feel i should post, yet nothing much to say

the world's a mess, it's in my kiss... so let's instead look at the mundane: been sick lately. caught james's cold, which he caught from me. here, catch! no, you take it! no, you! saw bugonia. shocking, so well-made. love emma stone, yorgos lanthimos. her other show, with nathan fielder, the curse: omg. you must watch it for indelible cringe & white-privilege comeuppance. the ending still seers in my coconut... laid in bed like a noodle & binged cramps live videos. the best was bourges fr 1986. such theatre! such presence! "nothing like this will ever happen again," james said: nick knox strolls out & takes to the platformed drums, coolly smoking; next, fur dixon (who'd just joined the week before) all punkrock party girl mohawked fun; then regally gorgeous ivy in sneering harem gold, her red pouffe glowing around her glowering beauty; & finally crouching lux in madman pompadour, zombie-white torso, & skin-tight gold lame. he rises, he leers, he roars, he bellows, he incites, he calls them all to be saved & damned by the church of rocknroll. as thrilling as don't knock the rock's little richard & jerry lee lewis scenes, but much sexier & with greater abandon, the 40-year old video just killed me, as art fein would've said. imagine having been there! a person would have to quit the world to follow the cramps. there would be no other way... yes, was reminded why they are still the world's greatest band alongside the blasters & the 5 royales (not considering the big bands such as bob wills', louis jordan's, louie prima's, bill haley's)... maybe they were greater due to their complete commitment to physical immersion, the visual aspect of their shows, lux's acrobatics & visceral machinations. yes, lux interior's death was a devastating loss to the world of rocknroll & wackadoodle bacchanals. he was a hurricane of cool, elvis meets frankenstein, a beautiful, bopping, psychedelic roar. again, such a loss!! the world will never reel back... then after all that, james came to my sick bed & we together saw a documentary on the church of the subgenius. cool, thought-provoking. made me miss paste-up, the exciting days of underground renegade self-publishing. remember those days? you had to search out other weirdos. but what an amazing thrill when we connected! yes, made us again miss the 80s. lately we've been so missing the pre-net days. whoda thunk. guess it mostly means we are old folks now, the idea that the world was better back then. next, saw tv show hairy bikers. comforting, humane. we wanna travel so bad. darned lovely job, chaining me here... so in other news no one cares about, am sleeping through the nights. health good tho head has cold. yoga for sickness maybe helped. if you have a cold, don't get in a sauna or sneeze too hard. i blew out an eye blood vessel, apparently by doing those things. very sexy... i crawled behind the keys & drums & we practiced music. let's do just an hour, we said. 2 and a half later, the top of my injured foot, still messed up from last month's ladder-fall, was throbbing... but we were cleansed & spent by our living room performance. we had attended our church. see, we have a duty to play this music. again we remembered: we are denying the world by not doing shows. james keeps saying, it's up to us now. lux is dead, phil alvin will never perform again. it's up to us. we must do it. we have to bring forward the music of those who came before, our version, that is. because it's so important, i here quote the dearly departed ronnie dawson, aka the blond bomber: when i die, bury me six feet deep with a rocknroll record at my feet & a phonograph needle in my hand, gonna rock my way right out of this land... when i die, doncha bury we me at all, just nail my bones up on the wall, beneath these bones let these words be seen, here's the running gears of a bopping machine.