the wonder and the mystery of life is alive inside us until we become responsible members of society. When we hang up our leather jackets and pitch our motorcycle boots, the youthful mysteries of the world dissolve and we are left hung out to dry. Boring souls surviving on another corporate cliche, as meaningless as the close-pins.
skiming by on lo-fi acid, friday night lights. Portland is a playground and music doesn't belong in venues. I saw a few bands play last night, And I wanted to pull them from the place, kidnap them and let them jam in my apartment. I don't think bands belong in big venues, set up on some pretentious stage, set far apart from the people just like them. I want to take musicians into the streets, into homes, basements, windowsills.
bang, bang, my baby's a smoking gun