It was just a little past 10 when I arrived at the Triple Rock Social Club. I didn’t get to see the Bio Dome this time around, as I was graced by good fortune and got the very last spot in the parking lot. Phew! What a relief. The giant deflated marshmallow freaks me out for some reason. I get some real bad mojo vibes from that place. I’m sure it’s just my imagination, but it seems like a zombie movie waiting to happen… An excited concert goer merrily makes his way past an experimental biological research facility, completely unaware of the horrors that are contained within, when all of a sudden he hears an explosion, then screams, then gunshots, the whole nine. The ghastly moans of “How bout some brains, buhhhhhhhhhhdy?” and by the time he hears this, it’s already too late…
I go around to the front of the club, where the smokers congregate before shows start, to kill some time with a cigarillo. There are two huge tour busses parked there on the street. Most likely belonging to the Aqua Bats and company? Some band headlining the show before the one I came to see. I have no idea who that is and I didn’t really bother to check. Oh well. I finished off my mini-gar and flicked the nub at one of the busses as if to say “Bah, fuck the Aqua Rats or whatever” because, well…fuck ‘em. Yeah.
I go inside and pay the cover charge. 8 bucks is an insane deal to see 4 bands. That’s like…hold on a sec…that’s like 2 bucks per band! Woo math! How is it that these fellas make money though? It doesn’t sound like they make an immense profit. I guess that’s one of the big reasons why I love Independent Label bands so much. They’ve got so much heart and so little moneys. Truly, they are the Rocky Balboas of the music industry.
Hmm. What do I want to drink? I know! The pride and joy of Minnesota: a Summit Extra Pale Ale. Summit EPAs and The Triple Rock are two of only a handful of things that make this state worth while. I get my beverage and take a seat at an open table in the Pit. Frontier is on stage, setting up their equipment and sound checking as I sit down. I only have to wait a few minutes for them to start playing and let me tell you, they absolutely crushed it. Hooooooooly shite! It turns out that they are a local band. Their MySpace page says that they are from Minneapolis. Wow. What a way to kick off the night. Who knew that such great, wholesome post-rock goodness could be found right in my back yard?
Up next was Battlefields. They were okay, I guess, but they struck me as being pretty typical. Nothing about them really stood out to me. There was throaty growling and screaming vocals, typical distorted guitar, and drumming that did not really woo me too much… There was just an all around generic metal vibe about them that I could hear from a whole sea of other bands. At best, they were a little above average…
Via Vengeance came on next and they, or HE, I should say was anything but typical. There was one man seated at a tiny drum kit with a gee tar around his neck. Where is the rest of the band? Why the hell are they not out by now? It was tre bizarre; ONE MAN on vocals, guitar, AND drums! WHAT?! This made me feel so very ashamed of myself as I did not even know how to play a single instrument while Via Vengeance was up there juggling three things at once. How is he doing this? This guy is some kind of demon!
My vision was obscured though, by some goofy asshole in a white Twins cap. I wanted so badly to jump up and kick him in the back of the head. The utter lack of courtesy for your fellow man made my blood boil. Whenever I acquire new ground at shows, I always, ALWAYS make sure I’m not obscuring someone else’s vision. This has never happened though, because I’m a measly 5’3” and there are very few who are lower in stature than I.
This poor bastard had no clue that a crazy Asian man was sitting behind him, plotting to unleash some sort of unspeakable violence. I swallowed my anger though, and quietly got up from my seat and found a better spot to stand. Right on. Now I could actually see the stage! Via Vengeance man’s playing was indescribable. He held a drum stick in his right hand, banging on his kit, his left hand strummed on his guitar and was vocalizing all the while as well. Now, of course these weren’t the most complex symphonies, but amazing nonetheless.
Mr. Onemanbandguy’s set was done so I decided to get another beer. I think I’ll have a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale this time. As you may or may not know by now, I lean more towards ales, especially pale ales. Them bastids float my boat, yep yep. I pay the bartender, grab my ale, and set out to find a new spot. The floor was empty, because everyone went out to grab a smoke or something. This was one very big advantage to not being a slave to nicotine. Oh ho ho, what do we have here? My favorite place to stand was wide open for the taking. You know the place, right? Against the wall, near the stairs that lead backstage where the bands come out from, stage left. Yadda yadda.
I lean up against the wall and take a sip from my beer, cool as a refrigerated cucumber. A personal victory for me, because this seemingly irrelevant, superfluous spot against the wall means more than the world to me and makes all the difference. I fiddle around with my phone to kill some time before A Storm of Light comes out. CHRIST‘S LIKENESS ON A BLUEBERRY WAFFLE. I nearly wet myself as the sudden roar of a guitar strum startles me to attention. I guess it was almost time.
A Storm of Light was just so…hauntingly beautiful. They are the very soundtrack of the impending Apocalypse and thereafter with their explosive, yet soothing sounds like crashing waves. The images projected on a big white sheet tacked up on the wall behind them were exactly what was brought to mind when you listen to A Storm of Light: incredible images of deserts, ruined buildings and cities, broken ships, and struggling wild life. I stood there, right in front of Josh Graham, overwhelmed by the feelings of impending catastrophe radiating from the stage. I closed my eyes and let it saturate through to the marrow.
For most of the performance, my eyes were fixed upon this gorgeous creature to the far left of the stage. My oh my, who is this breathtaking woman? I would find out later that her name is Zorah Atash. I wish that I could have heard her voice though, because the thunderous instrumentals had drowned out any trace of her and Josh’s vocals. Such beauty…I really need to stop allowing my heart to wander wherever it pleases. This causes me only heartache.
A Storm of Light had finished their set and I was headed to the merchandise tables to peep their wares. I swallowed hard when Zorah came up to work the A Storm of Light table and tried my hardest to contain myself. I could have easily screeched like a schoolgirl and completely lost it right there. Ravenous butterflies nibbled at the walls of my stomach as I was a mere foot or two away from such a divine creature. I ended up buying ASoL’s newest album and am ASoL pin. As Zorah handed me the pin, I leaned in and told her “You are absolutely gorgeous. It’s been a pleasure.” but I sort of trailed off and mumbled the words. It was awkward to say the least. “Aww. Thank you so much!” she said in response and I was off and out the door like a shot.
I am such a dweeb…
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Thursday, March 11th 2010: GZA/GENIUS of the Wu-Tang Clan. Oh My God, Did He Just Get the Whole Place High?
I left my house and set out for the Triple Rock at around 8:30. The concert calendar had said that the show would start at 8:00, but I have learned that it’s just a gimmick to get people to arrive early so they could buy drinks while they wait for performers to get on stage. I’m not falling for that shit, no no no. Do you know how much drinks are? You could buy a sixer and have moneys left over for what you pay for two beers and I am quite the cheap bastard. I was worried though, that the show might be sold out before I got there because GZA is quite a BIG-name act. Everyone knows Wu-Tang and they are well beloved by many but I didn‘t expect there to be so much interest because rap has moved in a different, most terrible direction as of late. A direction filled with horrid auto-tuned robot voices and soulja boy super man dances.
I arrive at the Triple Rock at 9:20ish and pull into the 3x Rock’s parking lot. It’s full. Not a good sign. Shit. Was I too late? I hope it’s not sold out. One of the things I loved about the Triple Rock was their seemingly always available parking, but this was not the case tonight. I would end up parking a couple blocks away from the venue, near this big puffy, not quite dome, not quite cube thing. It looked like a big white fluffed up keyboard key. It made me wonder if E.T. or Pauly Shore were being stored in there for experimentation. Or…dear god…maybe they were BOTH in there, being scientifically fused together? I’m wandering dangerously off track here…so, I park my car in the shadow of the Bio Dome and make a small sketch of where I was on my hand so I could find my way back later. It’s a short walk back to the 3x, not too bad and I rather enjoyed it. Pretty nice neighborhood around that area. I’d love to live around there someday, maybe…
I walk through the doors and already, the place is packed with people (upon mental reread: “why would I say that? ‘People’. What else would it be packed with? Llamas?”). I have never seen the place so full. I expected the place to be consisting of mostly black folks and a slew of Eminem lookin‘ Caucasian fellas, but I was wrong. The majority of those in attendance were the typical Pabst Blue Ribbon drinking hipsters who frequented the Triple Rock. I thought that this was so weird…
I pay my 18 dollar cover charge and head to the bar to get a drink. I had a mighty hankerin’ for an ale so I ordered me a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and found myself a spot amongst the crowd and settled in to catch the first opener. “Are you ready to get GZAfied!?”, said a man as he took the stage (GZA: pronounced ‘jizz-ah’). I wanted to see GZA perform, but I don’t really want to be jizzified, I thought to myself. That just sounds very, very unpleasant to me…
The man revealed himself to be St. Paul Slim, a local rapper. Something tells me that he is from St. Paul or resides in St. Paul? That’s my hypothesis at least. He was great, I tell you what. DJ Snuggie provided the dope beatz for Mr. Slim. My favorite part of his performance was when he showed off his freestyling skills. Something something bison. Something something python. Make other rappers so scared, they have to sleep with the lights on. Put words together like a “hyphon”. This clever little diddy made me smile. Words together like a hyphon (hyphen). That is pure freaking genius. Holy crap. This made me think about how those who do not favor hip-hop criticize that rap and rap artists are uneducated and barbaric. What these Philistines fail to realize is that these artists may or may not be institutionally well educated, but they hold an infinite wealth of street knowledge and wisdom. Not to mention the brain power one must have to string together words which one would wield to crush opponents, spontaneously, right off the top of their heads.
“I feel a little weird callin’ a grown man Snuggie so from now on I’mma call him Snug Life”, Slim said with a chuckle. It turns out that Snuggie is a skilled beat boxer as he churned out some killer mouf beats. I was thoroughly impressed up until he started making female orgasm noises. This weirded me out as I just plain did not know how to feel about a large black man named “Snuggie”, making climaxing sounds…
Saint Paul Slim’s set was finished and it was time to wait for the next opener to come out. After a few minutes of waiting, I had to pee so I set out for the bathroom. While I was taking in St. Paul’s performance, it seems the crowd had grown immensely in capacity around me. I did my bathroom business and tried to get back to my standing spot. The Triple Rock was now a huge pain in the ass to navigate through and my spot was taken. FUCK. FUCKING. FUCKERS. I tried to back track to look for a new spot and had no luck. I was being bumped into and all about so I got frustrated and headed outside to have a cigarillo and regroup. Slim Paul Saint guy had said that Moo Something was opening up after him, so whatever. I don’t give a shit. I’m not here to see some Moo asshole. I’m here to see mother fucking GZA GENIUS of THE Wu-Tang Clan! There was no nostalgia in seeing Moo Whatshisface.
The nostalgia lie solely in GZA. Back in the day, my best friend at the time; George Hammanjian got me into the Wu. I know that I’m spelling his name wrong, but yeah, it was my buddy George who started my love affair with The Clan. Before being introduced, I listened to the strangest musics…so strange and so horrifying that to even begin to mention what I listened to would make me implode with embarrassment. Even up this point in life, there have been many beloved friends who have introduced me to beautiful musics which I otherwise would have never heard. From Wolf, to Blah, to Cha, to brother Nicotine. These are the ones who help shovel the musical coal into the furnace that is my soul and I am eternally grateful.
So I killed some time with an Erin Go Bragh cigarillo and texted the aforementioned Wolf while I was outside and planning my counter-attack. Alright. ALRIGHT! I threw the nub of my ‘rillo down to the ground and huffed back inside. I fought my way through the packed house, a tough thing to do when you have a…wide…frame as I do. I showed a few suckas my bayonet, and a few others the butt of my rifle and I was miraculously back to my spot of choice. HAZZAH! I DID IT! I felt like a Viking whom had just arrived in glorious Valhalla as I settled in to wait for GZA.
Alas, things were not as great as they seemed. I had taken back the hill, but stupid Moo something was still on stage. They were god awful. It was like someone let a bunch of amateurs up there for open mic night, jumping around on stage like a bunch of asshats. I was right to skip out on most of their performance. Get the fuck outta here, you idiots. “Shalom Ali Kum,” one of them said as they left the stage. WHAT THE FUCK? Salaam Ali Kum, Ali Kum Salaam is an Islamic saying meaning something along the lines of “peace be with you, and with you peace” and Shalom is a Jewish greeting. Are you trying to be clever here and imply that you wish for Islamic-Jewish unity and peace? Well, you just came off as utterly retarded to me. GET. OFF. THE. FUCKING. STAGE.
We ended up waiting soooooooooo goddamn long for the man to come out. The crowd began chanting his name; GZA! GZA! GZA! GZA! GZA! and still no sign of him. After what seemed like a couple eternities, GZA’s DJ played a well known audio sample from Shogun Assassin; Daigoro’s speech about his father and the Shogunate. This set the whole place in an uproar. I sucked the energy in as the memories caused by this audio clip swept over me. I remembered distinctly, more than a decade ago, when I first heard this on Wu-Tang Forever. But still no GZA. The DJ man told us that we were being too load, that they weren’t even letting GZA through. Moments later the man of the hour shows himself. I swear to you; the very instant he set foot on stage, the strongest aroma of pot hit all of our nostrils. It was like the Wu-Tang version of pixie dust…
Dear god, he was pure magic. This was rap at it’s very purest. The beats were quite simple, yet killer in their own right. No flash, no gimmicks. Just grimy, razor sharp, yet smooth as butter rap. You can bet your ass there would be no robo voice here. I swear, I didn’t even see a thick, blinged out chain around his neck as most rappers wear. You see, this is not the Shaolin way. You will be cut from every direction by the liquid swords, be left bleeding internally and with brutal efficiency. To say that the man has a silver tongue is to sell the man short. Genius is a well deserved title, as well as is GZA, so potent that he made all the women in attendance pregnant.
Midway through his performance, I don’t know what exactly happened, but an incident occurred when a fairly large black man assaulted a similarly large white man in the audience. All of a sudden I see a mean right hook wallop the guy in the face. I’m guessing that the white dude bumped into the black dude one too many times? Shite. I totally feel for the guy though, as the constant knocking into me during shows infuriates me as well and if I’d had a few more drinks in me, I’d have done the same thing. I was amazed by how quick security reacted though, as no more than two seconds after the punch was thrown, the bouncer had his arm wrapped around the guy’s neck, tossing his ass out.
I’ve only rediscovered Wu-Tang fairly recently as these days, I lean more towards other genres…so I really didn’t recognize many of the songs GZA performed. This was not the case with many other fans in attendance though, as they promptly filled in the blanks each and every time GZA pointed his mic toward the audience. I was truly impressed by this. The few songs I knew though, I hollered the lyrics at the top of my lungs. Such a fun and interactive experience. GZA paid respects to the late, great fellow Clansman O.D.B. when he performed Shimmy Shimmy Ya. It was apparent that Ol’ Dirty Bastard was still very much missed and it filled me with a strange mixture of joy and sorrow to scream “Ooh baby, I like it raaaaaaaw!” whenever prompted to do so during this tribute. He yanked on our legs as he told us that his set was done with. Are you serious!?! You better give us an encore. Do you realize how long you made us wait? “Naw, I’m not ready to leave yet”, he assured us and performed two or three more encore songs. GZA wrapped up the show urging us to drive home safely and be safe because he’s seen a few stumbling drunks about the place. What a guy. I didn’t expect this from GZA for some reason.
So this was my first rap show. It oddly did not leave me with a lingering satisfaction as other shows at the Triple Rock have in the past. I was very much thoroughly entertained, but I feel like rap is on a different wavelength than the other musics I enjoy. This show had an entirely different energy to it. Maybe if I reacquainted myself better with GZA and Wu-Tang? An absolutely amazing experience, nonetheless.
I headed to my car, realizing that I didn’t even need to use the drawing I had made on my hand. Just walk on over in that direction until you see the big Pauly Shore marshmallow and you’re golden. Oh god, please don’t let there be a ticket on the windshield. Ah, no parking ticket. Sweet! I head home through the early morning fog and decide to pop by the gas station because I was feeling mighty thirsty. When I arrive at Marathon, I notice that the White Castle next door is open. Why am I hungry? Did…did GZA give me contact high? White Castle sounds DELICIOUS right about now…
I arrive at the Triple Rock at 9:20ish and pull into the 3x Rock’s parking lot. It’s full. Not a good sign. Shit. Was I too late? I hope it’s not sold out. One of the things I loved about the Triple Rock was their seemingly always available parking, but this was not the case tonight. I would end up parking a couple blocks away from the venue, near this big puffy, not quite dome, not quite cube thing. It looked like a big white fluffed up keyboard key. It made me wonder if E.T. or Pauly Shore were being stored in there for experimentation. Or…dear god…maybe they were BOTH in there, being scientifically fused together? I’m wandering dangerously off track here…so, I park my car in the shadow of the Bio Dome and make a small sketch of where I was on my hand so I could find my way back later. It’s a short walk back to the 3x, not too bad and I rather enjoyed it. Pretty nice neighborhood around that area. I’d love to live around there someday, maybe…
I walk through the doors and already, the place is packed with people (upon mental reread: “why would I say that? ‘People’. What else would it be packed with? Llamas?”). I have never seen the place so full. I expected the place to be consisting of mostly black folks and a slew of Eminem lookin‘ Caucasian fellas, but I was wrong. The majority of those in attendance were the typical Pabst Blue Ribbon drinking hipsters who frequented the Triple Rock. I thought that this was so weird…
I pay my 18 dollar cover charge and head to the bar to get a drink. I had a mighty hankerin’ for an ale so I ordered me a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and found myself a spot amongst the crowd and settled in to catch the first opener. “Are you ready to get GZAfied!?”, said a man as he took the stage (GZA: pronounced ‘jizz-ah’). I wanted to see GZA perform, but I don’t really want to be jizzified, I thought to myself. That just sounds very, very unpleasant to me…
The man revealed himself to be St. Paul Slim, a local rapper. Something tells me that he is from St. Paul or resides in St. Paul? That’s my hypothesis at least. He was great, I tell you what. DJ Snuggie provided the dope beatz for Mr. Slim. My favorite part of his performance was when he showed off his freestyling skills. Something something bison. Something something python. Make other rappers so scared, they have to sleep with the lights on. Put words together like a “hyphon”. This clever little diddy made me smile. Words together like a hyphon (hyphen). That is pure freaking genius. Holy crap. This made me think about how those who do not favor hip-hop criticize that rap and rap artists are uneducated and barbaric. What these Philistines fail to realize is that these artists may or may not be institutionally well educated, but they hold an infinite wealth of street knowledge and wisdom. Not to mention the brain power one must have to string together words which one would wield to crush opponents, spontaneously, right off the top of their heads.
“I feel a little weird callin’ a grown man Snuggie so from now on I’mma call him Snug Life”, Slim said with a chuckle. It turns out that Snuggie is a skilled beat boxer as he churned out some killer mouf beats. I was thoroughly impressed up until he started making female orgasm noises. This weirded me out as I just plain did not know how to feel about a large black man named “Snuggie”, making climaxing sounds…
Saint Paul Slim’s set was finished and it was time to wait for the next opener to come out. After a few minutes of waiting, I had to pee so I set out for the bathroom. While I was taking in St. Paul’s performance, it seems the crowd had grown immensely in capacity around me. I did my bathroom business and tried to get back to my standing spot. The Triple Rock was now a huge pain in the ass to navigate through and my spot was taken. FUCK. FUCKING. FUCKERS. I tried to back track to look for a new spot and had no luck. I was being bumped into and all about so I got frustrated and headed outside to have a cigarillo and regroup. Slim Paul Saint guy had said that Moo Something was opening up after him, so whatever. I don’t give a shit. I’m not here to see some Moo asshole. I’m here to see mother fucking GZA GENIUS of THE Wu-Tang Clan! There was no nostalgia in seeing Moo Whatshisface.
The nostalgia lie solely in GZA. Back in the day, my best friend at the time; George Hammanjian got me into the Wu. I know that I’m spelling his name wrong, but yeah, it was my buddy George who started my love affair with The Clan. Before being introduced, I listened to the strangest musics…so strange and so horrifying that to even begin to mention what I listened to would make me implode with embarrassment. Even up this point in life, there have been many beloved friends who have introduced me to beautiful musics which I otherwise would have never heard. From Wolf, to Blah, to Cha, to brother Nicotine. These are the ones who help shovel the musical coal into the furnace that is my soul and I am eternally grateful.
So I killed some time with an Erin Go Bragh cigarillo and texted the aforementioned Wolf while I was outside and planning my counter-attack. Alright. ALRIGHT! I threw the nub of my ‘rillo down to the ground and huffed back inside. I fought my way through the packed house, a tough thing to do when you have a…wide…frame as I do. I showed a few suckas my bayonet, and a few others the butt of my rifle and I was miraculously back to my spot of choice. HAZZAH! I DID IT! I felt like a Viking whom had just arrived in glorious Valhalla as I settled in to wait for GZA.
Alas, things were not as great as they seemed. I had taken back the hill, but stupid Moo something was still on stage. They were god awful. It was like someone let a bunch of amateurs up there for open mic night, jumping around on stage like a bunch of asshats. I was right to skip out on most of their performance. Get the fuck outta here, you idiots. “Shalom Ali Kum,” one of them said as they left the stage. WHAT THE FUCK? Salaam Ali Kum, Ali Kum Salaam is an Islamic saying meaning something along the lines of “peace be with you, and with you peace” and Shalom is a Jewish greeting. Are you trying to be clever here and imply that you wish for Islamic-Jewish unity and peace? Well, you just came off as utterly retarded to me. GET. OFF. THE. FUCKING. STAGE.
We ended up waiting soooooooooo goddamn long for the man to come out. The crowd began chanting his name; GZA! GZA! GZA! GZA! GZA! and still no sign of him. After what seemed like a couple eternities, GZA’s DJ played a well known audio sample from Shogun Assassin; Daigoro’s speech about his father and the Shogunate. This set the whole place in an uproar. I sucked the energy in as the memories caused by this audio clip swept over me. I remembered distinctly, more than a decade ago, when I first heard this on Wu-Tang Forever. But still no GZA. The DJ man told us that we were being too load, that they weren’t even letting GZA through. Moments later the man of the hour shows himself. I swear to you; the very instant he set foot on stage, the strongest aroma of pot hit all of our nostrils. It was like the Wu-Tang version of pixie dust…
Dear god, he was pure magic. This was rap at it’s very purest. The beats were quite simple, yet killer in their own right. No flash, no gimmicks. Just grimy, razor sharp, yet smooth as butter rap. You can bet your ass there would be no robo voice here. I swear, I didn’t even see a thick, blinged out chain around his neck as most rappers wear. You see, this is not the Shaolin way. You will be cut from every direction by the liquid swords, be left bleeding internally and with brutal efficiency. To say that the man has a silver tongue is to sell the man short. Genius is a well deserved title, as well as is GZA, so potent that he made all the women in attendance pregnant.
Midway through his performance, I don’t know what exactly happened, but an incident occurred when a fairly large black man assaulted a similarly large white man in the audience. All of a sudden I see a mean right hook wallop the guy in the face. I’m guessing that the white dude bumped into the black dude one too many times? Shite. I totally feel for the guy though, as the constant knocking into me during shows infuriates me as well and if I’d had a few more drinks in me, I’d have done the same thing. I was amazed by how quick security reacted though, as no more than two seconds after the punch was thrown, the bouncer had his arm wrapped around the guy’s neck, tossing his ass out.
I’ve only rediscovered Wu-Tang fairly recently as these days, I lean more towards other genres…so I really didn’t recognize many of the songs GZA performed. This was not the case with many other fans in attendance though, as they promptly filled in the blanks each and every time GZA pointed his mic toward the audience. I was truly impressed by this. The few songs I knew though, I hollered the lyrics at the top of my lungs. Such a fun and interactive experience. GZA paid respects to the late, great fellow Clansman O.D.B. when he performed Shimmy Shimmy Ya. It was apparent that Ol’ Dirty Bastard was still very much missed and it filled me with a strange mixture of joy and sorrow to scream “Ooh baby, I like it raaaaaaaw!” whenever prompted to do so during this tribute. He yanked on our legs as he told us that his set was done with. Are you serious!?! You better give us an encore. Do you realize how long you made us wait? “Naw, I’m not ready to leave yet”, he assured us and performed two or three more encore songs. GZA wrapped up the show urging us to drive home safely and be safe because he’s seen a few stumbling drunks about the place. What a guy. I didn’t expect this from GZA for some reason.
So this was my first rap show. It oddly did not leave me with a lingering satisfaction as other shows at the Triple Rock have in the past. I was very much thoroughly entertained, but I feel like rap is on a different wavelength than the other musics I enjoy. This show had an entirely different energy to it. Maybe if I reacquainted myself better with GZA and Wu-Tang? An absolutely amazing experience, nonetheless.
I headed to my car, realizing that I didn’t even need to use the drawing I had made on my hand. Just walk on over in that direction until you see the big Pauly Shore marshmallow and you’re golden. Oh god, please don’t let there be a ticket on the windshield. Ah, no parking ticket. Sweet! I head home through the early morning fog and decide to pop by the gas station because I was feeling mighty thirsty. When I arrive at Marathon, I notice that the White Castle next door is open. Why am I hungry? Did…did GZA give me contact high? White Castle sounds DELICIOUS right about now…
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Orion
But more often than not, who I am falls short of what I’ve missed out on
Parallel selves slip by with their heads tucked away and down
Scornful of the man they could have been
Loosely fitting and scarcely adhered , a shell of a fraction
Dodging bullets
Unaware of how often they cross my mind
Diligently clinging to shadows
Scurrying like insects between pillars of light
Gazed upon with the awe and wonder of a dreamer child
Evaporating with each lost grain of sand
One by one, falling by the wayside
Commenting on how The Great Hunter looks more like an hourglass
Rendered miniscule under his guise and grandeur
Reassured by the emptiness that is his stomach
Parallel selves slip by with their heads tucked away and down
Scornful of the man they could have been
Loosely fitting and scarcely adhered , a shell of a fraction
Dodging bullets
Unaware of how often they cross my mind
Diligently clinging to shadows
Scurrying like insects between pillars of light
Gazed upon with the awe and wonder of a dreamer child
Evaporating with each lost grain of sand
One by one, falling by the wayside
Commenting on how The Great Hunter looks more like an hourglass
Rendered miniscule under his guise and grandeur
Reassured by the emptiness that is his stomach
Special Agent Fox William Mulder!
Piecing together gospel from words you overheard strangers had spoke
Worth about as much as the soot at the bottom of your pockets
Simply progress in repairing the mold that you’d broke
Catching glimpses of ghosts in the corners of your perception
Went the way of fireflies in captivity
Somewhere between corporeal and ether
Toes buried in wet sand
A whisper of a rumor of an enigma
Like the jell-o you loved to squish when you were a kid,
escaping through the spaces between your fingers
And there it is again…
A house of cards at the mouth of an open window
We are all sorting through myth and legend
Desperately trying to discern between the two
Blindly practicing sorcery and medicine
Forever in a primal age of leeches and trepanation
Superstitiously applying pressure upon that which is meant to bleed…
Worth about as much as the soot at the bottom of your pockets
Simply progress in repairing the mold that you’d broke
Catching glimpses of ghosts in the corners of your perception
Went the way of fireflies in captivity
Somewhere between corporeal and ether
Toes buried in wet sand
A whisper of a rumor of an enigma
Like the jell-o you loved to squish when you were a kid,
escaping through the spaces between your fingers
And there it is again…
A house of cards at the mouth of an open window
We are all sorting through myth and legend
Desperately trying to discern between the two
Blindly practicing sorcery and medicine
Forever in a primal age of leeches and trepanation
Superstitiously applying pressure upon that which is meant to bleed…
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