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> Odyssey, That Ain't No Blues!
G&C
post Oct 5 2011, 03:11 PM
Post #16


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QUOTE(Artemis @ Oct 5 2011, 07:35 AM) *

… Polly spread-eagled on a lab table, while he plugged in an electrical device that emitted a sinister dynamo hum.


I've heard the gas powered units work better.


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"If I knew I was going to live this long I'da taken better care of myself." - Kirk

No threat is Friendly.

Just drink it or sink it.
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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 03:15 PM
Post #17


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Without electricity, you can poke and stroke till your wrist gets numb, but you still won't hear no dynamo hum. The sparks and the smell of ozone are all part of the fun.

Would ya'll like some more-ah?
Right here on the floor-ah?
And how bout you Fauna?
Ya wanna?

F.Z.


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Il arrive souvent que les personnes couvertes d’esprit enflamme courent en appelant du secours.
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G&C
post Oct 5 2011, 03:20 PM
Post #18


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Interviewer: "So Frank, you have long hair. Does that make you a woman?"
FZ: "You have a wooden leg. Does that make you a table?"


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"If I knew I was going to live this long I'da taken better care of myself." - Kirk

No threat is Friendly.

Just drink it or sink it.
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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 04:02 PM
Post #19


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I knew this thread would be derailed, but I shall endeavor to persevere. Because:

QUOTE
The creation and destruction of harmonic and 'statistical' tensions is essential to the maintenance of compositional drama. Any composition (or improvisation) which remains consonant and 'regular' throughout is, for me, equivalent to watching a movie with only 'good guys' in it, or eating cottage cheese.
F.Z.


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Il arrive souvent que les personnes couvertes d’esprit enflamme courent en appelant du secours.
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G&C
post Oct 5 2011, 05:13 PM
Post #20


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Truer words were never spoken.


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"If I knew I was going to live this long I'da taken better care of myself." - Kirk

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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 06:38 PM
Post #21


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So, driving west toward Texas was like driving into the sun - literally. The heat wave was broken in Louisiana some weeks ago, but not so for the Lone Star state. There, the heat was oppressive, alien-like. Along Highway 71, near Bastrop, the area has been laid waste by fire. Everywhere, the landscape is crispy, ready to go up in smoke, but around there, it's ashes and trees burnt like matchsticks, police cars every 200 yards or so, just waiting for some ignorant bastard to throw a cigarette butt out the window. I arrived on Eric's street and pulled up to the wrong house (I had been there before, but that was in another lifetime). But the plants in the front yard of a house across the street provided the necessary landmark.

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Il arrive souvent que les personnes couvertes d’esprit enflamme courent en appelant du secours.
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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 06:45 PM
Post #22


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Eric was due to play a gig that night, but I declined to attend, not wanting to be alone in a strange club.
A friend of his, also a bass player, dropped by to ask for a ride and invited me to attend his own gig at a different club: "You won't be alone - the place is filled with wandering lost souls, looking for a friend - they'll notice you."
And so they did, but that was later. I stayed home and watched Antiques Roadshow, and on there saw a woman with an original Absinthe Robette poster (those things are big!). It was in mint condition, and they valued it at $8,000, if I remember correctly.
After Eric returned, we proceeded to the carnival of souls (the Sahara Club), where his friend was playing with the Moeller Brothers, to whom I was introduced by Eric. Both of them play with the Fabulous Thunderbirds (but not on that night), and one of them was one of the "real life" models for Beavis of Beavis and Butthead fame (Mike Judge was a friend of theirs in their youth).
The Sahara Club turned out to be an interesting place. There was an enormous black man sitting at a table near the door, wearing a white suit and Stetson hat. I took him for the doorman or the bouncer, but I'm not sure. He seemed to be asleep, or maybe dead, but sometime later he startled me by shouting "I ain't drunk, but I'm drinking!" before lapsing back into his reverie. In any case, we paid no cover charge, possibly because the King is well known in these circles and passes such barriers unopposed. Or maybe because the doorman wanders through the doors of perception, or wasn't the doorman at all. Some mysteries are best left alone.


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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 06:54 PM
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I settled down in a chair against the wall, safely out of the way of the wandering souls (so I thought, in vain), nursing a bottle of very cold Maine Root Ginger Brew, a glowing green concoction as pretty as any Czechsinthe, and way more astringent - very nice stuff that will strip the fur off your tongue, and a nice counterpoint to the alien heat (it stays 100 degrees for a while even after dark in Austin - the only good thing about that is the near-naked women who then come out to jog - Austin is crawling with pedestrians after dark, moreso than any place I've been, but I'm not sure whether it's a normal thing or a product of that g**damned life-sapping heat that all but assures you won't see anybody outside at noon unless they have to be).
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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 07:02 PM
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The Moeller brothers were cranking out some low-down nasty blues, some people were playing pool, and a few striking women wandered about, including one platinum blonde in a white satin jumpsuit, with a little Toto dog on a leash, who proceeded to join a game of poker in the corner. Nobody is safe from the lost souls. A fairly robust woman approached and offered me "the best massage in the world"; said I wouldn't have to pay anything if I wasn't satisfied. "She ain't even lying!", I was assured by a tall, sinewy man playing pool, but his testimony was suspect. He had a dangerous aura, pacing all around the club like a panther on crystal meth, carrying his pool stick. Occasionally he shouted some gibberish or other, which was from time to time answered by Johnny Moeller (Beavis) on stage, who apparently understood his jive and shouted right back. I declined the services of the masseuse and she dragged Eric off to dance with her instead. Panther man invited me to play pool with him and I declined that too, engendering from him the most intense look of disgust that I've seen in a long time. I later learned that he shows up at the club from time to time offering guitars for sale at shall we say, rates not commensurate with their obvious value, so I was glad I had trusted my radar with regard to him.


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Tibro
post Oct 5 2011, 07:05 PM
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I keep anticipating a tasteful, subliminal message to buy something to blip almost imperceptibly across my consciousness.


--------------------
When I wake up,
I try to convince myself that my arm
isn't there --
to retain my sanity.

Then I try to convince myself that it is.

Frank Bidart
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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 07:09 PM
Post #26


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The dance completed, the large woman approached again and enveloped me in a sweaty embrace, clammy and phocine-like. She again offered the potentially-free massage. I told her I was strapped for cash, and would be embarrassed to offer her nothing even if the experience proved to be unsatisfactory. She replied, "So I can't even get a beer out of you?" Hell, all she had to do was ask for a beer if that's what she wanted, no need to make such an adventure of it.

The Moeller brothers completed their set (to say it was good would be a vast understatement) without fanfare. The patrons, although mostly grooving the whole time, didn't seem to pay them much attention, and vice versa. It wasn't a matter of disrespect, it seemed to be that each side expected exactly what they got, in a good way. We departed to get not nearly enough sleep before heading for Chicago in the morning.




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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 07:11 PM
Post #27


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QUOTE(Tibro @ Oct 5 2011, 07:05 PM) *
I keep anticipating a tasteful, subliminal message to buy something to blip almost imperceptibly across my consciousness.


I shamelessly recommend the purchase of all products and services heretofore mentioned, excepting only the massage.


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Tibro
post Oct 5 2011, 07:17 PM
Post #28


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QUOTE(Artemis @ Oct 5 2011, 09:11 PM) *

accepting only the massage.

N.B.: Freudian slip captured before redaction.


--------------------
When I wake up,
I try to convince myself that my arm
isn't there --
to retain my sanity.

Then I try to convince myself that it is.

Frank Bidart
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Tibro
post Oct 5 2011, 07:18 PM
Post #29


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"So I can't even get a beer absinthe out of you?"

What kind of story is this, anyway?


--------------------
When I wake up,
I try to convince myself that my arm
isn't there --
to retain my sanity.

Then I try to convince myself that it is.

Frank Bidart
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Artemis
post Oct 5 2011, 07:31 PM
Post #30


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Way more beer than absinthe was consumed in the making of this story, which is not about absinthe anyway. It's a story about truth, justice, and the American way. About sin and redemption. Confession and absolution. Too soon old and too late smart.

Ain't that ain't no blues.


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Il arrive souvent que les personnes couvertes d’esprit enflamme courent en appelant du secours.
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