x-x-x-x-x. Jersey City

Twenty Three/February/Seven

| | | — | | Is six weeks between entries slack, disinterested, rude? Loosin’ you? Fuck lucky to get anything to distract ya from whatever it is. No just kidding. Read some guys online journal the other day and thought, get over yourself, senore artiste. These entries probably evolk the same response plenty often. Fuck. Promoter last night, and our prospective host, got so drunk and rude and incommunicative we just left and slept in the car. He wouldn’t leave the club. Going on and on with some guy about, “I’m not gay, but I love you.” Jesus fuckin’ christ. Our friend is struggling with this gaint brain tumor. I think he’s begun radiation therapy. Scary fuckin’ shit, but his approach and attitude are inspiring. Dead PA.

Fasted two days ago for 36 hours and did a colonic. You irrigate your colon with 5 gallons of weak, warm coffee. Took about two hours. Toxic waste lives there. That was just yesterday before heading to the club. Shit gig, too. At least one awesome friend, artist (R-Tist) came out and made it worth-while emotionally.

Booking ourselves continues to lose it’s charm. Miracle we survive. This radio DJ had hooked up our release party for next Saturday and we’ve been promoting for months, just told us, “Whoops, i’m so so sorry, i suck, bla bla bla.” You know the routine. We still love him. Scramble to move that show while booking for the next few months. ‘Nother non-promoter’s “big show” also just fell through. Less of a scramble in terms of time, but still a funkin’ pain in the ass. Waaah waaah, whao is me. Poor rock star.

Always someone to be jealous of, and someone jealous of you. The email notifying you of a cancelled show is followed by some bands mass email about their sold out show in a club you can’t even get a response from. Of course that band is sweating someone else, unless they’re at a more mature, sensible emotional level, which many people are, surely. Fools to want more than health or just life itself. Maybe contentment has it’s drawbacks too.

Been wanting to tell about this … Oh wait, Marti Gras in New Orleans was great. Y’all rock. Hard. Much love and voodoo. Mass Communal Exstacy, as John Keim put it. MC Trachiotomy and crew continue to puch out selfless glory. …So a few weeks ago we finally checked out this place Cafe Risque we always saw a billboard for, “All Nude, Showers, Food, Adult Toys, Couples Welcome”. Figured it wasn’t all the crack.

Damn. Spent like a hundred bucks but check this out. The place is a cinderblock building, but with red and pink, maroon stained glass (plastic, prob’ly) windows and big wooden doors. Big parking lot, trucks and RVs on one side, cars the other. Go in and, place is huge, there’s a restaurant to the right and toy/video store straight ahead with a sign for showers in the back. Store is lit with track lighting and the cafe with a ton of red velvet lamps.

The hostess is behind a glass podium and she’s wearing some kind of latex outfit with a corset-bra thing that holds up her breasts, nothing covering the nipples and she has a gag-ball strapped into her mouth, long brown hair and two red teardrop earlings. She holds up, in succession, three paper fans, like in the Baptist Churches; Eat? Shop? Shower?

It was fuckin’ nuts. Replete with a forty something blonde who demonstrates dildos and vibrators, naked truckers coming out of the shower in hair nets, and waitstaff dressed in assorted underwear; men and women. The food was dry, but the coffee and tea were excellent and the salad bar was awesome. We bought this pink, rotating vibrator that looks like a pharaoh, Rivka loves it (and some toy cleaner). Love watching her use it. Sometimes help. But that’s more than you need to know. And don’t believe everything you read, but you already know that.

Thanks for the eye-space. Check out the new mad happy shit. It’s really interesting. : ) Peace. |

Love, Mike |

7/01/2007