cursive, jesus christ

so they're here , child on a stage not twenty-one if a day, and screams yells sings, pounding fists into his side, mad crack-monster bass player from hell who spits oven soul bouncing leaps across mountains but on a stage and i've never seen a woman fuck a cello, but damn...

suicide drummer ten quarts of water in on a fifteen song set telling stories so what the fuck if the audience is only here to see us, so what the fuck if they all waste away if we all waste away we have a few more minutes a few more milliseconds before the whole universe folds in on itself and that's time enough for another track or two.

so what if everything we do is only one part of Tim's day one of his four bands he puts out regular records and throws his guitar in the air midsong playing a note on the downswing and catch to throw back up i mean, jesus, who dies that shit anymore? ever anything at all? so he ends the show by tackling the bass player doesn't bother with encore formaliies ("we're not really going to do the whole walking off stage and walking back on thing, we're just gonna play some more songs, so just consider this the encore") and fuck if it isn't madder than hell and rocjk and roll never looked so good losing your mind or soul and breaking your heart never seemed like such a contact sport. eye contact. damn there goes.

2003-05-04 | 2:36 p.m.
0 comments so far

previousnext

background