back in a saddle. ride ride long beach beyoch. picture a car headlight smashed still glowing. still throbs heartbeating beating beat beat beat beat yes shattered and still alive. a love. sing a song. sing beauty force. sing brand sing crumb. boom boom boxes bounce to me saying free us from this nightmare city and we will take you with us. well if I could free you why wouldnt I just free myself and they say because without us you have no voice.

old band photos below, new band photos on the page now. out with the old, or at least, off to the side with the old. Charles onVine talking some shit about quitting the band to do some modeling. We'll see where that goes. patriotism! fireworks beer driving kids boats spending gas national holiday!David's songs walk upright in smart, italian shoes. Like a soft spoken stranger commissioned to break the news, he strikes a match in an unfurnished room sunk in pitch blackness. An intimacy is struck golden. Songs cast their own shadows while setting a blowtorch to a diamond. Flesh, bone, carbon, and melancholy exhaust all ingenuity to dissuade a suicidal, aztec universe, calmly admit insanity, and survive in underground caves for decades before reemerging. This here is therapy music for your modern schizophrenic. This is an intensely resourceful discovery with a demented, new relevance. Let's just call it revelations. Okay, John? Every rhyme swims with an exotic, unpredictable motion. It's a beast impossible to catch. This creature is without a home. All random combinations of america's cities have left their teethmarks on him and he told the weather all throughout, while donning caps and skuffing soles. He works the late shift regardless of compensation. Like a possessed mind or a primordial nature, David slings words to bind and torture. Thoughts crash through every plain of consciousness and slither away from the scene. The patient smiles at the nurse that can always pin the vein.