Matty Matte Modge Podge

Musical Interlude: It was wholly ironic, wholly Camden, quite dirty, quite quite dirty: As we remarked a few nights earlier, amidst that vast dark corner of Jones Beach, the far side of the Jones Beach venue, the side with no exit (just old cups of coca cola, which we still aren't sure were ours), we accused it of being very Camden, very very Camden. It was in that space , treading steps up the steep corridor of the venue, and certainly a few tiny misteps of my mind, that Summer tour of 2009, where the first symphonic blasts of Meat Stick became all to real and funk began to lay it's plasmic hands a top the stratosphere, lending an ooze like quality not unlike the Ghostbusters holy slime, for all to wade gently through in the following days, that it (Summer Tour 2009) became all too real. The Thick and the Quickening: But what of Camden, a haven of a venue having sought refuge from it's bastard drug addled, and addicted brethren of a surrounds that is Camden Township! This ...

I've been lost in this place, center of space, unable to rectify my own withered face, willing to give "save for the grace", a chance to tug pant legs with the glance and a taste, unable to trip to the chaste for the chance at a place in this race. So I move my position to the left, a knee jerking jest to the crowd that knows me best, off left center stage, I pull rank as a blow to the chest, unable to keep up the pace I relinquish my grip, trip and rest. If you thought it wasn't much, stomach punch to the gut wrenching thrust to the push comes to shove a warrior in tattered scrubs, my words they traipse with a grace along the rug, as I saunter, coat tails waving, top hat contemplating a rest on my head, twice I'd be dead, laid to rest in a carnal dirt laden bed, roses at my ankles, the green matted surrounds, i've adjusted. The wind circled in just to listen, then, forgetting the reason why, dispensed on their way again. It isn't right just to steal brea...

I'm not crazy, though I split my time, between broken thought and pirate mind, and afloat aloft a sea of clouds, determined to loosen the tie that binds the mellow drowned out frown of a temparate mound-like structure of cumulus white; they scream aloud for all to hear: "WE ARE HERE!" But do not fear the coming night when these mischeivous shades, turn silvery gray, their crows ignite to vagrant decay of the sidewalk's dismay, as they keep footsteps at bay, not faulting those for stepping on crackes as they stray. I've been lost in this place, center of space, unable to rectify my own withered face, willing to give "save for the grace", a chance to tug pant legs with the glance and a taste, unable to trip to the chaste for the chance at a place in this race. So I move my position to the left, a knee jerking jest to the crowd that knows me best, off left center stage, I pull rank as a blow to the chest, unable to keep up the pace I relinquish my grip, tri...

Certainly it’s not the thought of an adventure, that culminates in an abstract appreciation of the convoluted, that gets me all tizzy inside. Certainly, not the thought, or narrow prospect, that by being the early worm, I may in fact be dead, due to the daily feeding habits of the proverbial early bird. Most certainly, beyond this all, I might conjure a guess, and beg then to differ, when the request for my esoteric resignation is called for and asked to be presented in my own blood, as to why I waste my precious essence. Further than this, and I might add neutral countries will protest, at the Nobel Peace Prize given to oil company that invented the newest technology to stop the spewing and cracked well it negligently oversaw; and those protesting countries, neutral for all matters, were in protest that they were not the ones who sprung up this grand scheme to present to the masters of ceremony! In all, the sense with which I make my matters pleases me little in the turning of words t...

I am chasing the dream, the narrow, straight and curved, the packed down soil, hardened to a solid mush of deeper brown; moist and organic, weaving it's way to...The World's Best Lobster Roll! To begin, one must make a simple choice, so forked it conjures images of a snake tongue, slithering it's way near your ear; Snake might be the perfect extended Metaphor, as it seems the polar extremes Lobster Roll fanatics take their love, of their type (cold or hot), can be sinister as a snake carrying an apple...err...a lobster roll through the garden of eden; tempting youthful minds for the taste of something...well, Fishy. I prefer mine hot, and it would do my mind a restful peace and solitude to know their are no menus in existence that garnish the word "Lobster" with "Salad"! Lobster Rolls are meant to be hot, (Ask Jesus, he served up the finest hot lobster rolls on unleavened Bread at the last supper) hot and teaming with knuckles and claws, seething heat wi...

A Jumping Off Point Before I embark upon personal journeys, these vision-quests which I know will undoubtedly toil with my mind and ultimately alter my particular points of view, I tend to view them with a great amount of exhilaration and limited but palpable trepidation. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, knowing the approaching of the next city, the next big event, the next rollercoaster scream attack of a night, dipped and now ready to ooze in all the pulsin g and sensation of another Phish circus will ultimately suck me up, duck me down, turn me round and spit me out like a sugar ravished kid on a sit and spin. I knowingly enter these moments, the ether blistering with possibility, with choice and freedom, with the knowledge that there is No-Thing that can be pieced down, pinned out and sewn with any real understanding of what will come...It is the innocence and bewilderment that is the still gestating tour, the verbage that gets coined in the first few carnival nights, th...

I enlisted the forces within to conquer the Whitestone Proper quelled to imagine the musings of such Sea Birds, rolling their plastic eyes at the pigeons of Washington Square. Where are the leaves, the squirrels raged, tender tips of fondling fingers folding and rolling their acorn nuts. I might just squeeze his little cheeks at the sight his nose, so squeeky and rabid. I scurried for the ground, found yellow drips of picasso's blood boiling over the brim of the Hudson River Bandit, steaming down shore towards cities edge. If I looked twice and slowly, the world might just edge to the end near battery park, might just turn down 90 degrees and allow us to slid down to China. The sea birds down here don't have patience for me, and the pigeons have stolen one of their glass eyes, so I am sure my stay is overwelcome and my welcome over easy like the eggs scrambled in the Diner on 43rd. I searched for Pizza, 33rd, 32nd, 31st, like the clock ticking forward, the clock ticking forward...