What The Duke says, when the folks wander up and poke him with a stick, "Tell us something, fucker, sat there all rubber-yapped an damp-eyed, tell us something marvelous", what he says is "I shouldn't ever a gazed, man. I shouldn't ever a seen Sinéad etched in seraphim whispers, never shoulda seen such sights, on account of how can a man look at anything else ever again, how can Woody Allen hope to rip the soul asunder with some sense-molesting slab of divinity in the 2:35 when outside the confines a the Fourth Wall I saw, with my own smoke-stung eyes, I saw the kinda sights even Blake at his most wretchedly unreachable couldn't a envisioned, the kinda wonders St John in his cities of flailing damnation would've been baffled by. The kinda beauty can't help but burn the consciousness ragged an raw out a man's very skull."
"Fuck my balls", a fella hollers, looks a bit like an Italian Ben Stiller, "I ain't moving a gnat's inch till I hear some bastard Deicide!"
Deicide, shakin the walls of Bruxelles, four hundred or more ranting, powerchord-bent maniacs heaving and thrusting in a room tighter than a sewn-shut arse-pipe.
Bruxelles, Sinéad brought us here, truth be told I'd a gone anywhere, crawlin round the inside of a razor-lined exhaust if'n Sinéad had deemed it must be so, these are the kindsa things a man in the grip of a mind-altering obsession is capable of.
A glorious freedom, like a soul flung left an right cross an opium nap, the wind snares the ankles an drags it… where?
"Here", Sinéad's sayin, "It's a fuckin sweatbox, though".
And it is. Bathed in a red afterglow, ceiling and floor three feet apart, the dropped D, the ragged E roarin in every pore.
And glorious, it is.
And terrifying, also, least for a scrawny fella from Up North with a fuckin absurd blue velvet jacket an a Clerks t-shirt scrawls FANBOY cross the mug in neon wank-wounds, thirty-nine minutes spent bent backwards over the bar in pursuit of "A Red Bull, please, aye."
"What you want wi that?"
"No, just a Red Bull please."
Curious glances. The fuck's wrong with you? The fuck kinda order is that to be makin in a bar seethin wi the angry glares and the death-screams and the goth girls either side with the promises of a soul-destoryin burst a filth wi every flick a the jet-black shoulder-length?
Article comments
1 - Bennett
I think I remember having nights like that.
The nightmare vision continues. Seems like a black and white adventure, colorized years later in reds and greens by someone who sees only the stark madness.
Loved the part about uncertain communication, looking for clear signs that don't materialize.
Thanks Duke.
2 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
thank you bennett. its nearin the end, onlookers will be glad as all hell to know. i'd say two more parts, three tops. i get the feelin this feels different to the rest, maybe im just bein paranoid. but regardless, it trundles on.
again, thank you bennett
3 - DJRadiohead
Good show, Duke. This is the way to start a morning... beats the hell out of doing anything resembling work first thing in the morning.
I think you are right... there is a different feel to this one. Which I suppose makes sense. Pt 1-4 were all about getting to the meeting. So was some of Pt 5 up to the point where the meeting starts. Pt 6 - we're at the show now. Makes sense it would feel different. Somehow even a bit darker, menacing. But lust, desparation, disillusionment, and Red Bull don't feel or look anything like pink bunny rabbits.
And more yet to come? Outstanding. I was fearing 6 was going to be the conclusion.
4 - Aaron, Duke De Mondo
DJ, thank you man. i was suprised a tad at how menacin the whole thing feels, readin over it again now. but it's accurate with regards the state a man was in, thats for sure.
im glad you're still diggin it, friend.
5 - Sinéad
"Moses with better breasts"
heh - cheers......*blush*
6 - gypsyman
Continuing to amaze and astound. Joyce if he were taking something he found in a back ally couldn't have done it better.
will we be having Duke nights in Belfast in the near future? Instead of a one day polite reading in a pub, a Post-modern horror show stumble through fetid stink holes that pass for nightspots and bars spread over a week's worth of non indulgence save for caffeen. if there is justice we will.
You don't need drugs and alcohol to be freaked, in fact the trip is lot scarier straight.
masterful again a la mondo
7 - DJRadiohead
You don't need drugs and alcohol to be freaked, in fact the trip is lot scarier straight
I have resembled that sentiment a time or two myself. Wow.