**SEX PILGRIM**SEX PILGRIM**SEX PILGRIM**SEX PILGRIM**
Sex Pilgrim
..
***SEX PILGRIM***
the Pilgrim, the Sex Pilgrim
he travels poking anything that he can find
from Santiago to Messina
one prophet (profit?) he trades for another
rests in Sophia
harlot bombshells get paid with Papal Handjob Pardons
in Tijuana
empty bottles & super cactus
he had a vision of Mary
in a brothel down the way his fantasy would come to life if he could pay
lourdes, Francia - Interfaith Convention of the Tenth Century
prete sporco, sei un grande porco
cuante puttane ti sei fatto su questa Strada qui?!
OHHHH YES HE TRAVELS POKIN ANYTHING THAT HE CAN FIND!
***SEX PILGRIM***
**Video by The 9th Floor Schmuks**
We can be tracked down on the Pure Volume too! Check out the manic expression!
& then there were many...on...
** Domestic Insecurities ** the end lead was played by Daniel John Marcus in a musky, but well-lit basement studio in Rochester, NY on an electric nylon-string with a mic held nearby. And...
** Punk Rock Life ** was recorded and produced (and mastered and engineered) by DLC the Engineer in Miami, FL featuring SebDLC on bass, guitar lead, and accompanying on the woa. When we played...
**Sex Pilgrim** il Gato took the lead on the guitar and banjo, DLC stayed on bass, and some friends from around the world talked for me in the Great Railroad Station Europa after 4 rounds of espresso&grappa
"My name's Ole' Man Ramblin Jack, and I'm puttin an end to your games on American Lands"
*****Bad Emma**Ain't my Revolution*****
Music comes from the heart of the Universe. It slips out from under Its bra, and presents itself shamelessly to us, always there to feed and nurture our souls. "If I can not dance, I want no part in your revolution."-Emma Goldman. Music & Dance, one without the other is freakish. The Dance is a coalescence of foresight and spontaneity that triggers series upon series of moments, none better or worse than the last. There is no space here for better and worse. The high yelps of ceremony, the low drone of sutra study, the coarse chorus of a Jersey punk band, the wailing of a mother at a funeral. The soundtrack to our lives is composed of millions upon millions of tracks. Birds, sewers gurgling, a bandsaw, the moans of a lover, a drill sergeant at 4 am. What else can we hope for in this movie of life but one, well-contemplated still frame after still frame?
No time to waste away. No boss to waste away for. No stomach, no waste away.
"If I can't dance, it ain't my revolution" - Emma Goldman
"If I can't dance, it isn't my revolution" - Emma Goldman
"Yes, even in spite of the condemnation of my own closest comrades I would live my beautiful ideal."
Seb, &, Gato