A translucent mustard-stained chariot driven by a grass-puffing seafarer wearing a bouquet of white roses around his neck is waiting on the street of new night. He tosses his hair flop away from his eyes and my feet disappear. I…
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I was dancing in Bacchus’ Boogiers, my freak go-go troupe, at Portland’s Psych Fest a couple years ago. I really dug dancing to Plastic Crimewave Syndicate, so I scooted over to their merch table afterwards. I saw copies of Galactic…
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