We Tremulants

are you peaking in the red?
perforated at the neck
what of this mongrel architect
a broken arm of sewers set
past present and future tense

this is a mars volta post, spanning many years.
in celebration of 24 years of weird life, and 5 years of ear bleeding progressions
the imminence of permanence

since i first bought ‘de-loused in the comatorium’ in late late 2005, i have been entranced.  my first opinion of them in 2003 had been wrongfully instilled by someone of insipid musical taste.  trusting them stupidly, i went along for years unknowing.  during a brief stint with a boy holding the name of a poet [but was far from such], he played de-loused and i was questioning, curious.
biting the bullet, i bought my own copy [from the eternally evil HMV, for cd esoterik had just closed and i was frantic] and opened the case and saw



i was not yet a visual artist at this point but i appreciated the connection of the illustrations, the music, and the concept.  my definition of music and idea of storytelling changed dramatically after this [i had not known of xiu xiu at this time, but they followed suit soonly].
and proceeded to collect every scrap of the careers of omar and cedric.
keeping visually inspiring imagery and moving house are often conflicting, and somewhere between then and now there was a 6 month period where i could not for the life of me find that illustration.  it had been a staple on my wall as a mini poster since it came into my possession and severe panic ensued.  i found it, of course.

but to vow i will never be without clasped arms and the water’s surface, i went and drilled it into my body.  just to be really sure.


you get the idea.  i am chair dancing, but to the smiths.  only because it is autumn.
so there you have it – the strangest story of Cerpin Taxt, featuring torment, opiates, submarines, a coma, and eventual suicide – on my arm.

the itching.  behold it.

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