Mayor Daley

Perspiration remembers. Believing in the breaks. The exact moment the cymbal crashes- there is a ghost dance everywhere of knees bent.An unwillingness to prey but not any near frightened. Sounding over fleshy celebrations that ring instructions from brains to knee jerk reactions.Tight and king crimson intense. Each note and chord an insane whistle hum (and thumb) stretched, pointed ever-upward hitchhiking through the stars. The sound of organized wild... of orchestrated joy celebrated tight wound into signatures of "same way played".Same people playing, and hoping for sameness. Others, they dance. For me it is the first time: a bundle of perfect sensual alarm. "Little Feat??"Tight, as if Zappa experimented and won the olympic slalom as perfectly as some timed out intensity. Rehearsed disarray in tune with the heart and soul of each player- tempting fate to replace drama with precision and abandon.This is where I fling open my hawaii shirt and breast feed the child who somehow crawled into the frey a neophyte as well as tough and uncompromising critic. A hungry, open-mouthed Kafka teasing for a taste- until that same mouth has its first taste of flesh. 'It' being me. First and foremost, a first time listener (not even a woman), a disappointment to this little punk toddler... But by this time we are swinging through the sweat and smoke, this club air heavy with expectations. Me and the kid are hungry to live, to shout, scream and kick. Dimpled hands clutching after a hope that is this band. This is music above the modern ear, taunting and begging your loyalty. To surrender and enjoy what is true enjoyment. But what is unleashed? What unchained freedom? To be a part of that which is a grand humility, an open-air market of deals and discounts and something you can take with you and own. "It" upside-down. Squeezed and shoved into what possible bag?That which is pure abandonment yet that which makes no question mark concerning a need for answers. I edited my profile with Thomas' Myspace Editor V4.4