An egg sucked away my sense of time.
My bandmates and I have been building a giant piñata for many hours (or days, by the time your read this). It will be a black egg, lowered from a warehouse ceiling, full of light and gifts. It’s really fucking big.
After parasitizing my love, attention, sleep, energy, the big black egg can only hatch something out of Eraserhead. It’s doomy that way. Doom piñata. Drying under my AC, awaiting yet another layer. Always another layer.
I dreamed about this thing all night. There was a real yolk in it when we smashed it open. It burned the skin.
There is paper mache in my hair as I type this.
I will cart the egg and some local musicians to Denver today. We are going to DIY, feminist, outsider music festival Titwrench. I went last year, and it’s maybe the most “fun” I’ve had in a minute. Fun is a dumb word—I returned to Albuquerque in July 2009 with many new friends and at least a year’s worth of inspiration.
Sometimes Nick Brown complains that when we go on trips and blog, it’s like a horrible vacation recap over dinner at your couple friends’ house. Except there’s not even any fondu. Also, such blogs may have the air of “I went somewhere neat, while you were stuck in your life. Let me tell you about my good time.”
But I’m pretty sure Titwrench is a great, big deal. As big as the egg. As conscientiously sculpted. As full of light.
And the point of the coming blogs, friends, is that you may not have heard of the women performing there. You may need to.
I’ll tell you more when I get back. You can come over for slide night.