Monday, May 21, 2007

Well it is too late, Rockwell is dead

When the cult urban Rapturist Rockwell asked me to write the liner notes for his "Freeplay" release I entered his world through careful to always shadow myself behind free standing gothic butresses or twitch and caw like a madman as to ward the truly mad away. Exhausted by the charade posing as naked bones posing as charade I caught a nip at a place called "The Bowery Bedoin's Boudoir" and a poet named Neverest slipped me these notes on a gin soaked doily:

Save Rockwell!

Save Rockwell! He's undersiege by droves of Khakis, some in pleats
Whose coat of arms is the Indonesian Guatamalan breakfast seed.
They're driving him crazy!
They've overrun Miladies!
This City's silent succumbing's more sinful than
Haiti's Hades!

In his palace he resees when the roadside repertoir was the repartee of homies
Not just the dwindling "ho" hollering of Christopher Street's homomies
Who even they, losing their gay
Will be leaving any day
-- With this encroachin' Hoboken
It seems impossible to stay.
But this is not Versaille, this is Marseille
Built upon the dirty word, trade –
We know when they drudge the harbor what'll turn up in the waste
And more importantly, won't they the Leviathan awake?
We have reached the precipice and now await the break.
So hurry up and meet Rockwell!
In exchange for this freeplay he asks only for a drink and if you sock him in the gut with the goad
"This one's for the City"
He'll appreciate how you think

Read on my friends. It took my a weekend to exit his site so give yourselves time because you might find a piece of yourselves already inside. I found a song of mine. A whole song! It looked like this:

107, 363
(words by Chris Leo)

Yous anemic anemonies planted in this great wait cast your seethy tentacles into the bombs and grenades amongst such an inundation something must break yet nothing's blowing by in this slight and steady wake

the Hudson doth barely lap when new battle lines are drawn The Bronx River sits still in fact I think I heard it yawn From Lenox Hill to the Gowanus one huge communal "c'mon" Yous wither in whispers for all story is gone

Scream dude I dare you but we've heard that one before and brother there isn't even contrary in perverse anymore Puglies and Drabbits, now how come they ain't never bored? Bliss for them's a bodega and some rotgut and some whores
and for us, well I think it might, look are you ready for such spite? Cowardly Courtesans I'm not kidding and it brings me no delight for us it's a fall golden chariots and all

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