diaries: lowest of the low.


Each day, a series of events. A succession of emotions. Rollercoaster ? I spoke with Amy Gorman today, who is probably about as well known as anyone. Deservedly so. She reminded me about how emotional an experience it was. People actually wanted to work together. They actually did work together and pulled together. Laughed together. Became sick together. Recovered together. Musicians worry about such idiotic things. Idiotic. Trivial. Innane things. We're sitting in a diner in Arlington VAwith my friends Nasty and Ralph. Elaine and I had arrived hours before the biggest thunderstorm I'd ever seen had tried to wash the Capital Ballroom fresh and clean. The show was unremarkable. Grilled cheese always tastes so much better in the USA.


Please don't you laugh. Mothers son. Scott Walker repeated. Philadelphia. Doctor pays a visit. He examines swollen knees and head colds. Bruised and broken thumbs. Not exactly a clean bill of health. Most worrying is The Lady of Wright. He's looking green to the gills. We walk him back to a bus Stranded by zealot traffic cops Flushed with bureacratic pride.

We leave for a meal with Jarboe. A walk for coffee becomes a serialised adventure. Jarboe smiles and the air is punctuated with laughter. I say goodbye to James Plotkin. We exchange bear hugs.


Tacobox ( short haired Not Breathing ) and The Lady of Wright are curiously disgusted by my culinary expertise. Apparently peanut butter and salsa on rye is outlawed in Arizona. Illegal in Texas.

T H E M C A M P B E L L B O Y S.

Aaron and Krs Campbell with Driver Al come to see us In NYC. Aaron is the DVOA webmaster. I regret not being able to spend more time with them. Khan comes with Tetsou Innoue. Khan gives me a recent release of his, it's a 12 inch single, collecting bits of a riot recorded at a Black Sabbath show in Milwaukee, 1980.


is a long ride across Utah.

DOUBLE----------- TAKE

Golda Meyer dances with Charles Aznavour to the swing sounds of Jimmy Tenor. Charles enters into suicide pact with Golda, reluctantly.


I am not Genesis.P.Orridge, nor have I ever been Genesis.P.Orridge. Despite the fact that you talked to me in Denver for like twenty minutes without realising that I am not Genesis.P.Orridge. I am not he.


I am curiosly oranje. So is Martin Test and Gus Department. I gather we have some kind of loose affiliation with Dutch Protestants and Traffic Lights. I blame the very english affliction of reading the backs of cornflake packets at breakfast. Or wrapping chips in newspapers. Sportsnight with Coleman.


The good lady survived. He missed Tacobox, Elaine and I walking the STONE DEAD streets of Rochester, on a SATURDAY, searching for something to eat. All we could find were two exclusive restaurants, one with entrees starting at 27 bucks, the other with a " Imma sorree Senor, ah carn nurt pohsiblee gert urr a tabuhl untieel 9 ah clerk, " and a hotel with a dandy Ristorante. Kinda sucked Dave, where the hell were you ? Sheesh. Ah jeah.

I spend the next few days pissing bright orange urine attached to a telephone with a lone voice saying, " Hi this is Scott at the Rochester Hotel South, how may I direct your call ? " We were all worried, very worried.

The lady Wright awoke when we were in Detroit. I ran around the venue shouting at the crew, Mufti broke into a dance. I could smell the relief in Tacobox's voice.


Strange but ironic how these venues supply you with salsa, beer and childrens toys from dollar stores. Three of lifes essential requisites. Zaki and I spend a happy hour or two playing Power Rangers, shooting Qwak many times. Ambushing people. In Cleveland Mufti pens the english into a stockade, resurrecting feelings inspired by that infamius English loss to Germany in Mexico City, 1970. GERD MULLER YOU BASTARD. UWE SEELER, YOU LITTLE SHITE. Mufti patrols the pen with a sizeable flashlight and the look of man with a mission. He energetically eats cold chicken wings. In the middle of a Californian Walmart car park we played soccer together. With obvious zeal, the europeans outplayed their North American counterparts. Mufti is a midfied dynamo. Frazier, a pink haired tricky winger. Elaine toe hoofs. Tacobox besplendent in platform shoes scuff marked by Californian kick-abouts. He says that style comes first.


sleep go to sleep you are now in a deep sleep This Heat should be mandatory listening. I grow weary of T shirts with the same slogans. Of knowing looks. Sinking boats in flame rivers. Youth should celebrate it's infancy. Not seek to vent it's churlish spleen on themselves. I look at some of the people who I meet and think of the 17 year olds who were sent to Vietnam.


Besplendent. I'm not motivated by *that* much really. I'm very proud of my Galactus figure, Given to me by the New York ( and New Jersey ) possee. The sword that Martin King gave to me in Pittsburgh. The orange clothes we proudly wear. Manchester United. The Cleveland Shouting Team. The callers in Salt Lake City. Montreal, Toronto and Ottawa. Singing with Mufti.

Being with Jolly.
Meeting Freddie.
Harrassing Josh.

Simple pleasures.

c. spybey. 1998.

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