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
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