6-4-05

Chuck Norris is:

Bad Cock

The final night..

The curtain rises and the band floats right into dark star.....

in the middle of dark star kimock drifts into a beautiful "its up to you" and "my favorite things"

An interesting note about these shows is that each night , the shows got shorter and shorter.

By the 17th the shows were only an hour long but just as intense and psychedellic.

For those who havent heard the audience copies of these shows, Kimocks guitar sounds like a sitar when the notes hit the air  and weaves like a genie's mist throught the room spattering colors and textures around the Warfield like the persian rugs upon which they stand.

I closes my eyes and im transported back in time to an ancient theatre where egyptians dance to the music in front of a golden temple.
The hyrolyphics are engraved into the gold walls and the floor leading into the temple is of blue and white marble. There are elaborite pillows and wall dressings lining the inside of what looks like the lamp from "I dream of Jeanie".
Sentinals lining the corridor becon me to follow as I float above the ground towards the fire place.
Beautiful women adorned with  antique jewlery and thick makeup,  caress their silken dresses and deliver exotic fruit to the plush pillow lined couches that I relax upon. Kimock relaxes now as girls fan them with palm fronds as he kicks back in a chair with his feet up and lets the music play the band. Phil reads from a large book of poetery and looks like shakespeare from the 14th century.  Trey rests agains the piano with a drink in his hand and the dancers pantomime out the actions of the music.  The sky above opens up and the slipstream of life shows itsself to the earth dwellers. An apologetic voice speaks in our minds.... Were sorry ...it was an accident... but were going to try to make it as plesant as we can for you while your here.....a remorseful Stella blue  echoes on and I can see the place in the galaxy where life "JUST IS'...... It is peaceful here but there are more messages to come.... We  are not alone on the 'mountians of the moon'....20 degrees of solitude 20 degrees in all...all the kings and the queens assemble in the hall...  The floor starts to move and the roots under my feet begin to grow as vines up the walls....As they approach the ceiling they splinter like vericose veins and dangle and sway .... they begin to glow in all the colors of the rainbow....the colorful musical liquid is coarcing thru its veins and as the pressure builds they begin to grow musical fruit.... The fruit expands until it bursts from the ceiling raining musical rainbowcolored fruit juice from the sky ...dropping onto my tounge....I am soaked now ...dripping wet from the irrediscent rain thats pouring from the ceiling...... the  liquid on the ground is starting to rise and we wade thru the soup like were crossing a shallow stream..  we begin to float down stream towards the edge of the earth and drift off the cusp of the waterfall into the void.....