Confession #2: WE WILL ALWAYS BE HIS WHORES, or, Redeeming the Corgan

i was pulled into this dream by forces unknown and unseen. first, a sound like radio static, popping, crackling, hissing loudly in my head. a clear, neutral voice commanded me to let go of my fears and give in to the sensations. then i was falling backwards, through my bed, down a dark wormhole...like a mind control victim with "alice in wonderland" programming dissociating from the ungodly pain of an electroshock torture session delivered by the hands of the US government.

i arrived on the astral plane sitting indian-style next to e. on the floor of an unidentified dream-world venue. we were having a shared astral experience. i was lucid. i wasn't sure where we were or what was happening but somehow, i knew we had to head toward the stage, so we did. promptly, and almost unsurprisingly, an imposing and all-too-familiar figure emerged from the shadows, armed with his guitar. he pointed at us accusingly, making us both doubtlessly aware of just who was pulling the strings.

we knew we had been summoned, and what was to follow would absolutely blow my mind....
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jack 'o lanterns in d.c., a stark contrast to the pile of shit/used condom combo which decorated the darksided streets of asheville.

the actual, physical concert was little different from the dream/astral/psychic attack shows in the sense that it was pleasurable, not a punishment, nor an odd combination of pain and pleasure.

in a total 180 degree turn from the asheville debacle, the opening bands were enjoyable, especially fancy space people. another seemingly unrelated difference from asheville was the fact that i didn't need to take solace in doing drugs with a hobo to get myself through the night spiritually intact.

there was no viewing the show in secret shame/mock horror from the balcony as i had tentatively predicted. old habits and insane urges die hard, and somehow e. & me once again ended up being very close to the nasal singer with no hair/my beloved, my despair.

the dangerous curves of our favorite chemtrail aficionado were on full and prominent display in an outfit which left little to the [my] imagination. as i noticed billy's now-voluptuous ass straining against the confines of his skin-tight flood pants, i sent out a silent prayer. i knew i was exactly where god wanted me to be.

my own perversions aside, the show was everything that my (our) astral experiences had indicated it would be. it was amazing to the point of creating what roland vasco would refer to as a "time coup d'etat". in other words, the show was over 2 hours, but seemed much shorter. [canned laughter]

when it was all over, i became so overwhelmed that i found myself vomiting in a garbage-lined and presumably piss-soaked alleyway just feet away from the club. my knees and ankles (no offense) felt weak. the startling emotional imprint attack from which i had just suffered caused my near collapse, but that was to be expected. both myself and my comrade found the night to be a resounding success.

15+ years of idolatry...let's face it, i'm not going anywhere, and never could. the music has been a part of me for too long. but now, somehow, this band is bringing me the same kind of joy that it did so many years ago, a feeling which i had already accepted might never return to my black heart.

curiously (or tellingly), the day after the show, i felt triggered to go see dorothy's ruby red slippers...

TAGZ: CONFESSIIONS, A GUN TO MY HEAD, MURDER IN MY WORLD, DRINKING MERCURY, CORGASM: THE PROBLEM NO ONE WANTS TO TALK ABOUT, BLOOD SACRIFICE, CROOKED TEETH, YOU'RE ALL A PART OF ME NOW, MASONIC RITES, MACHINA 2: THE REALLY GUILTY PLEASURE, EMOTIONAL IMPRINT ATTACKS, PUMPKIN GANJA BUTTER BARS, WEAK LIMBS, FLOOD PANTS, THE SEX BOOK, STREAM-OF-CONSCIOUSNESS MUSIC ATTACKS, ASTRAL PLANES, FANCIER SPACE PEOPLE, BILLY CORGAN SINGS THE GREAT AMERICAN SONGBOOK STANDARDS, BRITNEY SPEARS FEATURING BILLY CORGAN: THE MYSTICAL DIMENSIONS TOUR 2012, NO HOBO