Freak week.
That's kind of an odd sound. Did you hear it, Anti-Lincoln? What's that? No hearing aid? I didn't know you were hard of hearing. Huh. Explains a lot, really. I think we all just sort of assumed that you were obstinate and disagreeable. And manic depressive. And a total asshole. Oh - well, you heard THAT now, didn't you?
It's hard to 'splain what it's like living with a bunch of freaks like the entourage surrounding Big Green. I know that if you're a rock music fan, you have probably read all the stories about the folks who hung around with the Beatles or Justin Bieber's posse or whatever. Yeah, our group is nothing like that. Though I suppose we have the rough equivalent of "Magic Alex" in our mad science adviser, Mitch Macaphee. Just call him Magic Mitch. (Not to his face, of course.) Once caveat: his version of the "nothing box" would probably be explosive.
Maybe it's just that you get more sensitive with age. You know, the goings-on in the middle of the night, the moving stuff around and slamming doors, the playing instruments at all hours - I should really stop doing all that shit. No, seriously ... I've become kind of attached to the idea of sleeping through most of the night (especially this time of year, when the nights last half the day.) In fact, I get SO attached to the idea of sleeping that I need an frightfully loud
alarm clock, which now takes the form of Marvin (my personal robot assistant) setting off one of his servo-alarms while standing next to my cot.
You know you're living in freak land when the most normal individual in your group is a man-sized tuber. (I would say my brother Matt is the most normal, but that would just be a dirty lie.) Of course, that has never stopped us from making music. In fact, you could say that it has contributed to our productivity. The freakier we get, the stranger the albums get. That seems like a natural progression to me.
Okay, well ... back to whatever I was doing before. Odd jobs, like bending pretzels, perhaps.
It's hard to 'splain what it's like living with a bunch of freaks like the entourage surrounding Big Green. I know that if you're a rock music fan, you have probably read all the stories about the folks who hung around with the Beatles or Justin Bieber's posse or whatever. Yeah, our group is nothing like that. Though I suppose we have the rough equivalent of "Magic Alex" in our mad science adviser, Mitch Macaphee. Just call him Magic Mitch. (Not to his face, of course.) Once caveat: his version of the "nothing box" would probably be explosive.
Maybe it's just that you get more sensitive with age. You know, the goings-on in the middle of the night, the moving stuff around and slamming doors, the playing instruments at all hours - I should really stop doing all that shit. No, seriously ... I've become kind of attached to the idea of sleeping through most of the night (especially this time of year, when the nights last half the day.) In fact, I get SO attached to the idea of sleeping that I need an frightfully loud
alarm clock, which now takes the form of Marvin (my personal robot assistant) setting off one of his servo-alarms while standing next to my cot.
You know you're living in freak land when the most normal individual in your group is a man-sized tuber. (I would say my brother Matt is the most normal, but that would just be a dirty lie.) Of course, that has never stopped us from making music. In fact, you could say that it has contributed to our productivity. The freakier we get, the stranger the albums get. That seems like a natural progression to me.
Okay, well ... back to whatever I was doing before. Odd jobs, like bending pretzels, perhaps.
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