigur Ros
3) Detroit Cobras
I'm not sure how they fit into a omelet-enhanced morning of a lingering headache, but they do:
1) The sun is caught on the louver blinds like in a film noir.
2) The hot pepper from the south forty was particularly hot.
3) A picture of an old girlfriend is nestled underneath the wires by my computer.
Those are the links in numeric order.
And now it is this, out of the somewhere between me and the text splayed on the screen:
"This fair child of mine should sum my old account."
And then they drove me to an Albertson's outside of Boise
And took me into a back room.
And they said the wanted to balance my checkbook;
and they said they wanted to organize my receipts
and itemize my expenses
and that I had the key
to a saftey deposit box,
with treasury bonds and the key
to another safety deposit box
where I'd stashed away
the only pewter pocket watch
that ever belonged to
Joseph Smith's Great-Great Uncle's
Brother-in-law. (Fiery Furnaces, Bitter Tea, "Oh Sweet Woods.")
And now Bjork comes on the stereo.
I'm going to go lie down before I go out and think of Iceland.