I went to hear a friend's band, "The Elastic Migraine", perform the other night and found myself scrambling for pen and paper in order to furiously scribble the following torrent of thoughts pulled into the light by Scott's carnivorous guitar solos!
...
The Sound of Elastic Migraine
And the time is incomparable to their sum
when a black jacket groans within his screams
like the lily white unburdened by iron strings.
Fingers red with saliva, split along the parallel
where strangers intermittent are raging like
a shallow man who steps back
from songs universal in their faulting way.
Rhythms sink beneath diamond tarmac
before a candid sky can refrain from
its sarcasm, bursting static fills the screaming silence
and a noise falls in their ears.
The Frontman
He debates the proverbial path with easy banter,
eyes turned in he grins with corrupted pain
and leads you on with glorified noise
like the hum of nicotine bees. Hair pulled
back by grasping fingers of controversy,
in a name they whisper wicked
to the orange backs and silver legs.
Ink fills my tears and I write to weep
a feeling of lust for the splitting skull
and genteel tortures.
Beloved Belle of Bass
This man has known that man, their hearts
relished by communist trading
hear me hear him hear her and know
that their is death in paradise.
He bows to the tiled floors with a
movement of sublimination, electrocution
of sound permeating thickened corners.
But happiness is never bliss, for false notes
corrupt the faulting heirs of maddened crowns,
emotion permitted to enter the lifted dark;
there she waits with a steady breath
for the earth to be still.
