Thrice - Palms (September 14, 2018) Album • Page 363

Glad this thing is being put with a proper digital release. Is Epitaph doing this with all their Record Store Day stuff?

 

Same

 

Hope these songs are better than the album

 

its a nice companion to the record, I think the strengths come in that there are a bit more classic thrice moments and a lot more experimentation with structure.

 

Just dropping in to drop bombs since I haven’t been back since my tirade.



To anyone who gets their Wax Mage issue resolved, you’re welcome. Seriously. No need to thank me, but you’re welcome for my efforts which made this happen.

Read back a couple of days. I stand by my original assessment. The mod here is absolute trash and completely incapable.

Also I don’t personally know who Mike J is, but I found out in January first hand from the band when I met them after the show that they are aware of him and he is no one to them. They are not fond of him and keep their distance from him at shows near where he lives. They declined to tell me any other information, but that was enough for me.

Also calling bullshit on the Mike J double date with Rivers Cuomo. I went to Harvard with Rivers in 2005 and have kept in contact with him (and now his family) since. I even visited him in the hospital when he was in the bus accident in upstate NY (I live near where the accident occurred and the hospital he was transferred to). I personally am nobody, but this just happens to be a coincidence that I happen to be attached to. His wife is lovely by the way. Yes I have met parts of the band, no I am not personal friends with any of them as, again, I am a nobody and a stranger to them. And I maintain that Mike Js stories and claims to insider knowledge are total bullshit. His best source of information is through some church network Dustin once was or is part of.

Have fun!

 

Welp.

 

What are your thoughts on peeing in the shower?

 

Side note: can you find out what Rivers’ thoughts are on peeing in the shower? Thanks.

- Dog

 

I love/hate this thread.

 

@Tina Holstrom

 

Three years ago will be forever a night that I will always remember. I was in the Whole Foods™ near Culver City located at 11666 national blvd and I saw Rivers fuckin’ Cuomo! I told him how cool it was to meet him in person, but I didn’t want to be a douche and bother him and ask him for photos or anything. He said, “Oh, like you’re doing now?” I was taken aback, and all I could say was “Huh?” but he kept cutting me off and going “huh? huh? huh?” and closing his hand shut in front of my face. I walked away and continued with my shopping, and I heard him chuckle as I walked off. When I came to pay for my stuff up front I saw him trying to walk out the doors with like fifteen Milky Ways in his hands without paying. The girl at the counter was very nice about it and professional, and was like “Sir, you need to pay for those first.” At first he kept pretending to be tired and not hear her, but eventually turned back around and brought them to the counter. When she took one of the bars and started scanning it multiple times, he stopped her and told her to scan them each individually “to prevent any electrical infetterence,” and then turned around and winked at me. I don’t even think that’s a word. After she scanned each bar and put them in a bag and started to say the price, he kept interrupting her by yawning really loudly.

 

In my younger and more vulnerable years Dustin Kensrue gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought — frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my friend Dustin snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Rivers Cuomo, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction — Cuomo, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the “creative temperament.”— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No — Cuomo turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Cuomo, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.

 

I prefer to.

 

What’s the tldr on this shit

 

Not really. He’s pretty private and of a strange temperament. You kind of let him contact you. And he hasn’t contacted me in some time.

To try and give some insight our dorm building had frequent shower pissers in the wide open bathroom/showers, and he was probably one of them. He was there finally finishing his degree that year and all of the MIT nerd girls would stalk the campus trying to find him. It was a big deal at the time that he was being abstinent or some shit, so I’m sure he was doing something in the shower.

 

What is my perfect crime? I break into Rivers’ house at midnight. Do I go for the vault? No, I go for the chandelier. It's priceless. As I'm taking it down, a man catches me. He tells me to stop. It's Rivers. I say no. We make love all night. In the morning, the cops come and I escape in one of their uniforms. I tell him to meet me in Mexico, but I go to Canada. I don't trust him. Besides, I like the cold. Thirty years later, I get a postcard. I have a son and he's the chief of police. This is where the story gets interesting. I tell Rivers to meet me in Paris by the Trocadero. He's been waiting for me all these years. He's never taken another lover. I don't care. I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier.

 

I wonder if he’d pee on me if I wrote him a letter about it

 

is @Perry Burned @Mike J

 

@Tina Holstrom did you attend harvard in 2005

 

You tell me what the Mike J alt account would do, and I’ll do.

 

Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, chief. It was comin’ back, from the island of Tinian to Leyte, just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn’t see the first shark for about a half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen footer. You know, you know that when you’re in the water, chief? You tell by lookin’ from the dorsal to the tail. Well, we didn’t know. `Cause our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. They didn’t even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, chief. The sharks come cruisin’. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s kinda like `ol squares in battle like a, you see on a calendar, like the battle of Waterloo. And the idea was, the shark nearest man and then he’d start poundin’ and hollerin’ and screamin’ and sometimes the shark would go away. Sometimes he wouldn’t go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he’s got lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll’s eye. When he comes at ya, doesn’t seem to be livin’. Until he bites ya and those black eyes roll over white. And then, ah then you hear that terrible high pitch screamin’ and the ocean turns red and spite of all the poundin’ and the hollerin’ they all come in and rip you to pieces. Y’know by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I don’t know how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I don’t know how many men, they averaged six an hour. On Thursday mornin’ chief, I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player, bosom’s mate. I thought he was asleep, reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up and down in the water, just like a kinda top. Up ended. Well, he’d been bitten in half below the waist. Noon the fifth day, Mr. Cuomo, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us. He’s a young pilot, a lot younger than Mr. Cuomo, anyway he saw us and come in low. And three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened? Waitin’ for my turn. I’ll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went in the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

 

I’m in a band. But the band I was in is a secret. I don’t like to talk about it and I don’t want it to ever come up. I’ll never say what band or that I was in a band.

Did you know that I was in a band?

 

It’s all copypasta.

 

Alright boys, we got him.