Mayhem & Haw

"I've been working on a mega-Iraq-America post, a thing that keeps growing & going into all manner of moods, anguish and cheap observations, for when I think I've finished it, more bullshit emerges and so into the mega-post it goes. Dunno if this is my White Album/Smile/Tommy/Sandinista!/Flowers Of Romance, but many hours have been spent in the studio, my beard gets longer, showers are eschewed, and the voices in my head collide and crash and tell me to keep going, that I haven't yet reached the end."

This I posted nearly two years ago, at Red State Whoever. It was an extended war poem/rant/slander/routine that kept growing and unfurling and really had no end -- hell, to be honest, it had no beginning or middle either. So I shelved it. Now that I'm in the final weeks of this insane deadline, I've pulled out this lost whatever-the-fuck-it-is for use in "Mules."

Reading parts of it for the first time since pushing it aside, I see that it's more Metal Box/Pet Sounds/London Calling/Saxophone Colossus/We're Only In It For The Money than those earlier master works mentioned above. Which is fine. Besides, the book after this one should prove to be the real mind bender, something you'd rather blast with a pump action Remington 870 than read. At least, that's what I'm going for.

So no fresh libels for a few days, maybe more. Studio time is precious, and my percussion section's getting it all wrong. Jesus, do I have to write this thing myself?