a trash can for the refuse of the conscious mind
Seeing this gives me a chill. Pretty much sums up my state of mind at the time. A freakish obsession with the whereabouts of PT and SC. Tortured and sidetracked by a dark, drug fueled psychosis. I was convinced that my band-mates (and Smrtic) where demons, direct from hell, filtered through Goya, Buster Keaton, blow and PT's fucking ipod. Now,thankfully,it's just goofy. I maintain that we were and still are legendary rock gods eternally not quite ready to play the armageddon gig that everyone is waiting for.
D, it would please me if you read Dr. Nazi by buckowski in SOUTH OF NO NORTH. I laughed to tears.
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