maggotsboombox

these prickly apparitions discover me with Unexpected woe.. shake me out at night like a secondhand throw rug, treat me with unfriendly putrid acrimony and leave me tattered, slithering out snakelike bewildering runic symbols into the digitized sand in unthinkably dull garrulous computerized vertigo.. i like my music rigged with hundreds of weird little nano-epilepsies. a perfectly weird soundtrack to go with the sensation of enduring hundreds of gallons of bad shit proteins gushing through the cerebellum and brain goo during the average fucked up clueless prodigal lifetime. i figure if i can flush out these dark and dirty mindwells with the pure zapping power of noise on nervous noise, betwixt sad alien two steps, ghostly minor chord progressions, flatliner echoes of abandon peppered with a few sparse bangs and clangs, maybe i can temporarily cure a few ne'er do wells who happen to be unfortunate enough to live in the same dark universe as me. ...you see, there are too many dickheads already lined up at the diving board...and they all want the same thing. fame, money, attention.. so i quietly splash around in the shallows, unheard of for the most part, except for a few random drunkards who mistook my jagged jigsaw pieces as congruencies. i want to take one solitary note and wrap it around the world, as far as it can go. i want to invent a contact mic small and lightweight enough to glue to the wings of a gypsy moth or a monarch butterfly and amplify the sound gut wrenchingly loud, to let it become my rhythm section. the only thing i want to see dance is your small intestine, rupturing quietly as i bring you my love.