Tonight I am tired, beat, worn out, wilting, a dishrag, a stain, a barely functioning protozoa. The best I can do is leave all the Lewis Carroll fans among you to marvel at how following a Victorian white rabbit down a hole became “One girl’s descent into drug induced debauchery!” Not that I have anything against drug induced debauchery but this has to qualify as damned bizarre marketing.
I guess the obvious would be to post a clip of Gracie Slick singing White Rabbit, but that’s too easy. Instead, here’s Bill Hicks on acid. (By which I mean Bill Hicks talking about acid not actually…well, you know what I mean.)
But talking about drug induced debauchery could be a warped cue to post John Coltrane playing My Favorite Things.
The secret word is Palatable
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6 comments:
Hicks is the man.
No, Coltrane is the man.
Fight it out lads, you have the greatest contenders for the title.
Just because Hicks is the man, doesn't mean Coltrane isn't the man too.
Because, after all, Beefheart is the man. And so is Lord Buckley.
and William Blake.
Energy is Eternal Delight,
Mark Haspam
I can't disagree with any of the above. Are there any women who are the man? Former Farren associate Germaine Greer comes to mind. In her glory days Polly Styrene was for sure the man. Alice Coltrane?
Marilyn Monroe and James Joyce perhaps.
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