Kip Austin Hinton

watching DMBQ last night. at tacoland. they are in this continent, this state, for SXSW. and graced us san anto residents (we who are too lazy to make the drive to austin and tolerate the masses) with a show. and kicked my ass. they rocked like they didn't care. but i could tell they did, because the drummer was so focused. serious. stern. and she bowed so gratefully when they had finished playing, when the last song terminated with a sort of ad hoc drumset surfing over the crowd. the drummer in her chair, bending over as not to hit the ceiling. the snare, tom, cymbals arranged and floating in front of her, each guided by different hands. me, i became the vocalist with the microphone that didn't work right but had enough reverb to not matter (and even if all their equipment had failed, going a capella they would have still stunned us) the mop-hair ceiling-kicking guitarist strapped his gas mask on my face. with some sort of weird ass metal implement where the air filter goes, c

too perfect i know you know that feeling of something too good to be true, but you don't want to question it because you know, if you do, you'll find it's all just bullshit and that ain't so appealing, it ain't good to try and push it 'cuz revelation gets us reeling, so i don't question just who i am or if this could be it, all is taken at face value when everything's too perfect. abcbcacabcbc but that's not exactly right. it is a sense of understanding truth beneath prima facia. that i, we, perceive perfection because our "realistic" expectations weren't high enough. way i see it, we put up with too much bullshit in the past (flip side of that, i handed out too much of my own bullshit, too). the constant bullshit numbed our senses. desensitized insensitive senseless. so the matter is just recalibrating, readjusting the scale. to accomodate (sp?) the fact that this is off the charts. perfect? heck no. just damn near it, and getting even