Participants: Baroo Caskets, Obsidian Skeleton, Disciple Nightconus, The Sickwood Adventure, Odafielthe Adoxi, Wounded Sobelisk.
Transcribed by: Cottypearile Weddingforke and Marie Hayden.
1. What’s the first piece of music you listened to today?
Obsidian Skeleton: B. A. E. Madoenglesler’s suite "The Moon Village" and then "Wonder and Wander." Each have a distinct violin crescendo that loops in circles, ascends up to the skies, then crashes into the ground on "Moon Village" and into the deep of the sea on "Wander." You can be assured that over the next month, or so, I am going to play that back to back when I wake up.
Disciple Nightconus: That’s unhealthy. You get one song in the morning you are gonna be chasing your heels all day. You’re gonna be insane by 3pm with this sound playing over and over in your head. You’re going to be trying to out-sing the song playing over and over.
The Sickwood Adventure: I usually start up the day all set to go. I get some socks on my naked body, wipe my eyes, and then get good and comfortable on my burlap seat. I flip a coin to see if I get on the keys or on the banjo. Either way a few minutes later I’ve gone back to bed disgusted with myself.
Odafielthe Adoxi: I cannot stand music in the morning. I can almost take it at night. I can do it if I have to for a show at mid-afternoon.
Baroo Caskets: Oh, it’s those goddamned birds outside. They do some freemason chant and then go into the flute sing a song sounds. It’s goddamned horrible! If they get some organization they might go somewhere with it. As of now they are just mocking jokes to the music scene. I stuck a few ideas on paper and tacked ’em to the window.
Wounded Sobelisk: Caroliner’s "Bowed Wart." I am so amazed around that song. There are around three parts in there that are gems. I get tickled to death with my memory of playing that song. I want to be in that song, coating my ears like sugared locomotion from one thought to another. I can’t even tell what I played on it.
2. What are your vices?
The Sickwood Adventure: You can see by my rasp, if a native of America man is going to make a quick camp smoke, I am going to stick my head right in there. I have no control of myself. I’m a slave to the smoke of the Americas.
Disciple Nightconus: Hands deep in my pants, I gotta say that it’s picking these nasty critters out of my lower curlies. I’m guessing they like the taste as much as the bees of the forest. I can’t stand the little stinkers.
Odafielthe Adoxi: Hands down! It’s gotta be the smoke of the Americas! Makes me sick, makes my head ache, does me right!
Wounded Sobelisk: I am very appalled by my habit, and so it happens, so it runs in the daily course. It goes kind of like this. I get the urge, I pick into my pocket some loose money. I feel the urge burning in my deep and dirty bowel parts. I move wobbled feet into the food store in a way that may seem like a man in fugue. I am not though, I am fully aware, pensive….Anyways, I get the urge, like I says, and then I buy that big red apple. I am so silly that way. I know the next day I’m gonna get that stupid feeling again. I know it in my deep dirtiest bowel part.
Baroo Caskets: It might be euphoria, or maybe depression. I can’t really say what is going on because the latter part of the day life is sort of a blur that ends up in a dream. Then those goddamned birds start their uselessness.
Obsidian Skeleton: I have about seven vices at my home. One is about 3 inches and the biggest one is about a foot long. Their performance ranges from very good to very upsetting. This one is approximately 6 inches long. It’s been cursed by the first few United States Presidents as they have bit into the device. There are major bite marks up and down the front of the main bolt. So in the way of the vices there is:
Vice One: The Smallest One
Vice Two: The Larger than Smallest One
Vice Three: The Brownish-Silver One
Vice Four: The Cursed Chawed On One
Vice Five: The Bigger than Cursed One
Vice Six: The One Used The Most
Vice Seven: The One Footer
No, you can’t borrow these either. They are for my use.
3. What is one of your prejudices?
Obsidian Skeleton: I get the prejudicial moment looking at a big area of water. That big piece of work is going to drown me. It will keep me from my goals if I go near it. You look hard enough, you can see the empty sockets and that nasty skull grin. It’s going to play havoc with your lungs if you give it any chance. Salt will take all the human water out and ruin blood. I have a bad time right now as it is keeping the structure of myself all set up with black shiny bones. The rest of this stuff, the skin and the insides, it’s ready to fly off and die with its wet twice removed. A bath is like setting yourself on fire for twenty minutes.
Wounded Sobelisk: There’s always children. Demanding and ungrateful, endless needful neediness. Create havoc, and what do you get? A little stink pile of "love."
Baroo Caskets: You got those birds all over the place. That’s a world problem. I judge them as soon as I see a goddamn beak. I judge them with wings. I have a suspicious feeling that makes me sick that those stupid….it’s angels gone all messed mixed up. They get you right into the sanctity of the chapel or drive you nuts. You don’t have a choice on the thing. It’s all the cards stacked up against your mind. Each card has a bird eye stuck on it. They are all looking at you. That’s the worse thing that can happen to you, they disorganize ya, kid. They are ready to pick your face off and drive you outta your head. Don’t go near the birds or you are going to get mixed in the brain. Maybe it is my job. I wonder…I’m supposed to eat every bird blindfolded.
Disciple Nightconus: Ghosts. You see one and you know what I’m talking about. It’s a good thing they take all the teeth out of ghosts. I’d like to shake the hand of the night dentist who has that gloomy job.
The Sickwood Adventure: Human health and eyesickness. You get the eyesick in advance. Get it in your sights and shoot it down. Have the eye alerts on. Have the gun and knife right there by your hip or bed. You keep that out of your house long enough you can loot its corpse when you die.
4. In what way do you think music has the ability to change the way people live their lives?
Baroo Caskets: I’ve told a handful of people to get in the back of a barn once during a dance. I got them to go across a room basically…
Disciple Nightconus: I’ve seen people waste their times trying to decipher Sock Dillard and his Jeses Blood Chasers. There’s also been some folks wasting time moving around on the, whatdya callit, the floor, on the waltz floor. They’re kickin’ up heels and feeling like a million bucks. They got the movement. They are changing 5pm to 7pm a little faster. They go around wasting their time you see. You have some kinda luck with a Caroliner audience. They are checking a list of 162 world released songs on a big list. They listen and check off the list. Then they take note who is portraying which song, and who is doing the wallpaper look. Then a few of them take them moves home with them and make some fool gesture in the mirror.
The Sickwood Adventure: I’ve done my time using the template of the sounds usage. During a certain part of my life I looked into the lifestyle of the banjo demon Rene’ Simoisse, the first famous French banjo picker who had a clever clawhammer technique. I mainly was interested in his clothing that I made from scraps of curtains and black shoelaces. I could never grow the goatee right so I settled on the paper and pencil stroked glued augment. I really tried to make it clear to people that I could imitate some of the frenchy moves and the frenchy look. I could never get the language though. I would put the word ‘foo’ at the end of every sentence. No one thought it was right. It sounded wrong to me after a while so I gave up the false identification papers and the goatee.
Wounded Sobelisk: In sing-a-song you could pass a message off to a person who would be on a mission. Tell them so and so has a key for a lock that opens into some cavern full of old-time strawberries and dark bread or something. It must be documented somewhere. You can look it up and have some more things to publish.
5. At what age did you first feel distrust?
Obsidian Skeleton: One year into this tribute band I get the sick feeling that this whole new millennium and future thing is a lie. I got a sicken all of a sudden when I had my wagon fantasy. I take this on the dirt by the jetty near the part where you see some square sun workings. You look into that enough you’re going to see some big fight for fishing rights up there in the sky. You get the sea, or some fish involved in your whole, uh, morale or your, uh, mode of attack to the life you lead…those fish mean trouble. They tell you with the eyes what kind of shape you’re going to be in if they are out of water. Get indoors, bolt the door, ask for some peace of mind with some dryed out bread. Something that won’t use rounded eye talk. I hate that slow mouth move they do, too. It gives me the chillies thinking about it.
Disciple Nightconus: Can I remember when? I think I felt safe at one point, don’t have a single thread of an idea when. You have a few Totem Joes and Gushy Moles asking a lot of questions. They get up into your business and make your pudenda feel all rotted. Don’t trust any damn thing for as long as I can remember. If you feel funny it’s from some miscarriage of fortune from another being. I’ve yet to see a hurricane though.
The Sickwood Adventure: I get about a dozen trusts. They come to me about once a year. I use them like a door or fork. You ask about one or two questions of them, tell them to shoo, then they can either say "this work isn’t worth the paper it’s on" or "you did alright." If I do alright, then that’s the time I can go get me a glass of clear eye. I take the clear eye to the bedroom and wake up naked where I just gotta throw on those old dirty socks and go disappoint myself.
Odafielthe Adoxi: You pay any attention to the higher ups, and it’s going to be a bad time. I think about those son of a bitches up there paying high dollars for nice clothes, and I make a snake loop around my person. I guess I noticed how awful these people are at about age 20 when I was given a voter. I remember the day a tarantula, or something with a bunch of tied-up knee-legs, tried to convince my pappy that it was a kitten, then what ya know it ran up the wall, burned in the chimney, and deserted us! I was going to ask it a question about kitten cares. I had the "eat all" hungry look in my eyes, I’m positive sure.
Wounded Sobelisk: I have a thing for people in old arm chairs. You put anyone in an old arm chair, they talk to me slow, tilting the head from one side to the other, I’m going to bow my warts to them. I’m going to listen with a full ear or two. I’m divided when they get in one of those cushion chairs or stools. You put someone up on a pulpit, forget it. You put someone up to a podium with some idea I should be following, like follow this map to get your gun to shoot Mr. Sand Britches, I close up. Just forget it! I go the other direction. I go on back to the chair.
6. Do you think that your name is appropriate for you? (If not, what name would be more appropriate?)
Wounded Sobelisk: We are a tribute band to Caroliner the Singing Bull of the 1800s. If we were singing something from the Dampton Lice Brother’s hymn book we would figure out another name. If we did a modern fuzzy hullybaloo thing, like that music you hear in a showy window shoppe, that would be a band called Fuzzy Hullybaloo Thing.
Obsidian Skeleton: My name was given to me by an old lady who lived in a closet that smelled like pee-pee, so yes, it’s perfect.
7. What is the best piece of music you’ve ever created, in your opinion?
Baroo Caskets: What do you think? "Ballad of Hamdrags" has some real nice bouncy thing going on.
Obsidian Skeleton: You like it because of the anti-bird banner it has throughout.
Baroo Caskets: Yeah, how about "The Sabre Waving Saracen Wall"? We can all agree on that? Yes??
Disciple Nightconus: "Imbecility Deeply Favored" has the mark of a musician at its peak. I like to think I wrote it. I probably did. No one is arguing with me because it’s old and dusty. I think it’s safe to say I wrote that one at this time.
Obsidian Skeleton: The music from "Concert from the Pit" is good. I don’t know who wrote that. It found its high-water mark about four years ago in Kentucky, or that place with the bull ring we played.
Disciple Nightconus: It was Lexington, Tennesee. I did a ditty for myself, not for the band, called "Scratch the Sniff" in the tub. I don’t know what I was doing in there. I have another kind of situation. This one is requiring a sled that will go by real fast, real silent. Then you hear a banjo from the sled. You pass by the banjo. As you go by really fast the sound changes. Like a bell from a train. You understand? That’s the kind of music I want to be playing on the time. For the silent sled type of folks.
The Sickwood Adventure: The new one is good. I think I added what ya would call the main foundry on that. I think the name has the word "Adventure" in it or something. I don’t have a singing bull lyric book or notes right now. My answer is the new one is the best thing.
Odafielthe Adoxi: "Sock Burr Cabal" sure is nice. I don’t know who wrote the music. I would assume I did. I’m taking credit right now.
Wounded Sobelisk: "Crumblelegs," "Fragrant Root Stretchers," "Bronzelips" or whatever that one is called, "Pace and Mercy"–all of those are good ones. I think I wrote them back before I was doing anything musically. I would assume as much. They all have this rhythm that corresponds with my natural tempo.
8. Right now, how are you trying to change yourself?
Disciple Nightconus: I have some juicy tooters and a few fingernails I switch out of me. Not sure what else I’m supposed to do. Is this something we all should be doing? I’m sort of unclear on this.
The Sickwood Adventure: Naw, naw, this is a process. You mean like getting the smarts. Right. I have a handful of fox hairs I am trying to stick deep into my scalp so I can get a little more wits upstairs happening. You need a doctor for the real process. I’m working at it one by one. Clever as a fox, that’ll be me. I stick those things between my teeth once in a while. I doubt if smart-teeth is anything you all have heard of. It’s new to me. Check it out in about a year and see if they aint reading some book on Shakey Spears, or whoever the name of that English ballet fella is.
Disciple Nightconus: I try to change these undery pants around twice a month. If I get all wild and helpful I will change someone elses in the middle of the night. Socks and underwear once a week is enough change for anyone.
Odafielthe Adoxi: Mandolin. I’m getting a big stick and peeling me a switch, I’m getting on that sound. It’s going from what, like a, like unto a harp, and followed by the yawn of a whale. I’m sounding like a whale as soon as you read about this switch.
Wounded Sobelisk: The kind of change………… there’s not really a when or how. I can ask you though. The reader, out there, on the back-jamb of the swinging cupboard. Indeed, how does one become a revered statue with a gesture in the sky as if to say "I lift the heavens with my wounded thoughts"? This isn’t some martyr from Persia thing here. I mean frozen, revered, maybe bronzed, able to strut a few miles in a stride unfrozen, a string of followers with long poles helping me hold up the heavens in some Sobelisk outfit, a couple of rat-faced elephants with trunks that go deep into the core of the ground, a passle of halos slung all over, you know what I mean? Working at this on a notebook late nights, I will count that as a night wound. It’s a set back, indeed. It sort of bothers me there isn’t some quick solution or "Law of Naturism" book I can’t pick up to make the big change from "King of Country" to "Sky Emperor Holder and Earth Savior of All Time." It might be up to me to write the whole process out, but I don’t want some knuckleheaded manure picker to take my place using silver instead of bronze….or getting some kangaroo instead of a few elephants. That would really be a good sight, no, I mean the perfect sight, elephants rooted deep down into the corset of the ground…with me in front, rock lacing the elements. You put yourself in my shoes, and you are going to go buster.
Baroo Caskets: I have done the whole different shoe and walk-a-mile thing. It doesn’t work. Sore feet, with different shoe sizes, is all good on the lips, maybe on paper… Pike and carp. It’s a problem wearing clothes at all sometimes. At some point I’m going to try some different penmanship and ink. It may take a while to warm up to that.
Obsidian Skeleton: I’ve done way too much to myself. The whole Obsidian Skeleton on the Earth, moving about with stone glass bones. Doing my tribute to the 1800s. That’s all…that’s all you are going to get from me. I’ve come to a comfortable medium walking out of a mine with what I hope is pure diamond I stare through. You get me near a mirror and it’s going to shatter in about 20 directions from Monday.
The Sickwood Adventure: Change is for sissies and actors. I am a solid dollar incapable of change. Put me out in the bean field and I might give you a different answer.
9. If you had the time, what else would you do?
Baroo Caskets: The whole dig up cavern would be good. We’ve been kicking that idea into the ground, pretty literally, for a good decade or two even.
Disciple Nightconus: We could do this, we could all make some time if the land was donated.
Baroo Caskets: Getting some tightwit to wake up to our grand scheme is going to be the death of us. You can’t bang your head too much with these people who don’t see our big picture. Some get stuck on the idea of getting the moulding replaced on a window frame. Getting the drawer to open. The little stuff…
Odafielthe Adoxi: The big plan here is to get a few miles of land. Shovel into the thing so there is a tunnel of guts going deep into the ground. We’re going to have to start the whole spool off on the last part of 1899. There might be some funding to put the industrial revolution underground. Shovel the son of a bitch deep in the ground at one end. Then we can work ourselves backwards. We can get backwards into the beginning of the perfect century. Back into 1800. Day one by shovel. I want to see the ghosts come down the shaft to meet the new Bronzelips.
Wounded Sobelisk: We’ll get Loin Loin down there, the corpse of the Levitt Family with busted teeth and everything, some berbucks, some hernia milkqueen running around shooting her milk. Horse cannons shooting the straw wadding would also be a fortuitous joy. I would step up and say I’d like to put in some of the men of the Lily Saloon, their corpses. Some Earp brothers with maybe some live snake arms so no one gets to messing with the presentation. I’m going underground because this heat is a bitch.
10. What social cause do you feel the most strongly about (negative or positive)?
Baroo Caskets: Well, I have a deep concern for people in the Americas. There’s not so much nomad work going on. I’m watching…I see those birds going from one state to another looking for worms. That’s the one allowance I can concede. They have no skills or organizations. Their music is goddamn rabbit dung with tap shoes. I have about as much….no, I have no patience with these goddamned wretches. I’ve got a few organizing skills. I put that written out enterprise on who should get slapped with the bird shit in the eye. I will pay good money to those goddamned unscrupulous piles of evil make something of themselves. I’ll hunt some worms and leave them on the window sill. I’ll mix some thyme with it. Get them to pay attention, that’s what I need to work on. Just flapping your arms in one direction isn’t getting anyone anywhere. I need to get semaphore lessons with some big rattlesnake worms. Something they are going to pay attention to.
The Sickwood Adventure: American Indians are the ones I send my store money to once in a while. I would send it to the Vikings and anyone else who came out here to look around before me. I don’t want to get thrown out of my home from some accidental concession-mistake of fiducialiarious oversight. Every early land owner has gotta have a wink for me, else there’s no sleep for Sickwood.
11. What are your fears?
Baroo Caskets: Worried about the Gum Mountain men coming back from the dead or something. I guess I worry about that the most because that’s 1930’s. Everything else has had a traveling spirit removed after 1900. That was the year when everyone’s soul was staked to the ground so the beurocratic ants could eat them to pieces. Someone comes up to me with a cannon ball, and gives situate, I’m not going to run so much as tell them something so and so said. If an authority says "swallow that cannon ball," he will. You can distract anyone these days with trivial beurocracy or authority.
Obsidian Skeleton: The argument for shutting down aquariums will start here. Not much you can do if those bodies of water get organized and start the march on you. If they get the lumination of taking apart our fragile land system…there is going to be hell to pay…there is going to be a big mess. Walking aquariums will take on your dry land. They will take down the whole land system, as I said. That should be public duty one, to take those things apart. The humiliation of drinking all that water through a drinking device would be something else, too. I will lump all seas, sea life, and half the earth. First, humiliate those glass boxes into non-existence.
The Sickwood Adventure: I wouldn’t have a problem with any glass, not just the aquarium type. You get rid of any glass there’s not going to be so many people cut to shreds. You put some wood in there…that’s splinters. Those little pieces of wood aren’t going to do nearly as much damage to you as some flying panes of glass. There are 600 deaths a year from glass. Most of the glass death comes from the side into the neck. Your poor head will go flying off its neck and end up in some kick-a-ball game.
Odafielthe Adoxi: The humanized moon. Anthrolunism is the reason those Egyptian pyramids were stuck up there. If that moon gets too close to this soil, both eyes are going to get taken out. There’s one more on the sand, the third mystery pyramid that’s going into the nose tip. If the nose is forced hard enough up into the moon-face there’s going to be a rupture of the brain. That was an Egyptian thing. They had to get the brain out of a mummy’s head fast, and frisky. They took those baby pyramids and drove them into the nose. When they had a chance a Pharaoh would show up with a snake flute, and he would use music to make the brain crawl out the nose like a snake. The powers in charge right now have all these pipes going from one end of the land to the other. Alaska is one big pipe. I think it might be a good idea to drill a hole on the top, all along the topside, and get a big bellows or some tough tumblers with big lungs to blow through that pipe. We can suck the brain right out of the moon forever. Those puffy white eyes, will close forever. There is a reference to that in the song "Bring It Out Egypt Style."
Disciple Nightconus: Don’t know what happened to me, but once I was thinking about the Yellow Bitch Crown Molder. The blade I saw going in between reason and my ubiquitous deity of being. It was carving away at my body starting with my clothes. When it got way down to my skin I started to scream my head off. I couldn’t stop. That Molder was the Joachim Building tool, the main one, everybody had one. You couldn’t walk down the street without tripping over a few…I don’t think back in the 1700’s it was such a delightful place to be as much as 100 years later. There’s a big layer of clothing between me and it now. I will have the jump if it comes after me. I keep a forthlayer of shoes on top of my normal ones.
Wounded Sobelisk: Ceasar’s Cave of Lucifer scares me silly.
Fonse McMornagrick Death Oath makes me crazy ill. The Twenty Foot
Tall Stacked Skeleton that growled makes me dizzy ill. Church bells
get my stomach in a knot. I have to sit down thinking about all
this horror. Being stuck in an old barrel of wine is a thought,
enough to scare the pants off of anyone in their right mind, or their left. What these other people are eating in this band makes me sick-crazy. I’m going to strangle them all, eat the skin, and teach them a lesson. Me too probably.
12. What is your favorite joke (tasteful or tasteless)?
Baroo Caskets: The music of the modern. That is THE most tasteless atrocity walking the land. If you come face to face with that on the side alley take its life. Take it as often as possible.
Obsidian Skeleton: Tasteless? I think when you get asked a good question and someone doesn’t answer right away that’s a tasteless thing. If they use the language of the Prussians or Persia, in that wild talk, it’s best to swing your arms in counter clock ways and nod your head. They usually determine some new insight from your move. I’ve not had a problem talking to Prussians over here, ever.
Disciple Nightconus: It’s tasteless to keep your gums clean, and your mouth empty. There’s no taste in there. Did I get that right? Yes. Tastelessness, that’s purest tastelessness.
The Sickwood Adventure: A tasteless joke would be a ban on socks. You can illegalize me and my ways, but don’t go near the foot. Keep the hell away from my feet! Everyone knows that. Everyone I do the music with.
Odafielthe Adoxi: Glowbox royal entertainment. It’s tasteless. It’s shameless! I want it off and out of my sight. That thing might swing over there in Englishtown, but here…it’s a chowderwig’s pig rump. You aren’t going much more than a couple of steps with that hubble blubble.
Wounded Sobelisk: As much as I would like to enjoy these paper bills, they don’t taste like much at all. A single dollar tastes like a twenty dollar bill. It’s the kind of thing that if you add salt, then it tastes like salt. If you add some other kind of green, it tastes like a different green. None of these things made at a "mint" are going to taste very minty or interesting. I will never stop collecting them though. Wondering about the hundred dollar bills, if you know how they taste, or if you find out, let me know. Spit in my hand tastes better than a dollar.
13. Who is your favorite author?
Disciple Nightconus: I will answer on behalf of all. I can just rattle all these off at once. Michael Lesy….Wisconsin Death Trip….and…who else? Oh yes, yes. Premeditated Cropping by Earnest Takes. Best and Certain Cook-Handle by Terry Tideacates. Goes with the Seldom Witnessed Leaf by the midwest fella…not sure about….one moment…. Edith Sitwell, a queen of the world and well written. The author of Red Gum Mountain Men by whoever..and…..Richard Erdoes Saloons of the Old West……….Purchais of the Flame by Tame Robert Marshell. Metamorphoses of Brawns by who…by the fella…his name is Railen? Railette? Not sure about that one….Yes, there is more..like the Baxter Kansas Cowtown writer. He’s a well written one. Whosis. The fiction book of Barclay and Hickok called Meeting the Bullet, or Meeting the Gun one of those……….names.
14. What is your favorite movie?
Wounded Sobelisk: Not my habit. Who likes that moron tripe? No one goes to the movies after the early ones. The ones on the flicker machine. More people these days are into the shadow play and the jack-o-lantern exhibition than your seated, illegible, eye gibberish.
Baroo Caskets: I saw something once. I don’t know the name. It had some people in it doing some mixed up things in the air and on the ground. They ran around like rats with tails on fire. They were mixed up goddamned morons if you ask me. It would’ve been a heck of a movie if the cannibals were after them. Horse-cannibal men. Every one of these slick jack stains need a crazy horse in it. Fanged and fingered horses. Classic giggling. Is there a good movie ever have been made? No.
The Sickwood Adventure: A good film movie would have some strong backed horses, a few canoes, shots of Montana Railroads, the world’s biggest barn, the….like a big handsome prune on a table moving around in a circle…in a big room. That Tomb Cruise necrophile eating the prune in a slippery pit of his own guts is a good idea. Some baby goats eating a corpse with the head jerking up and down, side to side. Maybe you could put some lens up by the throat so the corpse bits would ripple through the goat’s throat hair. That would be one hell of a film.
Odafielthe Adoxi: I can’t get over photographs from a ways back. I can’t get enough of the Brady Portraits of Lincoln and his ilk. I am not really a fan of Lincoln’s looks so much as the way the photo works on him. You can tell that bastard sweated some pellet drops of chicken grease and squash seeds when his eyes would shut, if they ever did. You look at his eyes and they are like a duo of rock walnuts staring at deprivation of life in the Inquisition of Spain. Whatever you show me is going to be in black and white or it’s not going to show.
Disciple Nightconus: I think there is a film called In a Mountainside Tent. It’s about a few people on a mountain. I felt relaxed watching that. Either I was there with glasses on, or I saw it somewhere on a film screen.
Obsidian Skeleton: Is there a motion picture on something that people are doing in a situation that is not very good? A bad situation. Not something I need to see. I get in these messes enough that there’s no reason I should watch some son of a bitch getting into a mess. I bet if I was in that mess I could figure it out faster than them though. I got a good handle on what’s what.
15. Favorite album(s) from the last few years?
Obsidian Skeleton: Brady’s photo album. A heck of a thing! What was once only for the elite of United States leadership is available from some book distribution outlet.
Wounded Sobelisk: There’s a album from a few decades ago that had "turn of the century" Edwardian devices. If I think of the publisher, it was some company, not a person, I will let you know. Some hucklesmackers in there. One thing all lit up and with some sweeping depressions all over. I really don’t know the name. Ask anyone at a store for the Edwardian device booklet. Some album of big apples would be good to see, I don’t think there are any out there right now.
Disciple Nightconus: The plants of the Pine Cochiae? Some such album. Everything was drawn out in accurate detail. You glance at some of them plants, and you wonder to yourself, "Is this the photo or a sketch?" I think they might have rounded out the album with actual photos, but you can’t be too sure. Those folks won’t tell you in the text either. They are going to keep you guessing until one of ’em dies on the grindpress. That’s the trouble between getting in the press business and the pen-and-ink business… you can’t be crushed by a simple pen. You get a press between you and your words, look out buster!
The Sickwood Adventure: I really don’t mind the fact there are new scripophily bank notes coming out every year. I don’t need an album, I look at all the old and some new coin and bills I have laying around. Every time I turn around there’s a spankin’ new one out there I will do a quick trade with a proprietor or some young rake.
Baroo Caskets: At the fore is an album on the circle of hell. Those mystery folks who get all messed up mixing around with the pitchforks. I have yet to see that Dante publication. I have a few pages I tore out from a bookstore. I got those over there. Some of these books around here look a lot like my books. I think I learnt all these to you. You have about half of my books right here on this shelf…No? Well they look like my books. They have that same side binding and English lettering. You sure about that? Well, I can get them some other time when this interview is over.
Odafielthe Adoxi: You ever seen that "Buoy of Beach" album? There is a monster that looks like sand and eats small things like fingers and babies. I know it was out there last year because a hedge priest told me about it so I would confess to urinating on the side of his bless trellis. I confessed quick, and he backed off showing me the nightmare. Getting cornered like that is embarrassing and compromising. Watch where you make your yellow perfume, there might be some guy in black watching you from the dark. I also, I have some nice albums of my dead relatives. They look pretty good for being dead.
16. What would you like to know more about?
Wounded Sobelisk: How the moon has kept its bloody bruised face so clean after smashing all the dinosaurs. They had big, ten-pointed horns and some wicked teeth. I’ve looked into a telescope proprietor shop and haven’t seen one drop of blood on the pictures they had in the window.
Disciple Nightconus: How to build a "Pivoting Savage" with a bow and arrow arrangement. How to make a goguloo fete champetre where they put your feet in hoof fetters and roll you in silk. How to get a gamble god to use your hands against a lawyer in a game with the clothes on your back against his big spread. I would borrow some pants for that one.
Obsidian Skeleton: I have a hard time with growing hair. There is a fast and quick remedy to this in the song "Sewn on Beards." You soak your mouth in oil of some kind for somedays and then go in through the lower lip, then it starts growing…If that can be done with the skull, infiltrate the skull with some hair, then I would be much gratefulled to that. So my answer is get the "Sewn on Beards" elixir and fill up where my hair is missing.
The Sickwood Adventure: Just as a big "to hell with all you goddamned whoreknobs who never listen" I would take the yellow yawn route. That’s the song where the guy opens his mouth so wide he yellow balls his insides, exciting the thing to run about in circles getting everyone dirty with body wash. To get that yellow body wash thing going you have to eat Indian bully tree milk with either urine or sun oil on it. Either way I’d do it in a crowd for an "I told ya so" moment. Getting that scene down, I mean finding out that treatment through a science or book of fluids, that would be a heck of a thing.
Baroo Caskets: Sign the coffin and be done with me, I don’t give a goddamned what for. I want to know less. I want to know why these birds don’t get it together. They’ve been around since before I was here. They’ve always been here. No one gives me the answer I want to hear. There should be a book called "The Mystery of Dumhevae." I should be the author if I had more information other than the song reference. That’s a mystery.
Odafielthe Adoxi: In the song "Gule Lamb, Move Down the Pasture!" there’s a plow and a "glass blown delication" that makes the gule lamb move. That was the biggest baby sheep ever born, bigger than a few trains put on each other. If you have a sound or configuration that gets a big thing like that to move on its own accord from threat? Or is it a command? I don’t know which, but if I had a big field with some plowing experts and a few good glass blowers who could play the sun through the delications we could get a good thing. We could get us a moving company taking these behemoth structures over somewhere near the mountains where they would have a behemoth competition, or whatnot.
17. What is one thing you would like to do/see/accomplish before you die?
Wounded Sobelisk: If I die, which I am not entirely committed to, I am going to push myself back onto the main part of world from the ether. I am in the interest of mind with the Chinese camphor and lace workings. Also the trim footwear they have for the women is very interesting. I will force myself over in that part of the world. It’s only if music is foreshortened. I would be a better musician after that experience but…you know… You can’t guarantee the talent, or even hands, will come back out of the ether.
Disciple Nightconus: Major ideas here. I have a whole economic system based around animal sounds. If you have the sound that turns a head you get a meal. If you have the loudest growl or roar from three or more people heads turning, that’s a full day’s repast. A meal is something everyone can agree to. An animal sound is a morganatic bridge between each of our base selves. For example: I have a stomach growling telling me to relay this sound in a loud fashion with my mouth. Heads turn, then a meal is exorcised from the environ. It’s relatively simple. It’s not something that’s been done since the cavemen of Paris were drawing things.
Obsidian Skeleton: All seas dried up or put into smaller more functional lake areas. Most sea life fed to land animals after that. Double helpings of sea urchins to all the people who wronged me.
The Sickwood Adventure: Well, I know everyone here would love to see Caroliner land. We could have a corral of singing bulls. A whole corral of silent tombstones, with witty lyrics from the original singing bull. The whole scheme is endless. Every song put into shape at Caroliner land. Ride the Land Mace. Step in line with the Fourty Fourty Forty Fie. Eat the terrible hunger pie with a twelve headed squirrel who digs the ground. Get the shakes and worms. Get some real Caroliner land dirt to stick in your pillow for luck.
Baroo Caskets: I would add a pile of dead goddamned crows on top of that last thought. Eat a much larger variety of creatures than I am presently allowed by so-called nice society…such as moles, parrots, giraffes, unicorns, oh…all good things with fur tethers and scales. I know I will go soon, that’s how I am going to do. I’m taking everything with me including the bed you sleep in, and the ground you walk on, too. Don’t think I can’t fit all this in my mouth. I practice with bath towels.
Odafielthe Adoxi: A recompense for all the time I have wasted on living would be good. A big refund on the moments when the weather didn’t add up. When the day went on a good coupla hours longer than it should have. Some eclipse-watching times that never happened. I think there was a whole month of eclipses that were pure bunk. If there is a clause for that, then go ahead with your idea of me dying.
Images Courtesy Caroliner