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about 10 years ago i borrowed a box of the Cloaven cassettes (not all, but most of them) from an ebay seller, and made cdr copies for him and myself. i keep meaning to write a review of the utterly amazing Brothers Unconnected show i saw, but in the meantime you can see some of the photos i got, which are on my site. |
^Very cool site and photography.
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Amazing. |
X+Y=FUCK YOU
I come from the center of the earth in the language of after death and before birth. The man with the nuclear wallet in his back pocket came closer to Utopia than the supposed 30 billion inhabitants on Planet Earth circa 1939 when 26 billion non-Jews died in an “EAT MY HOLACAUST” when he put it all on red one metaphysical night in Vegas and it came up blacker than the ass of jade earrings worn by the princess of Phnom Penh while the court practiced slam-dunkin' Portuguese generals' colonial skulls into canopic jars made from kabbalistic urns in Bombay by the Zoroastrian diasporadics who became porcelain emperors from the profits of home-grown Earl Moghal tea which was made if you may wonder from the tender stalks of famous comedians' scalps because the Iroquois tribe didn't take to hell the notion that piracy was at its peak in the early 20th Century off Long Island, sounding all too coincidentally similar to an old Richard Harris ballad, cracking on a 78 phono player in the droop bend of the Red leather pantheon bar. Since the year 2323 will be the year of the future the past isn't what it's going to be for all Sinhalese clarinet blowers hopped up on amyl nitrate gang-rapin' the highway from hell to breakfast at the speed of vomiting diamonds or forever hold your peace trains O.J. Love Boat Breakfast Chariots of mired in the mud autobiographically speaking how the shit has no dame to call and say I drug you for the association if the enhancement of mallard rubles, cube steak also has a vision of Siamese phlegm bouncing into limos from Salvation Army Christmas bells autographed by Hans Muslim Andersen. While the balloon full of money floats ever closer to the outwretched palm trees dripping with tabasco floss between your thief and a card face…. The Jack of Plutonium to be precise is towards that elusive garlic bulb necklace around Fela Lugosi's Richard Speckled murder scarf up the feces split into through the capital of Lemuria is Antarctica City with a primate marsupial population of minus 100 below Spiro Agnew of Copperopolis wheel of torture fame catapulted his thyroid blandly upon the ruler of the Wong Dynasty, but Monty Hall wasn't pleased with Pat hijacking that Vanna-American flight to the pituitary gland of Max's Convenience Market or to end-all obtusity radio marti- McGraw due to the lion of Zimbabwe being the only black Russian on the planet, skirt around the muletide, spruce up your glass colon, where a mere comma doesn't stop the bleeding, for an appointment please squat in the street. Quit your grinnin' or drop your linen because the friends at channel eight are watching Westinghouse watch you are the church, I am the steeple open it up and see all the people fighting with margarine moustaches and machete-wielding Moors, who if victorious at the Battle of Tours would've set up a bowling alley in Amsterdam where the freshly beheaded faces would knock down freshly pruned legs, cut above the kneecaps, STRIKE. Three little figs are mine, I eat them all the time, to feel the things I shouldn't, and to flap the wings I couldn't. Do you understand rhythm as it's crawling along your spine? Can you drink Burmese-produced champagne as a dead-again Christian falls from the sky? It's rainin' Satan. Do you understand granite as you grab it with your right hand cuz you fucked up tryin' to fly? If you were a hundred monkeys all rolled into one would you cut your giant tail off or sweep through Wall Street? Crank your soul up about six notches where the sun becomes your tongue. Don't forget to leave me out of your memory, I've had enough of your thoughtless dung. Thunder of wit, tall, etcetera. I ran over my preacher in my Buick Elektra cuz God came down and he talked to me and opened the gates to set me free and I stain the land from sea to shining sea and there once was a man in a bucket, so God put a straw in to suck it, but there also was someone who kicked the bucket and lived to tell God to go FUCK IT. If you can comprehend polyrythmic murder to the tune of ignorance is bliss, you know there will never be a critic who will ever be qualified to critique this. |
Hi, I'm a lurker.
Now, what's this about Chicago??? |
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"These guys SUCK....I can't believe they have records out!" — SNAKEFINGER (3 weeks before his DEATH as he watched SCG live in Phoenix)
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It's hard to choose a favorite sun city girls song, but this version of soi cowboy might be it.. it gives me chills.. I love how fucked up it is...:
http://www.sendspace.com/file/kxtdp8 Anyone want to tab that main riff? |
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i can tab most of that song plus a few more. but it will be in a few days |
i have a few random tracks... thought i had albums of theirs on some hd of mine, but it must be on my old hd... uh, whats the best few albums to start with?
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To start with?
torch of the mystics horse cock phepner self-titled grotto of miracles 330,000 crossdressers... Enjoy. http://stupidd.blogspot.com/2008/07/...cg-albums.html |
thanks much. i think i did download torch of the mystics long ago... it must be on my aussie hd. oh well, thanks for the link too
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no prob bob.
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watch this- http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTKD4zcMwPY my favorite song. just so perfect and delicate and beautiful. and i love the way alan jerks up and down at the end |
You did? Fuck, sorry about that. I guess I overlooked it, thinking it was something I'd already seen.
And yes that video is beautiful. Damn. |
no problem
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