Labor Of Love August 8th(?) 2002 Seth Quankmeyer Faergolzia ov Dufus www.DUFUS.tv AntiFest @ The Sidewalk , Ave.A & 6th Street, NYC Markia "Pour Kool Aid for your Shaman" -Seth ov Dufus, musing while tuning "This is for Jeff Lewis." Seth proceeds to bite into his song and sings from sharp teeth. "Don't hide to long , come out and play" Channeling some anti-spirit from the bottom of his dirty socks, up through the canary yellow pants, coursing though out every lime green fiber of his shirt and ballooning to the top of his head, being let out in, lyric, verse and squeals ( much like that of a balloon speak in air pressured tongues). "There's a remedy in music" His range appears to go from madman, to a child, to a quiet introvert. Looking out of the sides of his eyes into a sort of nothingness (but appearances can be deceiving). "Like a camel drinking bottled water" Strumming the guitar (that is equally as anti- folkarted out), as if it was his bones that he relies on to be his structure. "C'mon brain' C'mon brain, Kickass, whoop'em fuck it!" Breaking a string, but not skipping a beat, he beguiles by singing a nursery voiced screech stream of consciousness while changing his strings, "All the stupidest things get recorded." A request or two is called out from the familial darkness, and he weighs out their worthiness for the present set, "You guys all want hear old songs. Well, maybe just this one." "Pretty flowers itty bitty line the side of my pathway" Song aficionados join in on the chorus of " La, La, La, La, and La's" "Sometimes I'm a flower sometimes I'm not a flower on the side of the pathway" "Mistress Of the Saddle" Picking up his 'la,la,la's' to a high strung Shirley Temple, 45rpm, on acid pace sounds coming from his mouth and guitar. Speaking into the mike like a homeless person not taking their meds "I would like take a moment for myself." Turning his back to the audience, facing the red velvet curtain, he takes his 'moment'. Returning to the stage in an immediacy of punk acoustic guitar thrashing, accenting it all with gibberish. -applause- A child relieved of an imminent tantrum, he calmly plays another pretty, pretty tune. "Caught in the thick of it Got sick of it Right when I needed it It came around." The preschooler comes out to play once more, that I think has always been inside, because he never touched 'that poisonous ball that makes you grow up'. Scatting in and out of gibberish, sprinkling verse with words "I'm ripping my heart out to give to you" he doesn't always need words "Place me in a tube to be left alone for eternity" and it becomes quite plain, "Raise me from the grave show me how and I will never die" He is deep. Not needing words all the time. He proves this is always an option. "This might be called 'They Really Hate Us'" "Don't let me weigh you down, I want to lift you always I'll be your only clown, suddenly amazing things." Tears well up, I'm emotional,(and I think I'm PMS-ing because cat food commercials are making me well up with tears too) his sincerity, extolling from the bottom of his soles, and touching the bottomless souls of those around to bear witness. "Ob-stin-ate, and bob-the-pin, I shoved my foot into another closing door, They really hate us, they really hate us." 'Splatterday Night' illustrates the range of the many beautiful and insidious of our human condition. Giving me reminisces, of Simon & Garfunkel reading today's Nat'l Enquirer headlines, along with contemporary jaundiced sidelong glances. "You feel violent and drunk in this here Saturday night, and your girlfriend deceives you, go pullout your Saturday knife. Trickling blood sprinkles fly and land on the wall with no sound And you think that it's strange that she don't want you around no more." That is how we safely gaze at instability, with side long glances, to avoid spiraling head long into insanity. Copyright Labor Of Love 2002 |
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Labor Of Love August 8th(?) 2002 Seth Quankmeyer Faergolzia ov Dufus www.DUFUS.tv AntiFest @ The Sidewalk , Ave.A & 6th Street, NYC Markia "Pour Kool Aid for your Shaman" -Seth ov Dufus, musing while tuning "This is for Jeff Lewis." Seth proceeds to bite into his song and sings from sharp teeth. "Don't hide to long , come out and play" Channeling some anti-spirit from the bottom of his dirty socks, up through the canary yellow pants, coursing though out every lime green fiber of his shirt and ballooning to the top of his head, being let out in, lyric, verse and squeals ( much like that of a balloon speak in air pressured tongues). "There's a remedy in music" His range appears to go from madman, to a child, to a quiet introvert. Looking out of the sides of his eyes into a sort of nothingness (but appearances can be deceiving). "Like a camel drinking bottled water" Strumming the guitar (that is equally as anti- folkarted out), as if it was his bones that he relies on to be his structure. "C'mon brain' C'mon brain, Kickass, whoop'em fuck it!" Breaking a string, but not skipping a beat, he beguiles by singing a nursery voiced screech stream of consciousness while changing his strings, "All the stupidest things get recorded." A request or two is called out from the familial darkness, and he weighs out their worthiness for the present set, "You guys all want hear old songs. Well, maybe just this one." "Pretty flowers itty bitty line the side of my pathway" Song aficionados join in on the chorus of " La, La, La, La, and La's" "Sometimes I'm a flower sometimes I'm not a flower on the side of the pathway" "Mistress Of the Saddle" Picking up his 'la,la,la's' to a high strung Shirley Temple, 45rpm, on acid pace sounds coming from his mouth and guitar. Speaking into the mike like a homeless person not taking their meds "I would like take a moment for myself." Turning his back to the audience, facing the red velvet curtain, he takes his 'moment'. Returning to the stage in an immediacy of punk acoustic guitar thrashing, accenting it all with gibberish. -applause- A child relieved of an imminent tantrum, he calmly plays another pretty, pretty tune. "Caught in the thick of it Got sick of it Right when I needed it It came around." The preschooler comes out to play once more, that I think has always been inside, because he never touched 'that poisonous ball that makes you grow up'. Scatting in and out of gibberish, sprinkling verse with words "I'm ripping my heart out to give to you" he doesn't always need words "Place me in a tube to be left alone for eternity" and it becomes quite plain, "Raise me from the grave show me how and I will never die" He is deep. Not needing words all the time. He proves this is always an option. "This might be called 'They Really Hate Us'" "Don't let me weigh you down, I want to lift you always I'll be your only clown, suddenly amazing things." Tears well up, I'm emotional,(and I think I'm PMS-ing because cat food commercials are making me well up with tears too) his sincerity, extolling from the bottom of his soles, and touching the bottomless souls of those around to bear witness. "Ob-stin-ate, and bob-the-pin, I shoved my foot into another closing door, They really hate us, they really hate us." 'Splatterday Night' illustrates the range of the many beautiful and insidious of our human condition. Giving me reminisces, of Simon & Garfunkel reading today's Nat'l Enquirer headlines, along with contemporary jaundiced sidelong glances. "You feel violent and drunk in this here Saturday night, and your girlfriend deceives you, go pullout your Saturday knife. Trickling blood sprinkles fly and land on the wall with no sound And you think that it's strange that she don't want you around no more." That is how we safely gaze at instability, with side long glances, to avoid spiraling head long into insanity. Copyright Labor Of Love 2002 |
