I've
out the song on now, the classic Velvet Underground festival of
sound, the scratch of guitatrs, the stilleto organ stabs and the
metronomic pound of Mo Tucker's drumming.
The
song tells a tall tale of a drag party, where sailors and queens suck
each other off while observers struggle with mainlining heroin in the
dark, collapsed veins under hep stained skin, struggling livers, the
nod out to avant garde Ornette Coleman sax riffs. All is presided
over by Sister Ray, King Drag Queen of the Lower East side, seducer
of seamen, conductor of sex parties and orgiastic ejaculations on the
dirty carpet, a carpet littered with needles, bent spoons and dead
lemons.
Cotton
buds stained brown. Oxidised blood stains on the arms of the sofa
covered in burn holes, exhusted hipsters and smacked out poets. There
is a panic as the police bust the door down, cocks are hastily put
away and the stashes are thrown out of the window, dirty dock water
laps against the warehouse pilings, the hep cats climb down the
iconic New York fire escapes.
That's
the song. And it never happens here and I want it to, I want to play
this very damn fucking song and watch it all happen in front of me,
violent fucking, screaming maniacs dancing with whips, bad poets
having their tongues cut out and aliens landing in a black spaceship
in the courtyard.
The
aliens take the drag queens and EMOs away for pentrative medical
tests; and I play guitar and kick the face in of the chav trying to
spoil the party...make him kneel as if for a faceful and then knock
his teeth down his throat, harvest his skin and throw him out the
door for the urban foxes. Leave us alone, this is the world of the
elites not the peasants, the coolest people doing the most sordid and
unspeakable things and leaving marks and stickiness all over the
place, as I watch emotionlessly, drinking black rum from the bottle
and occasionally spitting it in people's faces like toxic phlegm. The
epileptic lady and the boxing helmet bops, grand mal attack in the
car park when she leaves. People engaging in Public Displays of
Affection told to either fuck or get out of the room.
For I
am Sister Ray, in a waistcoat and bowler hat, and what I say goes.
Copyright Bloody Mulberry 20.02.14
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