He’s never early, he’s always late.
C. Chambers, formerly of Kaleidoscope Death, packs the van with all the goodies. The place that was once the ash-tray is now a daily-fortune drawer. A new one appears at dawn. The old one gets fed to the paper tiger. When the vehicle is moving, the interiors of the tires are filled with tiny toy cars in an endless loop racing, huddled together. This detail is on the honor system, as no one is able to see inside to verify.
Black angel did weep, wait, I don’t think John Cale is on this one. Neither is Tony Conrad. That is probably why I feel way relaxed. CC charms the ears with bow on strings in the wee early hours.
Bang a Can, finger callouses are looking mighty authentic. That contact mic smells of marjoram and thistle. Wait, I think I was flossing with those strings. Vocoder Moroder is no where in sight. I like the choice of different color owls string lights arranged around the campsite. The songs ‘til Dawn.
--Adam Padavano
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