spiritualmachines

Mammal Hands gig tonight at the Crypt under Bedfords bar tonight.  Would be great to see some people and have some drinks after. x

It’s cool to imitate, the drone to your own,
Don’t let the green grass across the picket fence,
Turn you into Mr Smith without a purpose or a home,
Underneath he is a Jedi, on the surface he’s a clone
Smilin’ for his peers but,
At night-time he cried til he dried up all his tear ducts,
And he cool with that, as long as he got a haircut and his gear up,

Without change we over,
From individuals to posers…

Charge me your day rate,
I’ll turn you out in kind,
When the moon is round and full,
Gonna teach you tricks that’ll blow your mongrel mind.

Baby doll I recognise,
You’re a hideous thing inside,
If ever there were a lucky kind it’s
you, you, you, you.

“I have courted the fire for a very long time, and many sparks have flown in the past, but the music on this recording speaks, finally, the language of the flame itself.”

Jazz killed itself

But don’t let poetry kill itself

Don’t be afraid

of the cold night air

Don’t listen to institutions

when you return manuscripts to

brownstone

dont bow & scuffle

for Edith Warton pioneers

or ursula major nebraska prose

just hang in your own backyard

& laugh play pretty

cake trombone

& if somebody gives you beads

juju, jew or otherwise,

sleep with em round your neck

Your dreams’ll maybe better

There’s no rain

there’s no me,

I’m tellin ya man

sure as shit.