Thursday, June 25, 2009


A somehow suitable conflation of ophthalmology and punk parameters-- who are we to impose prior restraints on unexamined possibilities?

There are certain times in life - and you don't know what they are until you get there - and there are certain states of being that require certain inexplicably ritual implements to be used in ineffable fashion - and you don't know what or how before you get there, either, but for some reason implicit in a muggily oppressive rainy season afternoon yesterday on the side of a mountain in Japan a stack of had-to-be-edited-right-now medical papers mysteriously generated a certain spiritmindsoul (SMS) warpfield that was of a certain shade, density, texture, flavor etc. and called precisely for a not immediately identifiable accompaniment, what was it, what could it be, the SMS asked in no certain terms: mint candy? chocolate? some lemonade? a cup of coffee? No, mundanity was the least of it, this was way out there-- a plangency was needed-- an evocation was called for-- some seminal nostalgia-- an artifact plucked from the depths of time that would somehow relate to... and be at home in... yet comfortably obviate, ocular surgical syntax and related matters, with volume2max... ah yes: Velvet Underground, Lou Reed, Waitin' for My Man, Heroin, Sweet Jane, Pale Blue Eyes, Beginning to See the Light, perfect editing rhythm yet ophthalmologically appropriate.

Syntactic surgery performed in a keyboard flashdance, way outside the box.

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