Matty Matte Modge Podge

"...yeah and Trey, like some silly kid on stage, couldn't keep his feet on the ground, high heeling every few minutes and jeering to the crowd; like the hammer dropped to crack the granite seal which held the answer to some cosmic joke had been his guitar! And the answer flew back at him like a hallucination of bats screaming from the primordial cave of his soul" While being subdued by one of Paul Languedoc's musical transporters, MSG fell prey to the swift manueverings of fine veromont craft noodling; the musicianship that once again dared the edges of volatility and chaos, and some how teetering that edge, simmered to an ambient fusion that lingered long after the rise of the house lights. Such was the first night of The Boys 3 night stay at The Garden. Coming off a tightly wound Wolfman's the frenzy then settled quickly- turned loopy into the first few contagious notes of the NICU. It's opening notes eliciting a patchwork of musical airiness, evo

Where to begin...I imagine where one must always start, one foot in front the next dear sir! But I must preface, that is mask my rumorings , musings, wingdings, hullabaloo , and other what- nots with a fresh Teflon coating, and relinquish my self from the mire I might find myself akin to and sliding in one of these days with hunt and pecking fervor of my type-click-appear: To the Meat!! I am not a blogger, in fact, for all intensive purposes this is the anti-blog, this is the Beelzebub of the heavens-realm, staged couthly; bell hooks sort of lower case affirmation of a position; an aerial attack of the passive kind-staged sit in, sit on, right out of Lil ole Passaic! But nay say thee, as I am not from that particular area...I will use many facets of the grammatical kind, winding thoughts together semi-colon style, and my stance as a non blogging neophyte of the triptych type may speak of music; may let on about fears of the heart, may implore you to retort, to agree, to smear,