News
- Note to readers: We've decidedMarch 30th, 2005
-
Note to readers: We’ve decided to subtly change our approach to the News page. We’re going to try giving (even) less coverage to shows here and focus more on non-show related information such as lies and fanciful tales. If you want to hear how shows went, you’ll now have to visit the Past Shows page (linked at the bottom of the Shows page), where we’re going to start logging such comments. We hope the change doesn’t bother you. We expect it will allow us to focus more heavily on the manufacture of bullshit here on the News page. Of course, we’ll still have to deal with the occasional piece of information here — album updates, recording coverage, etc. — but we’ll do our best to minimize truth’s intrusion.
Starting line: ?
Finish line: ???
Total mileage: ??!?%!?!?!??
It’s been several days since we last reported in, and during the intervening period Life On The Road has claimed our minds, claimed them for his own. What will Life On The Road do with our minds now that he’s got them? Throw them against a brick wall? Burn them? Marry them off to his daughters, Tragedy, Vice, and Pain? That’s up to Life On The Road. We’re no longer able to muster concern for our own fates.
Look at some of the mucked up shit we’ve seen. Look, here’s the “biggest cross in the Western hemisphere”:
Here’s a cop drifting lazily down Interstate 44 holding his gun to his own head as a means of trying to muster some concern about his fate now that LOTR has permanently subpoenaed his mind:
Here’s a Mexican restaurant in the middle of New Mexico that has somehow taken over the premises of a McDonald’s and only partially redecorated:
Probably Alfonso just found this place abandoned by the McDonald’s people, who fled into the desert after LOTR had swatted their very minds into space with a cricket bat. Alfonso, his own consciousness terrifically strained by Life On The Road, decided to paint his name on the wall and start serving burritos from the kitchen.
Here’s Keith and Michael sitting around in Claremont having a beer after a long drive in from El Paso:
They are blithely unaware of the Mexican wrestling masks that have spontaneously manifested as an outward expression of the vile irrationality that now stampedes through their minds like an army of badgers gleaming across the dark underbelly of some perverted otherworld rainbow.
After a tremendous show at The Independent in San Francisco, we joined ranks with Bishop Allen, piled into El Lobo, and undertook what would prove to be a weirdly drawn out drive to LA. Behold the matrix of dread:
Hanging out at the Prince one evening, somebody whose mind had decomposed into a cinderpot of spoil ordered silkworms for the table.
Most of us tried them. Nobody liked them. Here’s CO enjoying hers:
“Foul” was how she described the experience. Eating it seemed to actually make her angry, is how bad to the mouth these silkworms were.
Here’s something amazing:
Rule 2 needn’t be displayed, perhaps. Maybe even it can’t be displayed, can’t be put into words. It’s just a feeling you have. Also, look at the small sign at the top of the picture: “ALL PRICES OF TAXABLE ITEMS INCLUDE REIMBURSEMENT FOR SALES TAXES COMPUTED TO THE NEAREST MILL”. Why do they reimburse customers for sales tax? More crucially, what is the nearest “mill”? Million? Computed to the nearest million? You walk around the western United States right now and you’re able to watch the sanity of the world slowly evaporate like a lake in some sun-fucked desert that rain clouds recently gave up visiting.
**Next stop: The U.K.**
