Matty Matte Modge Podge

Your pretending is endless, so here are my suggestions as you find yourself Defenseless inept to my intentions, unless this, no wait, correction, I will leave you senseless blindly idle and penniless, scrambling your defenses, make you part of my nutritous breakfast you couldn't even exhale, as my words, they leave you breathless if I'm wrong then correct this, when I say suspect this, your detectors reject this, so your still jotting down notes I've got you checked off my checklist, I'll bring it all back, in case you missed the stacked mental impact of collaborating systems intrinsic in this poly phonic blissed out and rhythmic conniption fit, that you dismissed...so I'll connect this my endless, ramble of thoughts tempts rhythms and clench fists it's water dripping to quench lips, counteract conventions at best this counter culture remolder, makes times suspended jedi mind tricks leave you tempting the tempted, quietly presenting my thesis it's pieces con...

Where do I stand? Now, days out from New Years, on the cusp of the entry into my 31st year; needing a thesis; hoping for answers to questions I have already forgotten the likes of by the time I've gotten to the end of this sentence. Clearly, having a point or meaning is valuable to me at this point. But why when I am so apt to consecrate the process, do I stammer, stumble, shutter and slip. I walked blocks of Manhattan on Saturday, knowing, as I meandered the street blocks back to my temporary abode, that these moments, and the warmth of the late December weather, were fleeting at best; less tangible objects to be cradled beneath my arms, to relative obscurity to those around me, nestled deep in my chest maintaining some grasp on them, like holding one's breath to the point of...I dig in to these thoughts much deeper now, realizing even my skin is slinking itself off daily, from lips, from scalp, hands, palms, knees; at which point am I shed of my next me, is my anaconda shell ...

I widened my stance early into the first Set to accommodate the growing need to dance. Lingering somewhere below my knees, this ripple was set into existence by Mike Gordon's Bass. Not to beat a dead horse, but given the right set of circumstances, and MSG is ripe for the challenge, implosion could ensue with the immense energy emanating from the stage, the speakers, and the Bass Bombs headstrong and hell bent on forging paths of sonic brilliance past and through any innocent bystander; May ye be warned, lest the vacates the premises, no prisoners of war will be taken, this is a fight to the bitter end, fraught with more than its fair share of casualties, no judgement just carnal devastation. My mind was engulfed in the mental projection of the bass registering through the amplifier, like a billowing orb of light and heat. Inside this fortress of bass relief, I was free to meander this musical mecca to behold the searing flesh and destruction taking place. Ladies and Gentlemen, The...

I woke up one morning...in december...and I realized I loved you! My growing suspicions rumbled to a boil, spilling their froth from the still teetering lid of the cauldron that is MSG, on their way, dousing the jerseys and banners with their wicked slippery paws. Simple words, easy to utter; I am addicted. My name is Matthew and I am addicted to Phish. Who else feels this way; a massive wave of quiet abounds and I am left pantsed and alone in a crowd (with my 13 year old naked legs; pant legs crumbled like Obi Wan on the floor!) Night one was captured via my pen, moleskin notepad, and two rapidly fading thirty year old orbs of visual sensory; made new by curved lenses and forged plastic and metal-an archaic jerry rig if you ask me. 1. The pen captures the set list. It's ink globules trickle from the bouncing pen's erratic movement stuck nestled in the neck of my smoke embraced t-shirt, and in blind-frenzy fashion navigate the extra-terrestrial bounds of tiny lined paper and pe...

So I wrote these random letters to the band members of my favorite band. A few were lost before I could ever transcribe them (lost, that is, to the myriad of fans I handed them out to amidst the transcedent, tranformation of a weekend in AC!) So, without further ado... 10/28/2011 Dear Trey, Happy Halloween. Organs blaze orange, as the red candle glow of a strumming hand engages the bass with a jack-o-lantern grin that presupposes a hi-hat crash will dive bomb emminently. I feel I've...dunnununt...never told you...dunt...the story of the ghost. So you know, if your wandered into my cavernous landscape and took a seat amidst the rocks and stalagtites of my miind, you might rejoice in teh retelling of the dawn of man, from humble beginnings to electric virility. We should harness the spirits and evoke the memories of the funk and mollasses, cruising the stratosphere and boardwalk of all hallows eve. Yours, ...

If it isn't self evident Concerning dead presidents I'd hold these truths to be misleading then Abolish all meaning then Couldn't stand hearing them Tailored my suits again Mis spoke truths again Wasn't quite rude and then Tried to be a better man But resting on my laurels can Ruin all chances of Earning my place above Crimson tide rub a dub Hoping for chance at love Fitting tighter than a glove Relaxing at home verse the club Soaking the suds from my tub Hoping patience is enough Prize fighters all acting tough Holding weak hand call my bluff Should I shave or wear this scruff With Pressed collars and French cuffs Wouldn't it be nice Calling shots and rolling dice Tubs and sonny running vice Go speed racer failed twice In the land of milk and ice Could have worked out very nice But words are labeled in concise Victims of their own device Failed attempts to fix the splice Twisted the wrist to hide these eyes Waiting for the chance to see the sights I could have cont...

I Escapades into outer space, limited engagement- limited space, as Exits ceased to cut and evade even my frenetic pace evincing glimpses, turn the bend, of an altering mental state my mind spins and spun begins to replicate patterns and sound, sunlight circling, chasing the ground fretting each other in a primordial panic state. Wait for the baked cake to settle and dictate, batter whipped and dip-sipped, flour and eggs to create this half truth moment i helped to consecrate II From bettin against threats, neurons firing split ends retinas retain haggered edges and mends colors that form clear in weight, sleight of hand, picasso's houdini against the ornate and here I am straight from the gate anticipation rises eclipsing my lingering fate. Couldn't wait for the bus, such a simple tin crate then he ate in four shifts, dipped his head as his lips taste the meals that would not cooperate. stomach ached crackle vase tipped and slit traced the edges of this tourniquet held bandag...