Thursday, December 27, 2012

A friend in FL wanted to hear what PHiSH LOT sounded like, sooo...



excerpt from *SET I*
                                            “In music the passions enjoy themselves.”
                                                                                                 —Nietzsche
“right on”-
              stoked split-sec/onds of sensitive, extrAbstract
bandana-delicate aficionados patchwork’d in flux>

              how the plan is to play jazz:

the happiness of having tickets—have you examined much:
              the forensics of a parking lot?

eYeLeVeL w/ the spontaneous relationships & bizarre
bazaars of Jamband Tailgate Showcase Multitudes—

              Come along, my friend my friends:
              Shall we off               to the estate?


after flirting in a minor key, the great “YEAH!” of rockNroll
              cries out from inside—

         www.the_anti-depressant_of_band_expression.tour

of a peak’s release, a chills-guaranteeing song, of a peak’s
              more ridiculous liftoff:

thru suburbs> thru cities> thru college towns> in cargo-
              pocketed/patchwork gear past picturesque
              geometrics of agriculture—
“If you have it, a truck driver brought it” an 18-wheeler
              reads, rolling—
for MILES! tough/tired/hyper miles on roads of perspective
              like summer-long light & airy dresses:
10s of 1000s of InfoAgers_show themselves: revived, elated,
              exhausted, partaking, & partaking while studying
old-but-still-relevant live performances—

of bootlegs teaching Music, teaching scene: boot as
              souvenir/collection; as in, “I was at this show—
              That cheering is me!”

ah, yer damn right they show themselves; we show
              ourselves b/c the music helps us feel like
              ourselves—

thru suburbs> thru cities> thru college towns>

              is it the Crowd’s Energy, or the Energy’s Crowd?

focus the feisty restless ambitious—the self~medicating
              over-stimulated university major-changers jousting
with “I think I know what I wanna do; I just don’t know
              how to get there—”

              how more roads dance to live music than make it:

w/ badtrips buzzkills partyfouls & burns—a revelry, of a road,
              of puffpuff dulcet “circles” & their sensitive, whose
              hit is it?
-rules of sharing, pass & etiquette:

                    ~you cannot cut fire w/ a pair of scissors,
                    wisely agreed the chorus of the wizards~

but you can, but of course, get h i g h

attentive of the insights/the illnesses, of our era’s blood-
              tested/body-pierced Search Engines full-on filing
              into parking lots of jester-fest life:

altered. nappy. siiick

              how we give our bodies to the band:

and you know we just keep kickin’ it, for it’s hard to feel
              Americanly Lost
when you & yer fellow friends a-the Unpredictable Jam
              have out there’d into the Out There, ON
TOUR-uproar’d for the setlist score—for a favorite thing
              to do:

              TO: Jamband  RE: What do you tour for? [SEND]
              INBOX (1): Jamband—Out of Office AutoReply

of festival—high harmonies:

in pursuit to boost & bond, of experience shared:

All Hail! the dearest partners, the Band-Together Band—
              All Hail! the Serotonin Seraphim:
all just tryna head deeper (whatever there IS to dEEper
              into), & no matter how overgrown, not surprised
              how overlook’d:
for while our human eyes seem open, don’t your senses feel
              unfinish’d?
you know I’m not the only i to crave them seldom scenes—

              of Pan—of setting Pan free:

heck yeah! concert sugar—like a kid in a kaleidoscope: can
              you spin w/i?
molecular music: at om w/ the atom—
ahh,
piperPiperPIPER reviving the elusive luminosities we
              lack w/i the modern American weather
                      w/i the modern American-ache Itch Blues:

of Ill-U.S.-Ions!—of l’dor v’dor!

              (((Whooo’s got my extraaa?)))

ev’ry dancer has a band; ev’ry band, dancer—

              nice, love the Bacchus traffic: of arrival:

done set apart our nation’s roads by rockin’ on out to the
              many venues in which we catch our most beloved,
but o, brothers & sisters, the party starts—

                            the Party starts in the Parking Lot!

in light, schwill’d, of crisis after crisis—for song, for scene:
              of celebrating the age in which we live:


THANKS FOR READING!
Wanna see the rest? PLEASE VISIT HERE: jambandbootleg.

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