My first visit to your blog, Abe...I'm going to enjoy reading what you got here (bold statement). I'm lookin up guitar chords on the Internet and waking up the morning after drinking shots of Beam and PBR pints--too many. Listened to a band brutalize 'Brown-Eyed Girl' last night but it was so horrific I was fascinated. After three false starts wherein the vocalist's voice kept cracking like Peter Brady, a mic stand fell over causing incredibly loud feedback, the room went dead silent and someone laughed like Eddie Murphy, they started two more times gave up and then started again and once the song started it was like a wildabeast in a washing machine with a belly full of napalm--a crazy, disjointed, clusterfuck, spiny and half-digested, a godawful memory stealer that wiped all hope from my soul. A leviathan of arrhythmic bad taste, a cracker orgy. A single strobe light flickered in front of a peeling Stroh's poster, the only real witness to this debacle...the rest of the poor fucks in the bar hadn't been paying a wit of attention to this monstrosity, they yackety-yacked about their slut wives and their jerk bosses and flapped on about their cubic lives, sequestered deep inside hazy watered-down beer buzzes, snuggled warm inside their thickened skulls like rabid animals caged by that insane maelstrom of nontalent at the loudest decibel possible for a shitbox divebar as the waitress chewed her gum looking out from vacant eyes with dim thoughts of suicide and pregnancy---it was David-Lynch-beautiful. The capper was when the drummer ran to the pisser at the end of the song, so he'd speeded the rhythm for the last half-minute and then jogged to the bathroom. A blitzkrieg of suck. It was the assassination of Van Morrison. I wish I had it on video. It really put me in a great mood.
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abraham gibson blabs and yacks for yer cyber pleasure