Midnights and Stuff - Johnny Pulp and the Lemonheads
Sleeve Notes
She feels the pressure to impress her celebrity moralists and keeps going to their godawful parties I like your hung deep face and its glorious liniments. That’s such a big truth and strange and something only writing can fall on. There in your youth and in your misunderstood underground you moved us towards weird allegiances and shadows. You could always do whatever you wanted. There’s talk of worlds and talk of ways worlds are. Nothing is ever said about what any of this means. There’s the sense of a life. That’s the way it seems. You represent the life as a dog’s. Alternatively, there’s how this rose is found in the world. That’s not representation but more a willingness to listen under scrutiny. There’s that old ‘conscience behind your conscience’ thing happening as well. Once you told me I had no symbolic balance. In a fit of fear, shame or just blind conformity I ended up watching the Anise Swallowtail flutter from my thrall rather than eat its gold and blue fronds. What upsets me understands me. So I watch out for perturbations like that. A ground squirrel killed by a truck is eaten by a black beaked magpie. There is space here for anything but growth and change. The windless forests grow black and die. The mountain peaks shed their snow like festering resentments. I hide my grubby impulses like a mountain goat in loose white sand rock. Here are my 4 animals: the kick-back Black Bear: an alleged Grizzly: a Bobcat withdrawing her continual self-creation: a grey wolf in cahoots with the unsettling bride of a monster. One is an imposter. One is an obvious though half-witted hedonist. One lacks definition and is hard to appreciate, like a shadow on the x-rayed organ. But my favorite, were I to choose, is sleek and distrustworthy like a rich German peasant with a passing knowledge of Kant. Anyhow, how are you now? I sense a meaningful life coming on. Would I be right on the button? Do you still drink water and eat that yellow rice of yours? And why? There is a code in all this. That’s what you wrote down before you left. You therefore remain a vignette of the deceived. Which is sad and destroys psychology. You once enjoyed ballet I hear. So are you happy or just fulfilled?