Whoa, Lisbert had a baby girl. And so will Stacy. And like two others are tick tick ticking hardcore. i wouldn't mind, but alas, alas. Broken and all fall down as the song says. I don't know anymore. Mixed signals and I don't know, I just want to play music with people but it's always a let down. I miss how things were but I'm glad they're not like that anymore, I guess. Like, Deadline Poet, so much fun. But I wouldn't play music with Mo again for love or money. I do miss playing with Capt'n Winkler, though -- he's another that's got progeny on order -- in retrospect, we were such weird kids. I mean, jazz, blues and metal, with intermissions for a game of pool and discussing religion and philosophy. Not that I was particularly good at any of those things, but still. and in a way, i'm sad i never got that bee tat when i wanted it, cos now i can't get it, but then again, easier to forget i guess. wipe that memory lie away. i've been daydreaming about 1, after a week of daydreaming about 3, who has me all sorts of confused, and 2, who has me just sad. I just realized after like an hour of daydreaming: never in a million years. i mean, i took two lessons away last independence day: don't trust anyone and to turn the phrase around, lo que es pa' mi, nadie lo quiere. (the actual phrase mills informs me is "lo que es pa' ti nadie te lo quita").
at least i finally stopped listening to depressing music. more or less.
speaking of music, get down w/ the Black President doing "Army Arrangement":
and from the same performance, "Teacher, Don't Teach Me Nonsense":
The more I learn about Fela, the more I think he was a fucking genius. So you say you were arrested by the government because you wrote an album/song called "Zombie" that critized the government, so they came to your house, beat you up, planted weed on you, arrested you when you ate it so they could wait for you to shit it out, so you had to haggle with other prisoners for their shit so you wouldn't get busted, but the government had to let you go.
Except humor lives no matter what, so you write the whole experience down as another album designed to piss people off, called "Expensive Shit", so this time, when they come knocking, they beat you up and throw your mother out the window, which causes injuries that eventually kill her...
Except still, because you're a genius and you can still laugh and cry at the same time and you're STILL angry, you have her coffin delivered to the nearest Army barracks and write about it as "Coffin For Head Of State"....
Robert Anton Wilson, co-author of the Illuminatus! trilogy (among other things), psychonaut, geniune pope and all-around good guy dedicated to improving the lot of the human race, has shuffled off this mortal coil.
