And my tongue hurts. Fucking christ...
Either way, this couldn't have started without a nice ROMEO Y JULIETA, [CHURCHILL EN TUBO] from hit it big and caressing it around while apparently shredding my lungs. Apparently I was better than everyone else because of my Churchill.
DA! DA! DA!
Somewhere along the line I entered with Brad Chriss' 'Hermaphrodite' reading where he had just started Chapter  of blue spandex of two mates' copulation ['Copulation'] with lilac teeth? Sliding.
And then into John M. Bennett readings where things were fucking sweet. I haven't heard Brad read any Bennett before so it was interesting to see his configur/tranfor-mation. Its an interesting comparison to any of Olchar's performances since their (that of their performances') mode of existance have a harsh execution with different skins.
The stack of Bennett poems/mailings at once started a whirlpool even escaping the pool quite a bit until I got around to it... apparently translating it into this:
I remember one what told me: 'craemb'
After a few short minutes, this bastard offspring rolled around sort of unknowingly in its vile and bastard-like bowels all over the space and out the door (and up the steps, [into the elevator], down the hall, into a wooden rack, on the wall, onto a screw, back out the door, into the elevator, and up the steps, and behind the steps into the door, in reverse and eventually back into the room. When the wind cleared, you could smell the caramelized stench of a slick, roasted brut saloon. - Mmmmmmmm.
Within it, this happened (It happened.): cell phone coagulating feedback, slide whistle tails, [mike gravel], bennett, lung
Anyway, photos could do some of the approximating too.
And... That's it for now since its 4:29am on a Sunday Night.
Good Morning and Good Night.
Don't forget Fiddle Sticks, this Saturday, March 8th with a 'Hector Clan meets Britney's Plastic Surgen' meets Silent Soiree meets Iuk Kide reading.