2004.04.04 ears

    I am updating zoka.com, which is normally mysterious and counter-intuitive, with a gesture toward, as opposed to a meaningful summary of, the various House of Zoka music projects.

    1. This after planning all morning to paint the front door of my building with a homage to Magritte’s Treachery of Images: Ceci n’est pas une porte cassée. The door glass was broken over a week ago and was boarded up, but no repair seems forthcoming. It’s just a piece of plywood, so it deserves a treatment. Perhaps tonight.
    2. This after putting a nearly-forgotten cover of Mission of Burma’s That’s When I Reach For My Revolver by She Mob out for consideration to, get this, a compilation of women’s punk rock that features women punk rockers covering songs written by men. The editor is not getting many bites. I think it has something to do with women punk rockers having other creative priorities.
    3. This after wondering if there was any audio documentation for Daniel Popsicle on the web and so while a-googling
    4. I find this blog entry that not only describes the Daniel Popsicle experience (as a player or as a listener) perfectly, but had a Mission of Burma previ-link that included an eloquent and insightful reference to Magritte.
    5. And. Plus. A link to Radio Free Blogistan, which is how I got started here.
    6. I must know this person.
    7. Or do I?
    8. Oh. The sun just came out.
    9. Gnomesayin.

We love show biz. And if you don’t love show biz, we will destroy you.

Waiting for the murder ballad show to start, I started passing out fake blood capsules so that we could all be indicating signs of internal bleeding, or just give good-natured fight club grins now and again.

Praba understood how to use them: popping two, snapping them hard and kicking her head to the side to start the flow out the corner of her mouth. Sue and Lisa declined to employ the device. I waited with a few in my mouth until the gelatin started to weaken, then spit out the contents. It really was bad tasting. How can anything not bad for you taste quite that bad? It had to be bad for you and no one was telling. I popped another.

Alan had a handful and when I looked over to him to see how he was doing, a three foot thread of drool was coming out of his mouth. It wasn’t even tinted pink. He was just standing on stage, playing bass, and drooling this massive drool.

So, yeah these things work perfectly.