Shift

Bio:

..   I edited my profile with Thomas Myspace Editor V4.4 (www.strikefile.com/myspace) I came into the city later than usual. I walked up 1st Ave. The rain was throwing sideways. All the street people were hanging. All the workers were already at work. The bus stop on 4th and Pike was a hub, a center of the wheel, a vortex. Entities huddled in the rain, waiting to follow a vein to some other point in time, not getting too close or seeing the color of each others eyes. Just in close proximity. We could all smell each other. The little lady, about four and a half feet tall, swaddled in a powder blue raincoat, screamed up to the skies like a baby robin alone in a nest, “I hate Seattle, I hate this fucking place. The greatest day in my life will be the day I die. I want to die, god damn fucking pissing rain for three weeks.” An Indian man, an Indian from this land and a black woman who misplaced her two front teeth stood beside me. His entire face, forehead, nose, cheeks, and, chin was riddled with aggravation, red, screaming, dry and sore with points of infection and puss. His eyelids were heavy. His huge shoulders sagged, wet with rain. He didn’t like it when the little blue bird yelled. He took it personally. His words dribbled out of his mouth, “man, you were yelling at me and I didn’t do nothing to you. I woke up this morning and gave thanks to the great Creator, and he is with us here and I am here to show you. And this day is good. ” “Well, are you Jesus?” the blue bird squawked, “Why the fuck then do I want to die every waking moment of my life. Why the fuck are we all suffering? Why the fuck was I raised by the devil dressed in drag. Did you hear me; My Mother was the Devil Dressed in Drag.” She turned downtrodden and listless. The Indian started telling someone else about how he was Navajo. He stumbled to the side and burped, lifted his hand to his mouth to catch anything that might come out. The little lady tipped her head up to look at me. Droplets of rain fell on her glasses and splattered into tiny microcosmic reflections, I saw the world with me in it in tiny droplets on the little creatures glasses on her face. Her lower lip pushed the other up towards her nose. I looked down at her. “you’re sad.” It was slightly a question and she nodded. The bus pulls up. Wheels swoosh water up against the sidewalk, rubber and cement sing out their friction in a high pitched arc. The entities shuffle and anticipate the opening in the side. The black lady, who was with the Indian never looks up from her soft, lowered eyes. Her one arm wrapped around a brown paper bag, her other hand in her mouth, just biting on some skin and she softly says, “We’re sorry you’re miserable.” and walks into the bus’s belly. The blue bird looks down into the gutter, sighs and prepares to waddle toward the bus “Thanks, that was a nice thing to say. Thanks, that was really nice.” Her head bobs up and down. She really feels it. That’s was nice. Then, I saw the devil in drag, hunched over with a long black trench coat that reached over her rump. She was really hunched so it looked like she had an extra foot and a half to her backside, like a four legged animal, but then I saw her tail, a glimpse of the scales, the slickness; part beast, part snake, part pure. A man’s brimmed hat on her head and thick black hair for a wig. As the devil reached to grab the bar to pull herself into the bus her other hand pulled the cigarette out of the sucking mouth and threw it in the gutter she blew the smoke from her body into the bus. It wafted out and I could smell the stench of the devil’s breath. Blue bird didn’t recognize her Mother and the devil was with her consort whose beauty was distinctly there and distinctly lost. This new woman had her eyebrows plucked into two thin lines. Her eyes were two beautiful black seeds swollen in water and so ready to grow into dark vines. Fiery red lipstick glistened on her lips in the fluorescent lights and the darkened windows. Her brown skin looked edible, like chocolate. She was well worn, not a maiden. As her face turned softly to smile at her “sister”, which is what she called the Devil, her eyes fluttered and began to roll up and back into her mind. The lids followed upward and her head swooned back and her lips opened into a big smile. Like curtains being drawn to see the opening event, to experience the mouth of god, the state of sensual bliss, my whole body got sucked in because she too, had lost both her front teeth, and had a big ol” gappy smile. There was the vortex. Everything lost their qualities. Color became light, hard became invisible; I became you and slipped into that hole with the bluebird, the Indian, the thoughtful people, and the unthoughtful people, and the bus, and the street, and the rain and the city, until there was nothing left. I came into the city later than usual. I walked up 1st Ave. The rain was throwing sideways. All the street people were hanging. All the workers were already at work. The bus stop on 4th and Pike was a hub, a center of the wheel, a vortex. Entities huddled in the rain, waiting to follow a vein to some other point in time, not getting too close or seeing the color of each others eyes. Just in close proximity. We could all smell each other. The little lady, about four and a half feet tall, swaddled in a powder blue raincoat, screamed up to the skies like a baby robin alone in a nest, “I hate Seattle, I hate this fucking place. The greatest day in my life will be the day I die. I want to die, god damn fucking pissing rain for three weeks.” An Indian man, an Indian from this land and a black woman who misplaced her two front teeth stood beside me. His entire face, forehead, nose, cheeks, and, chin was riddled with aggravation, red, screaming, dry and sore with points of infection and puss. His eyelids were heavy. His huge shoulders sagged, wet with rain. He didn’t like it when the little blue bird yelled. He took it personally. His words dribbled out of his mouth, “man, you were yelling at me and I didn’t do nothing to you. I woke up this morning and gave thanks to the great Creator, and he is with us here and I am here to show you. And this day is good. ” “Well, are you Jesus?” the blue bird squawked, “Why the fuck then do I want to die every waking moment of my life. Why the fuck are we all suffering? Why the fuck was I raised by the devil dressed in drag. Did you hear me; My Mother was the Devil Dressed in Drag.” She turned downtrodden and listless. The Indian started telling someone else about how he was Navajo. He stumbled to the side and burped, lifted his hand to his mouth to catch anything that might come out. The little lady tipped her head up to look at me. Droplets of rain fell on her glasses and splattered into tiny microcosmic reflections, I saw the world with me in it in tiny droplets on the little creatures glasses on her face. Her lower lip pushed the other up towards her nose. I looked down at her. “you’re sad.” It was slightly a question and she nodded. The bus pulls up. Wheels swoosh water up against the sidewalk, rubber and cement sing out their friction in a high pitched arc. The entities shuffle and anticipate the opening in the side. The black lady, who was with the Indian never looks up from her soft, lowered eyes. Her one arm wrapped around a brown paper bag, her other hand in her mouth, just biting on some skin and she softly says, “We’re sorry you’re miserable.” and walks into the bus’s belly. The blue bird looks down into the gutter, sighs and prepares to waddle toward the bus “Thanks, that was a nice thing to say. Thanks, that was really nice.” Her head bobs up and down. She really feels it. That’s was nice. Then, I saw the devil in drag, hunched over with a long black trench coat that reached over her rump. She was really hunched so it looked like she had an extra foot and a half to her backside, like a four legged animal, but then I saw her tail, a glimpse of the scales, the slickness; part beast, part snake, part pure. A man’s brimmed hat on her head and thick black hair for a wig. As the devil reached to grab the bar to pull herself into the bus her other hand pulled the cigarette out of the sucking mouth and threw it in the gutter she blew the smoke from her body into the bus. It wafted out and I could smell the stench of the devil’s breath. Blue bird didn’t recognize her Mother and the devil was with her consort whose beauty was distinctly there and distinctly lost. This new woman had her eyebrows plucked into two thin lines. Her eyes were two beautiful black seeds swollen in water and so ready to grow into dark vines. Fiery red lipstick glistened on her lips in the fluorescent lights and the darkened windows. Her brown skin looked edible, like chocolate. She was well worn, not a maiden. As her face turned softly to smile at her “sister”, which is what she called the Devil, her eyes fluttered and began to roll up and back into her mind. The lids followed upward and her head swooned back and her lips opened into a big smile. Like curtains being drawn to see the opening event, to experience the mouth of god, the state of sensual bliss, my whole body got sucked in because she too, had lost both her front teeth, and had a big ol” gappy smile. There was the vortex. Everything lost their qualities. Color became light, hard became invisible; I became you and slipped into that hole with the bluebird, the Indian, the thoughtful people, and the unthoughtful people, and the bus, and the street, and the rain and the city, until there was nothing left. I came into the city later than usual. I walked up 1st Ave. The rain was throwing sideways. All the street people were hanging. All the workers were already at work. The bus stop on 4th and Pike was a hub, a center of the wheel, a vortex. Entities huddled in the rain, waiting to follow a vein to some other point in time, not getting too close or seeing the color of each others eyes. Just in close proximity. We could all smell each other. The little lady, about four and a half feet tall, swaddled in a powder blue raincoat, screamed up to the skies like a baby robin alone in a nest, “I hate Seattle, I hate this fucking place. The greatest day in my life will be the day I die. I want to die, god damn fucking pissing rain for three weeks.” An Indian man, an Indian from this land and a black woman who misplaced her two front teeth stood beside me. His entire face, forehead, nose, cheeks, and, chin was riddled with aggravation, red, screaming, dry and sore with points of infection and puss. His eyelids were heavy. His huge shoulders sagged, wet with rain. He didn’t like it when the little blue bird yelled. He took it personally. His words dribbled out of his mouth, “man, you were yelling at me and I didn’t do nothing to you. I woke up this morning and gave thanks to the great Creator, and he is with us here and I am here to show you. And this day is good. ” “Well, are you Jesus?” the blue bird squawked, “Why the fuck then do I want to die every waking moment of my life. Why the fuck are we all suffering? Why the fuck was I raised by the devil dressed in drag. Did you hear me; My Mother was the Devil Dressed in Drag.” She turned downtrodden and listless. The Indian started telling someone else about how he was Navajo. He stumbled to the side and burped, lifted his hand to his mouth to catch anything that might come out. The little lady tipped her head up to look at me. Droplets of rain fell on her glasses and splattered into tiny microcosmic reflections, I saw the world with me in it in tiny droplets on the little creatures glasses on her face. Her lower lip pushed the other up towards her nose. I looked down at her. “you’re sad.” It was slightly a question and she nodded. The bus pulls up. Wheels swoosh water up against the sidewalk, rubber and cement sing out their friction in a high pitched arc. The entities shuffle and anticipate the opening in the side. The black lady, who was with the Indian never looks up from her soft, lowered eyes. Her one arm wrapped around a brown paper bag, her other hand in her mouth, just biting on some skin and she softly says, “We’re sorry you’re miserable.” and walks into the bus’s belly. The blue bird looks down into the gutter, sighs and prepares to waddle toward the bus “Thanks, that was a nice thing to say. Thanks, that was really nice.” Her head bobs up and down. She really feels it. That’s was nice. Then, I saw the devil in drag, hunched over with a long black trench coat that reached over her rump. She was really hunched so it looked like she had an extra foot and a half to her backside, like a four legged animal, but then I saw her tail, a glimpse of the scales, the slickness; part beast, part snake, part pure. A man’s brimmed hat on her head and thick black hair for a wig. As the devil reached to grab the bar to pull herself into the bus her other hand pulled the cigarette out of the sucking mouth and threw it in the gutter she blew the smoke from her body into the bus. It wafted out and I could smell the stench of the devil’s breath. Blue bird didn’t recognize her Mother and the devil was with her consort whose beauty was distinctly there and distinctly lost. This new woman had her eyebrows plucked into two thin lines. Her eyes were two beautiful black seeds swollen in water and so ready to grow into dark vines. Fiery red lipstick glistened on her lips in the fluorescent lights and the darkened windows. Her brown skin looked edible, like chocolate. She was well worn, not a maiden. As her face turned softly to smile at her “sister”, which is what she called the Devil, her eyes fluttered and began to roll up and back into her mind. The lids followed upward and her head swooned back and her lips opened into a big smile. Like curtains being drawn to see the opening event, to experience the mouth of god, the state of sensual bliss, my whole body got sucked in because she too, had lost both her front teeth, and had a big ol” gappy smile. There was the vortex. Everything lost their qualities. Color became light, hard became invisible; I became you and slipped into that hole with the bluebird, the Indian, the thoughtful people, and the unthoughtful people, and the bus, and the street, and the rain and the city, until there was nothing left.

Member Since:

July 09, 2006

Members:

Sweethome; guitar, voice. Ahren; guitar, vocals and sounds of all sorts he makes with strange blinking buttons. Zeke; drums, slide guitar, organ http://www.skyeanproductions.com/music/loveaint.mp3

Influences:

Patti Smith, the evens, the Beatles, radiohead, Elliot Smith, Cake, Beck, David Byrne, Fugazi, firehose, mama's groove .. .. .. .. .. ..

Sounds Like:

http://www.skyeanproductions.com/music/loveaint.mp3