"GREAT POETS DIE IN STEAMING POTS OF SHIT." - CHARLES BUKOWSKI

What if Hank Williams voice was thrown through an OLD crackling harp-microphone with enough reverb on it to last a lifetime? What if rows and rows of warrior paint-clad lost souls would carry faucets to the Nile? What if Jesus would return in torn-up jeans and carrying a battered old suitase with unfinished manuscripts? What if all the oil from the Gulf of Mexico and all plastic wings from soda-manifacturers would gather around one single whale or bird and it's SCREAM could've been recorded? What if Andy Kaufman was still alive? What if there was someone else who guided DANTE down to the INFERNO? What if the bourbon-drenched wail of the gathered metropoles would ring all the way up to heaven? What if this pretentious and BEAUTIFUL little fucked up GENERATION had a kid who refused to write down their thoughts? SEE, what if the spirit of Neal Cassady, the Indian that crawled into Jim Morrison and the ghost of SOLOMON crawled into one tiny PERSON? What if that person could strum awfully simple chord-progressions and scream of whisper over it with false notes? YOU WOULD DEFINITELY HAVE... WELL, SOMETHING

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