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imagine
death becoming you. syncopation is a cyst. The neverending hunk of dead
meat that rots faster than the few hours one gets to themselves. please
be warned that within the organization of a structure, you have several
crayons scribbling on one sheet of paper. when there are no specific words
to pinpoint a sound which thrives on reaction, then you are only left
with metaphors that sometimes become too abstract to keep anyone or anything
from completely understanding the conceptual dealings in which this contingency
of performers work around. if you'd feel safe within the confines of believing
that two soldiers of the undercurrent live as jeremy szuder and bobby
adams reside in the vessel known as the womb in downtown, then suit yourself.
keep a grin. believe this is the space in which their sorcery is cultivated.
be expected to find that professor cantaloupe will not eat more than tamarind
on sundays when our church is in session. his itch will not stop itching
when the rhythms are brainwashed. you may picture dave seaward lewis,in
his grueling trek thru the los angeles bus system,bass lines in constant
motion(even in silence). as well,during this coarse of neverending search
and experiments,you may be well to meet the brave few who've chosen to
partake our methods of musical meyhem.they have all come together here,in
all shades of rhythmic anticipation.
sound is the key;thee ultimate final motion and outcome of all we endure within this race of the mind(less).
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