forgive my grammar, written furiously in the back of the jersey-bound shadow published from random wifi hotspots.

soiled and battered under skin and by name most of the preparations are complete. this morning saw the last of the ritualistic spatial spiritual and musical rehearsals for the tour, the aching muscles and blisters have pushed open some of the deepest darkest cores and split them wide - these moments of punishment until full release are necessary in order to fulfill the total melding of instrument and human so that things like time place and self-consciousness are pushed to the edge; passion and power consuming all in an epiphany of powerful presence. business is now at hand, a race through Manhattan to jersey to secure the tour-bus and anoint it with more mystic protection. apparently there are stronger forces at work here, nothing stops us and DaveW is driving in full tourette's mode, expletives flying out the window aimed at all obstructions.
a major part of the last 3 days has been spent at the rental space where the price breakdown is 15 20 or 25 an hour for a back-lined room to rehearse in. as long as you leave it the way you found it apparently you can do anything you want. the amps, drums and PA are supplied and always need a bit of work from drum key or other tools to be fully operational. In this case I got a kit where the high hat stand listed a bit leeward, so it kept biting the back of my hand. It went unnoticed and bled a small bit for a few songs, staining my pants with blood where my hand met during each snare beat. the blisters are welcome because now that we have a few days until Chicago they will heal into nice numb callouses. Jersey smells weird.

Brooklyn

scribed under radio silence day2.

Next thing I know i'm in the the shadow - a murky blue and battered car weathered as much by time as miles, on a hellride through Chinatown and then over the Williamsburg bridge. Pulling up in front of the gallery we spy Maureen, she was that one girl from that scary movie ego sensation made.

Movie.


The shadow wheezes to a stop and we bail out from one door, the drivers side. White Hills have a one door policy which I encountered in Europe on tour but was just re-introduced to in practice once more. As we bolt up the concrete we come across members of the Lovely Eggs from Lancaster England. They exchange some material and an envelope and we proceed to the sub-street level bar. some other stuff happens and we go to drunk pizza place on bedford and 7th, where I eat the most delicious pizza and it explodes into little pieces in my mouth like basily-garlicy-tomato-ey poprocks sating me with crisp-doughy love. please go now to this place - 7th and bedford Brooklyn ny and tell me I am wrong. please tell me I am delusional, and that I cannot give up on finding better slices. Later at the bar I took out the fat tip sharpie and we started tagging up the place and DaveW drew a 3rd eye on the back of each hand, oh Brahma, oh Shiva, be quick to bring justice and let not this band suffer!

launched into the breach

writ on monday morning as sunrise spoke.

Got back from the sweat shop and pounding drums for hours - DaveW leads with the absolve of an abandoned dragster-demon and our direction is at his mercy, sending us signals with his contortions and body undulations; a secret language of spasm.
At points we play songs that either compress or purge great washes of sound that sweep around the room, worrying from the speakers and heads, finally filling the damp decrepit rental space up to the leaky pipes on the ceiling. Even with earplugs the frequencies that accumulate form sonic seawalls breaking against my flesh, my teeth, my bones.

tour trailer.

Unceasing rituals follow each other in the white hills lair at all hours. After the show at secret project robot studios in Brooklyn last night we lit toilet paper as it spooled out across the ground while piling red glitter into the sprawling night air. The hippo-squirrel also became center piece in an ornate 8 point star drawn on the floor in soap, candles burning incense and the damp air of rain mixing in my brain, partially clothed with ceremonial robes and wraps. We spoke of shoes and ships and ceiling wax pouring ounces-to-pounds of liquid courage into a challis and adding the crushed blackened hibiscus and st.James wort until it was fortified completely. Memories get fuzzy at this point and somehow I shrunk back to my normal size and lost consciousness around sunrise.

Ego makes her traps, her pretty evil metal snares full of all manner of delicious intentions. They seem so lovely at first glance, shiny coppery cages holding chocolates, confections, pastries looking like an invitation to pure joy. looking closer delicate tiny spikes can be made out across all of the grid lines. the maze of miniature dangerous looking thorns and barbs clearly challenge a bloody treat if one is not careful. the taste is probably worth the bandages.

Scary.

I welcome this interesting but odd break from the normal routine of my life, while the benefits of this 'conditioning' may not seem obvious I have faith this tour will not leave me without having my inner eye expanded, my mind shattered by the galactic musical journey into the reaches of space.

The show at (wait for it) Secret Project Robot @ Monster Island was amazing, those French guys rocked some space-tastic noisey shuffle stomp - of which I did some, and it was so nice. And by nice I mean you are crying yourself to sleep 'cause you weren't there.

eat, sleep, pack, NYC i am back.

aH some drizzle and a bit of cool to the temples - gods alive there is nothing so soothing to my brittle brain as coming into the east village at sundown. The view of buildings - chrysler, empire, forward, the ansonia - so much eyecandy. tomorrow the intensive practice schedule begins. 4 hours of learning and playing then 4 more hours of sight deprivation practice, followed by Himalayan chant and stretching.

Got fed some trophy-mouth-winning indian grub at the white hills compound on Ave B and got lost in thought on a bench in tompkins square park. Hit 3 random bars on the way uptown and got the warm autumn drizzle soak - whicah is always welcome here and there. Thought of friends and forms - coalescing into fits and starts.

Dave W. previewed and gave live mixes in a sort of spontaneous preview party for the upcoming Thrill JOckey release and the current issue vinyl called "dead".

Sure to be and more to come. tension, excitement, insanity are all building blocks for freakshow blowouts on stages and in minds. White Hills awaits you and whatever freak future will follow.

terminal haste

jockey hardline mist pewter scaberry

thirsting like drunken 3am blighted recourse - be damned be dimmed haven't there been those proper haven't there been those lick salting begone. I have a general sense of things, but the feeling is diminished when specular when specific to situation.

telling those retail observations to conform to relate in space to what I feel now is possibly and eternally cloistered where nothing has meaning and motion, right? Often because of the amount and volume of copy, of verbiage, of media and waste I can not reconcile the the meaning and relate that to another living soul, shit jack - everything becomes a cage, everything heals and hurts when one gets right down to it. It all depends on where yer standing jack where yer soaking in it.

obviously winking like that to the sun will make you blind, but how many times can it be done? how many times do those flames lick your eyes with near perfect love and desire before nothing can lick any longer for evermore.

heat I feel heat I need heat I hold it in me as close as life as close as sweat. like my skin crawls in a circle and when the apex curls against the broad line, when the particle of begining touches the end for that brief, swift moment no words will do - you know it too - no words will do no matter how many drunken accidents and carriage collisions take you away, you can live in the arctic and I will still see you today.... if I want to.

I will break this too, you know it's true and when I do when I do the balance comes to my room. I can be under covers and beneath silk or plastic all sweaty and pungeant and ridiculous and still it will come it will beat and shear and stomp this possible fever from my head and my last remaining gasp and laughingly I will follow useless in the grasp. You know that too, but never had words to show it. did I hole=d it against you, never never as a swan could never beat a child of light and that horse run without stumble without fall dropping leaves like today when the time rolls back my dreams all my dreams of apocalypse where I am the star. Here are these prayers to all of my friends, cause no words will ever demand the same incantation, please take them and know I often dwell on your face but maybe not the name, again thats just a word.

Ever to you all, really watching super feeling nasty breathing and your breath and those lights when pointed and you stumbled and I caught. inside those everything moments, where your light shines brightest, you thank me with a shy sly smile and its really all i ever need.

Pragmatist is that joint is that point where I stopped learning and just listened, and it's for you.

listen to it here.

are this now enaught?

than thanks will never be enough