North Korea !!!. Doo uu love me (do you luv me?).You know, the man in the middle with the glasses, Richart Alpert. Ive had LSD over 50 billion times, it did nothing to me. Is that an admission of guilt , Meister Eckhart? Maybe not, but thats internal discourse innit oh my pasty plymouth brethren. Nonsense. Nonsense. Tithe, tithe , tithe. Model on, model on, oh pissant.
Was a lil' ho-down in a bunker. The bunker. The Grace Darling. A Scotts plot. The Kiwi Korner. Brothers Grimm. Free enterprise market systems. spring loaded keys for a (Buckminster) fuller future. Nasty.
First up in this whiskey bar was CRUDE, the middleton unit. Cradling a new baby no less ----a gorgeous lil Alto Saxophone, 'La Fleur' by Boosey and Hawkes. So I whipped out old barnestormers from ye olde Flying Nun /early Aesthetics days --you know, 'condemned', 'better dead than red', 'sumerian art therapy' et al. A glorious din coaxed out of the easily manipulated 'public announcement' system. The other seemed to like it. Pleased-with-own-performance. People seemed to buy it. A sliver of entertainment in a small southern package, I guess. Slanted, enchanted. Derisive. Pogrom. Same ol' same ol', its a voice. You're the voice. (Try and understand it).
Then was Mad Nanna, the filibuster, the sonorous filament, strings and sinews, the Jandek crowd, meandering through chordless noiseless jangle lines, ever swelling, a porous mass, miscreant sexy, the notations of an kinky man, tallowed and fatted, offered up to a horn-rimmed cultural executive, all is all. North Korea!!! The leader is young and vicious. The Nannas rhythm was deft and gingerly, strapped down e'er so slightly, sexual, steaming. Band band band.
Cheers and fat globs of house wine. Then - the Constant Mongrel, darkened fuzz hunk-rock, with an acidic art-rock propulsion-mechanism, throbbers, liners, divers, boggers, eruptions, nocturnal emissions, bleeding and bleatings. With defined feed and livid counterpunches,Constant Mongrel are rulers, as is Mad Nanna, as is as is and the the that than our out hour.
No need for meaning anymore, Charles, forgiveness is art and art is forgiveness, bleed me beat me now, before I change my mind, nevermore a coherent poke from he or she because coherence and linear narrative is a thing of your past. Theres a storm brewing, and it ain't in Melbourne. Its Pyongyang. Behind the veneer, those soldiers look hungry and tired. They look deadened - pained. Hungry.