VI. Fara-onu

I sang "Pale Blue Eyes" last night. It's a delicate torture device of a song. I'm afraid of letting go of the words as the song moves along. And I don't recall ever loving anyone with blue eyes.

To lay with those married to others?

Linger on.

On March 28, we record the "Black Pig Suite". Four songs from Rattle Rattle, with as many musicians as necessary to make this mountain peak to the moon. This will help with securing a strong future for Rattle Rattle. Two more L.A. shows before then. NYC shows in April. UK in May? This week, I will know for sure.

In a couple of hours, Killsonic invades the East Hollywood ArtCycle. At the rate the dryer is going, something tells me I'm gonna be in soggy black tonight.

Love,

Dorian

V. Cloud of Noise

"Cloud of Noise"

IV. La Barba De Ovejas

Photo by Emmanuel Briseño

Tonight , I debut a couple of pieces ("Americana" and "5/11 Soft Chambers") at the very first Killsonic Presents monthly series. Both songs were written for accordions, vocal and musical saw, and they will (somehow) end up on Rattle Rattle. I will also be bangin' with the Holy Spirit in the grand debut of the Killsonic Women's Choir And Amplified Percussion Ensemble. Pretty stoked, in a totes way.

I found out last week that I am touring the South in September. UK, Paris and Berlin before then...but the South? THE FUCKIN' SOUTH! Apparently, this will be at the tail end of the second Killsonic invasion of NYC. Those who still have the Holy Spirit dancing fancies within us will recreate Sherman's march through Tennessee, Georgia, Louisiana and other lands flooded by truth and molasses. I'm looking forward to passing out in some sort of barn.

Yesterday was VD. Jesse came over and we hung out for 5 hours, sketching, smoking, squirming. I did a no-no and played him the rough mix of the as-yet-unreleased Killsonic II album. Cranked it, smoked, sketched, squirmed. Well, Jesse squirmed. Should one listen to Killsonic in such a state? Only if you absolutely need to know what it's like to stick your __________ in a bear-trap. Mingus resurrects as a hydra that shits bricks all over the Himalayas. Spark it up!

Hope you had an emotionally-nurturing Valentine's Day, free of candy and shit.

Love,

Dorian

III. Love Made Burroughs An Ikea Junkie

Lovecries.

According to a beautiful friend/soul warmer, Burroughs found mega-love in his final years alive. Powerful creature, take to the night sky; a flock of heart-shaped cherubim! Truly, if Burroughs can find love and solace in weekend garage sales, walks on the beach and fighting over the remote, well...

We had a totes dinner at Palermo last night. Chicken ravioli for the MEGA win. He looked like a dream, eating his chicken piccatta. On a separate occasion, he had reminded me of what my "job" is on this earth.

I tend to really dig (the things) my friend (says to me).

This weekend...a piece for accordions, saw and vocal (to be in Rattle Rattle, as well). A banda piece with Eddika and the Killsonic Women's Choir and Amplified Percussion Ensemble. Film festival screening of "The Mutual" with Frost. Grand Guignol with Richard and Jimmy. Crying time. Lots of it.

I wish my old friends would stop picking on me already. Thanks, Fiendish.

Love,

Dorian

II. Sumo or Later

Photo by Jason Savvy
Mess by me

Master Ibarra wanted a fast "Well Well Well", and deep down in the belly of the Sunset & Vermont Metro Station, it gushed out faster than blood. A testamentary swamp stretched across the platform, spitting out mosquitoes the size of helicopters. We were killed again and again. Heavy days inside the station's bellied walls. My word, I don't think I ever left the Sunset & Vermont Metro Station.

I gave my voice a good Faye Dunaway shaking this past weekend. Even my arms are sore from it! I could crush walnuts with my bellows-bicep right now. Yeeeeyaaaah! Killsonic brutally divined the commuter experience. We were all a totes happy bunch. Like our impromptu conductor at MacArthur Park proclaimed: "ES UN MILAGRO!!!"

After drinks, Ibarra, Corwin, Frank, Dom, Leah, Charles and I played at Tommy's loft benefit party for Peter and the Wolf, to help him raise funds for equipment loss. Good times with the sweat and blood. Some of it crept into my brain, as I introduced everyone onstage except for the beautiful Charles DeCastro. He was hiding, apparently. I was choking on my sweat. Really...soooo much sweat. I'm sorry, Charles. Ladies and gentlemen, Charles DeCastro!

I was useless by the time we reached Anna's colleagues' cast party. 2 a.m. and I sounded like a Skeksi. Still, "The Butcher Boy" came out. Twice. Hella nice people of Irish descent were at this party, and they allowed me to do horrors to their beloved folk standard. Love all around, get down, get down.

Thank you, Christal, for the exceptional duck. Apples to Apples, dust to dust.

Love,

Dorian