A CAT MAY LOOK AT A KING
Sorry, two days wrong and I have been caught in a musical form of pistology. I am quite convinced, as always, that wrong ideas are right. Weíre a bigger brain. The tumor was benign. Let me say thank you for your concern and interest. It does matter to me.
Today I learned how to not play the saxophone. I even drummed on the title track of the album. I recorded Pogo, John5 and Skold chanting two-letter words.
We are moving 13 songs to a mix studio this week to make our final descent, "So please raise your seatbacks and tray tables."
Scarling and the Dali-Gaggers are still family and I wish them luck. I hope to contribute some sort of mucopurulent pilliwinks for old-timeís sake. Jes and Bradley, my bastard siblings.
The pay-per-view is all done but it is not at all what you will see on the DVD that I have now taken complete charge of. I think you deserve to see the best that we have, and I intend to show it.
THE ALBUM, THE AKTION THE ASSHOLES.
Please be advised: If you donít understand, then you ARE in complete admiration of this aggressive-fashion-rape-symphony and the syntax of the conductor. Now breathe slowly.
I like to throw shapes and have no fear of these unusual practices. The cult of incongruity isnít ever perfekt because it is always better that way.
Even if you expect anything, you will get something else.
Those who have low expectations should get high.
I have a zoo full of new clips and pics and all sorts of shits. This week I will drown you with some new meat to chew.
To the cry crickets out there in wonderland. I gorgonize your every exfellowshipping daydreams of my death. I have a funeral home-page and dead cell-phone dialing 911 (noIwonwon) to remind you that you expired long before I told you so.
My lovers, unleavers, soldiers, survivors and believers! LETíS GET OUR HILARODY UNDERWAY!
A catless grin with smoke for words,
I love all those who let me.
[posted 7/17/2002 U.S.A.]