by Sean
Please note: MP3s are only kept online for a short time, and if this entry is from more than a couple of weeks ago, the music probably won't be available to download any more.


Painting by Mandi Morgan

Tonetta - "My Bro". Afterward we went to the loft and we met these three guys with amazing costumes. One guy was a cowboy. The second one was a mechanic, but he said he was a dinosaur mechanic; he had a wrench that looked like it was made of bone. And the third one was dressed up like an fireman but he had put some sparkle on his face or something, and you could tell he was an angel. I don't know how exactly but you could tell. "An angel-fireman?" I said, and he laughed and high-fived me hard. He guessed I was a girl version of Axe Cop. Anyway the three guys were awesome and we hung out with them and danced and partied, and then one of them, I think the mechanic, said he knew this great empty outdoor pool where there was a party. And we went, and there was a bonfire and someone had brought a pick-up filled with plastic flowers, and it started to snow for a sec and then faded to nothing, and we were all partying round the fire and throwing back mini Oh Henry bars. I remember I held one of the bars between my lips and let the fireman take it with his teeth. Just as the sky was getting light I looked over to where the cowboy had been sitting, and now he was lying beside that bench, on the ground, sort of weirdly. I went over and he grinned at me and he offered me a pill. I shook my head and he took it himself, and either he had a seizure or he pretended to have a seizure, and I screamed and called everyone over, but Stace and John had left, and all the people there were suddenly grotesque, even the fireman, and they laughed at my scream, and the cowboy stood up and took out a switchblade and opened and closed it, like some gang-member cliché. I said, "Fuck off." The cowboy snickered. A girl was beside me, then; someone I didn't know, with white face-paint. "Get the fuck out of here," she said. I looked for the fireman and he asked me if I had "any cinders", and then the girl was beside me again, and again she said, "get the fuck out of here", and then the fireman put my hand on his crotch. I got the fuck out of there. The buses were running. The sun was rising. I hate November.

[buy 777 by the incredible, inimitable Tonetta]

(painting by Mandi Morgan, thanks p)

Posted by Sean at November 1, 2010 1:23 AM

Great story. I may have had a night like this, once.

Posted by Ben at November 1, 2010 10:54 AM

true story? damn! love the track.

Posted by kelly at November 1, 2010 5:39 PM

This was a great post. Reminds me of Joyce Carol Oates, 'Where are you Going, Where Have you Been'?

Posted by Joe at November 10, 2010 3:33 AM

oh wow. my illustration. that's cool. who is p? thanks p.


Posted by Mandi Morgan at November 11, 2010 6:32 PM

i wouldn't have expected sean to match a tonetta track with your art, mandi, but he did. and it is lovely and chilling.

Posted by p at November 12, 2010 11:23 AM


Posted by jenny at November 17, 2010 11:13 AM

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Sean Michaels is the founder of Said the Gramophone. He is a writer, critic and author of the theremin novel Us Conductors. Follow him on Twitter or reach him by email here. Click here to browse his posts.

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