One time, I went to a Pharmakon show, and it became a random ritual sacrifice. Bystanders who couldn’t handle the immensity of the set burst into black flames, igniting in a burst almost instantly, while those next to these flames melted out every orifice into a puddle upon the floor. The smell was chard like plastic and burn flesh, like an abandoned barbeque kept lit by the wind as a trash bag flaps melted against its side, and the meat’s blood within is fighting coals still red beneath. If people began to yell or try to claw their way out, it just enhanced the Pharmakon sound; fingernails stuck in and sticking out of the wood paneling. For some, at their dying moment, they realize some of the equipment she’s using is made from leather. Human leather. For others that safely traversed her set, they realized, “Yo, Pharmakon makes me MAD hungry. Beef patty?”
• Pharmakon: http://www.discogs.com/artist/1446288-Pharmakon
More about: Pharmakon
