entemente Non Abito A San Francisco
Anemic Dracula, 2004
rating: 4/5
reviewer: d
While researching essentials for the writing of a rap stanza that toys with the concept of Mike TeeVee's misadventures in the company of a Mediterranean mannequin, Dodongo stumbles upon the most curious of web sites. He has never found himself capable of fathoming the meaning of words other than those of his own conjure, and so he begins, with a blind sort of stimulating exploration, clicking here and clicking there. Music begins to play and an unexpected pandemonium at first creates a sense of disarray in his mind; but as he allows the continuance of the abrasive sounds, he embarks upon a comforting process of discovering contentment within the muddle.
"Her name is Miss Violetta Beauregarde," he whispers delicately into his own ear with a not so indistinct lisp. Call it clairvoyance or what else you will; the creature suddenly possesses infinite comprehension of not only how this newfound treasure was fashioned, but of the sole burgeoning maestra who's behind it as well. He marvels at the uniquely harsh gorgeousness created by her chaotic sounds -- or wait, is it by her unbearably domineering physical persona?
He lines up each and every of the (four short of a score) delicious audio morsels and realizes that the sum of their lengths is but one piece of an hour divided into three parts. This pleases Dodongo, as he knows only too well that lingering inside a prolonged state of such ecstasy would consequently distort what reality lies outside.
Now listening très conscientiously to each of the bijoux in their proper place and order, he closes his carroty eyelids and lets his ears decide what he will see. Each of the vignettes, so distinctly dissimilar to those that played prior, offers Dodongo (with their impressive variety of havoc-ridden charm) mirages of a kind of playfulness fused with a certain sense of turbulence. A choir of toddler playthings chattering and unwinding in a room. Classic cartoons projected at high speeds onto all seven of its pink walls. Perhaps mimicking a Shepardess, a petite Vulcan pop star sitting amongst the racket, summoning, governing, decrypting, unriddling. Dodongo knows he must open his near misty eyes, for he cannot dwell without end inside this portrait his imagination has so generously painted for him.
His eyes are open. He now feels guilty for allowing his mind credit for the images produced by one young Italian woman and her inebriating ten-euro keyboard. His sanity spinning in a retrograde motion, he places blame on the music and begins taking wanderous steps into the lure that her music has made of the would-be serene early morning. But what is the reason for which these songs are carried along with him? And what cause have they to not let him alone? "Am I mad because I love this?" Dodongo asks his friends. "Yes," they reply, "but so must be she."
1. Pavlov Dogs Part 2
2. Max Bo And The Cockring Industry
3. It's So Fucking Cool To Be The Subject Of A Conversation
4. Wonderwoman's Diary
5. Your Mother
6. Is Your Coffin Comfortable?
7. Sesso Illustrato Per Silvestrin
8. Biscuit Detector
9. She's The Portrait Of Smegma
10. No Tits But A Great Personality
11. Carol Hattaway
12. White White O So White
13. Cock Contest @ The Fbyc Show
14. Uncommon Tools To Kill Baby Seals
15. Schlutzkrapfen Chainsaw Massacre
16. I'm A Groupie, Fuck Me.
More about: Miss Violetta Beauregarde
