That is not a metaphor.
And I’d like to tell you that these first twelve days have been a resounding success, welcoming Good Time Charly fast into the bellowing grace of warm friends, cold cash and sweet, sweet poontang but that’d be some egregious bullshit and neither you nor I nor Cottaging have one ounce of time for that.
Not that things are all bad. I mean, yeah…everything is kind of terrible and the systems of earth, as we know them, are doomed to collapse under the bloated depravity of man’s unrepentant ego and those few who are bold enough to question the authoritative regimes that inspire the carnage are killed unceremoniously as they have been and will be until the last just man cradles his swan and cries, empty with his face cracked against the cave wall.
Also work sucks and the rent is too damn high and this culture crush is a real suicide racket but, at least, I can shit again without sympathy so that’s something to tout, right?
Lord knows I’m pleased as punch.
Even with that significant uptick in living, however, I’m still swimming in the vinegar piss which is why I have such a rubber-raw chubby for Amyl Banshee with all its discordant sex crash and death-tripping head kick facsimile, like good drugs gone bad on the crest of Vasquez when there’s nothing left but your pale, naked flesh and the astral fires of ALL our history swallowing the horizon in colors, unnamed by even the truest of savage, his beast bloodied but unbent at the crossing.
It’s a thing of madness, at best. A malfeasant kink in the bow of undoing typically reserved for aesthetes and philosophical stonings or, more generally, teenage casualties drunk on the whipped pride of Nietzschean ManBearPig myopathy.
At worst, it’s one seriously damaged rock and roll record that’ll suck the pricks right out of your kicks if you’re ready to shut up and die like you mean it.
Amyl Banshee Tracklist:
1. Arco Iris
2. He was an Idiot
3. Bermuda Comptroller
4. F.A.S. Eno
5. Melted on the Rocks
6. Krystal’s Tune