Just back in Seoul on Halloween. 17 days in indolent Portland a rejurgenating ad;sicxixixixwe.ssssssssssssiue!! Did lots of playing, of course, of course. The horse.
The Portland Bicycle Ensemble has a recording in the works. It's a;d9ciciciw. I did a show with them, as the first "non-bicycle" member. They sound ridiculously good. Really.
Other highlights include hearing Bryan Eubanks' new soprano sound in person. Hot shitt, that. There was also a new peevish recording, in jubilant celebration of a Bananafish review in which she was called "gaytarded," and was described as sounding like a blowjob machine being operated by Jackie O. Motherfucker! I also learned that Jef Brown has quit said Motherfucker, which is natural since he was the only interesting musician in the band (so, duh, it was/is a boring band).
I'm reading, courtesy of said Eubanks, My Education, William Burroughs' dream journal, and his last book. Here are some of the nuggets of wisdom from old wrong Bill:
The survivor doesn't want to be looked at. Doesn't want to be seen. By the time he is close enough to be seen, there won't be anybody to see him.
+
The whole concept of communication is antiquated.
+
Have I had breakfast?
+
What can I do in London? Visit some pop stars or what?
+
Most people are bewildered and much impressed. You are a rare exception.
+
It seems like a bad idea, fraught with disagreeable potentials.
+
Just exactly to what extent we are confined is difficult to say.
+
Honesty wrung out of him by pain, he cried out in a loud voice.
