Recorded at a vague coffeehouse somewhere around the strip bars, clubs and laundromats. Genuine folks from the midwest. Due to field recorder not getting enough vitamin b’s, a couple songs didn’t make it. Read the rest of this entry »
Recorded at a vague coffeehouse somewhere around the strip bars, clubs and laundromats. Genuine folks from the midwest. Due to field recorder not getting enough vitamin b’s, a couple songs didn’t make it. Read the rest of this entry »
Abe Vigoda live recording at the Tribe house Phoenix. Kind of like a fractal with an erection. Would’ve recorded Women too, but I had to go trim my toenails and put cucumbers over my eyes. Read the rest of this entry »
Recordings from brutality show at the Tribe house in Phoenix. If you listen closely you can hear the tiny screams of equestrian mothers who found semen in their half & half. Read the rest of this entry »
Her welfare check voice hardline request voice (Ain’t it tragic poise?), demands wife abuse tales declares life without males combs Burger King hair, glares joyless iris jails raises daughters who in wildflower skirts dream dramatic feats.
Noise Posting from Filthy Grin dies biuse self-titled: Filthy Grin dies biuse
Archived; click post to view.
Excerpt: Perfumed issues on Mill grease their way across the intersection, junkies look past them with fossilized erections. ‘Know a place for clean needles?” I told em to rub with a diabetic, they laughed until their ribs played against each other like windchimes. Mother was carrying her daughter, the son was looking a me wide eyed. I wondered how much of his life he’d remember me and the guy walking up and down the sidewalk talking about his jail rep and the dealer, “I just got one in between my knuckles so I snort the fucking shit man.” Girl in small bus…
Chain-smoking groceries are built, flower store owners choke their hands. Countertops indent the clerk’s clothes, muscles wrinkle her six dollar guilt. Teachers forget to water classroom plants. Drivers shout fuck at closed windows. Birds clench and crowd wires, more perch. Salted butter gets mad and melts itself. Sons grow to sweep floors, dust shelves. Their tables wage war with peas and forks. Hair and nails persist in cemeteries while the lawns are manicured. Past Dixie’s Workout, past trail-clumped leaves Tommy wrecks his bike, its spokes rust. Where kids make mudballs spiked with nails to defend from invasions across the creek.
Archived; click post to view.
Excerpt: Nothing don’t no work no dope face pig slop tongue ever uttered a clear word. You could punch the teeth out of his smile like popcorn on theater floors man. nothing don’t no work no nadda game type individual with a shaved neck. Saved every eyelash since he started that blinking thing. He sniggers he say go black you don’t back he sniggers and his eyebrows furrow like putting cigars out on a dog’s nose. his girl smiles like the first time she hated her dad over mashed potatoes. Pull myself open like a high school frog and stay out late….