Fuckin' Rockstar VII

Saturday Night: Lobo Saloon on Eastlake=
Wood paneling and brick set the stage with a Pabst Blue Label Beer banner as the backdrop and Quincunx took the stage, shook the floor and benchseat (thank you very much!) where I was happily perched vibrating like a 10 cent treat in an hourly rate motel.
Kickass Ass, Ass-kickin' bassist Matt Bird had a look of dazed wonderment as he spied his fingers flying fast and furious over the strings...they seem to move more freely now and I wonder if he wonders who is in control of that fucking awesome sound at times like this. **A ventriloquist can experience a personality split while performing and be amazed at a dialogue exchange that can run away with itself**...and to me, tonight...it seems as Matt's hands moved so naturally and freely that he may be experiencing this phenomenon as well...whatever the case he was fucking incredible!...I believe this was Quincunx's best set ever.

Sweet

rotting cantaloupe cubed
cold and veiny
waits in a cup
oddly transparent in a pale orange way
my fork poking curious
as I sniff a sort of sweetness
that leaves a back of the tongue taste
of tart
my fork pierces it like a cube
of wet rubber
it tastes funny
I say "funny" because what else can you say?
I'm 4 or 5 bites in before I give up
and give in to the fact
that this fruit is spoiled
...and $2.49 is wasted.

Fuckin' Rockstar VI

Saturday Night at the Comet Tavern in Seattle one of the opening bands (not Hang) set the stage for a night of cousin fucking fuckery fuckage. I say "cousin fucking" because sex is sex and when it's loud and there's a lot of bangin' going on it's pretty fucking hot...no matter how hot it is when you're actually fuckin' your cousin you can't help but hear banjos pluckin' out the soundtrack to your future of raisin' fucked up bumpkins with harelips and gappin' mouths droolin' into harmonicas...by this I mean to say that one of the opening bands (not Hang) sucked some majorly fucking suckerage.

and then FINALLY!...at midnight: Quincunx took the stage with great force and fervor.

Doug sang some stuff.
Seneca, shirtless sportin' shades (not selling shells at the seashore), banged some stuff. (I know I'm retarded...but this line seemed pretty fuckin' hilarious to me at about 3:am.)
Damien pling plang plunked and strummed some stuff.
...and Ass Kickin' Kick-Ass Bassist Matt Bird cracked the earth in two with his shiny blue bass. Noise and Light bounced off it like a fuckin' laser light show and the crowd was hypnotized, mesmerized... and finally satisfied.

The Way I Drank

It was clumsy like trying to discretely catch your own vomit. You know it always makes a horrid mess and those 'knowing' looks are because they know that's puke on your blouse and crusted in the creases of your $5.00 shoes.

This is how I drank.

I was a hand-over-fist, chug-a-lug, fuck the glass! give me the bottle! kind of drunk. My only annoyance or inconvenience was the time it took to black out or the awkward moment when I came to cold, shivering on a dewey lawn in a neighborhood I wasn't familiar with. I learned from experience that walking in a straight line in any direction eventually led to a road or a phone and a cab can solve most of those sorts of sorting out details.

A cab could take me here, there, or home...wherever...there'd be a drink waiting and time to numb.