Mike Phillips

"ACAB but I want these people locked up" must be a hell of a tightrope to walk.

Publishing is so fucking lonely.

Now reading The Drowned World, my first Ballard novel. I love his stories, and this is great so far.

In today's edition of They Shoulda Been Huge, we have Chicago band Wilderness Road's second and final album Sold for the Prevention of Disease Only (1973). They made songs that were both of a genre (sort of countrified rock) and satires of that genre. They were brilliant and completely unserious.

I spent too much on this import LP of one of my favorite albums. Mary Margaret O'Hara's only album Miss America (1988) just doesn't sound like anything else. It feels like I'm eavesdropping on a conversation she's having with herself.

Two years since my mom died and I became an orphan. For most of my childhood, I was absolutely terrified of her, but she changed. Went to therapy, got right with god, whatever she did, it worked. People can change. She changed into my best friend, and I miss her so much.

One neighbor's car runs on the blood of Jesus, the other neighbor's car runs on air.

What do you MEAN going to discogs and buying another record won't make me feel better?

Random thought of the day: I own bath towels that are older than most of the people I interact with every day.

Video editing music. Traffic, The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys (1971).

I am so freaking uncomfortable with how many of my left-leaning friends are yelling about putting people in prison. Abolition means abolition for everyone, otherwise you're just unhappy with who's holding the keys.

Miles Davis (with help from Herbie Hancock, John McLaughlin, Billy Cobham, etc.) made one of the best rock albums and one of the best jazz albums of all time. This thing just does not stop.

I am listening to Patti Labelle and transcribing a pulp adventure story published in a Black newspaper in the 1950s. There's a cat asleep on my legs. Sometimes things are perfect. This is one of those times.

I have to say, shitposting for 200 followers is NOT as rewarding as shitposting for 4000 followers.

My job is a dick. It is -7 degrees and I have to go in to an in-person meeting that could easily have been a zoom.

If you love P.G. Wodehouse, you will love Angela Thirkell's Barsetshire novels.

If Howard the Duck isn't on your list of the five best Marvel movies, can you really consider yourself a film lover?

I started One Battle After Another last night but stopped after about 30 minutes. Does it get better? I would hate to miss something but I am just not feeling it.

I've decided to use this account to talk about books and music. Today's random $1 bin pickup is "Tantilla" by House of Freaks (1989). It's pretty darned good late-80s alternative. One of the pleasures of buying something you've never heard of is looking up the artist's history. 1/

I am never here. I decided to do my shitposting on the press's account, since I am it and it is me.

Oh, so THAT's what it feels like to get 150 hostile emails in the span of a couple hours.

I took myself to the opera.

My least favorite part about my day job is telling faculty members that an emergency for them is not necessarily an emergency for me.

the gun is always loaded there's a fed in every chat your phone's a beacon telling every cop right where you're at your bluesky feed is archived and your twitch they're watching live so watch your mouth in public if your ass plans to survive.

I met Ray Bradbury when I was in high school. I told him "I'm a writer too." He replied, "that's nice" and turned to talk to someone else. Not much has changed since then.

I see a butterfly. Or a weird sign. Or a dad carrying his baby in a moby. I take a photo. And I miss having someone to send it to.

One year since my mom died.

I AM THE KING OF HYBRID CONFERENCES! BOW DOWN, ALL YE PANELISTS. BOW DOWN!

First time eating Somali food. It was excellent.

I took myself to the symphony for Valentine's Day.

I bought a box of around a hundred 45s. Almost all songs I've never heard before. Every night, I sit in my comfy chair in the basement and listen to a handful while sipping whiskey. I swear it's the only thing holding me together lately.

My dog doesn't have much of a sense of humor. Every time he barks or otherwise tries to get my attention, I ask him, "Is Timmy stuck in the well?" And he never laughs.

I just threatened to shiv my day job's new accounting system in the shower. So that's how my day is going.

After spending 27 hours in the ER and hospital with my kid, who had a concussion, I can confidently say: fjkdsfjkljlkdsfjkldfsljkfdslkfj