Four left.


Will it be enough?
Can it be enough?

Love,
the dead minotaur

Only five more really good reasons left until there are no more really good reasons left.
And then?


And then?
And then?

Love,
the dead minotaur

PS: The Widows now have a home at Mongrel Studios.


Front man Michael Mazochi has contributed both his own songs and original composition to previous Mongrel productions, as well as co-produced Quinn Allan's debut album, "The Story of Elston Gunn." The Widows are currently the only band worth knowing in Los Angeles. It's true, we checked. They're it. Go get eighty of their albums and play them all at once. Twice.

Slid through the veil like knives and fed the usher my ticket, cueing the show with radial gear-lock choir chucks, click-back symphony, rusting soulfully.

Signal heavy broadcast wave pulse up tectonics, sprouting tunnels to the surface, hollow sprouts out the resonance. Keeps it open underneath and pleasant enough so long as you can stomach the currents.

Aisle in the way back, chairs fixed upright, velvet-choked, something cold and ankle-deep below so we kick back with our feet on the seats.

Auditorium lights digest mood off the audience, whipping emotional sediment right out the gut, a feeling like being stirred and changing flavor only holier.

The screen comes down and the gaze comes after, reaching, holding.

Somebody says "they're on to you" and leaves the building.

Cueing the chorus, pneumatic laughter and turbines praying through tears.

They used to let you bring your own food but now we have to sneak it in.

Love,
the dead minotaur

Labels: vistas

If necessity is the mother of invention, who is the father?
Where's that guy?
What kind of example is he setting for invention?
And if there's an invention designed to end the world, what's that tell you about necessity?


Not to jump to any conclusions here.
Just saying.

Love,
the dead minotaur

How long since you've been yourself?


How long until you are again?


Love,
the dead minotaur