look like text from a crappy printer. It's based
a's neck. All I could think was lame. "This is like a
s bass. "Whatever. You have pink
why it's in black and white. Moondust is my middle name. Ziggi Mo
to get in the zone," Spike said. He
d to Carlos "Hotsauce" Rivera. "Forget what I said
wary. "Whatev
nt note, the Igu
oom shaped bong. This one smelled like a dank skunk. He scoured the floor of
" Cyrus yelled over the blare of my r
d arms. I wasn't exactl
ver my solo, making a V with his d
u're rage-murdering my ears," Carl
tsauce," Spi
dude," Carl
dbare couch near the entrance. He closed his eyes and took a drag from his joint. Exhaling, he picked at a thread in the couch. "Music is like a flower, y'know?
ke Otzi the Iceman would say. You can't tell me a bog body frozen for thousand
burned," I
I gave him the middle finger.
ned roommate back to our apartment, wondering the whole
the suburban dad from our concept album commits suicide with a George Foreman grill in Loudoun County, one of those starched collar and chino clad mu
th version of my lyrics and tos
esk, wondering how I would ever sleep tonight with Cyr
ction, my bright pink bangs askew: "Get it together. You're days away from performing your
efforts, no in
e verge of breaking, ready to kick her roommate out, wonde
ust shaved his head and joined one of those totally not legit completely white Hindu monasteries in Annandale without any e
ecause he said he was an artist. It also helped that Cyrus, as I said, looked like something from a romance novel, one with like a millionaire playboy on the cover or like maybe a hot Viking warlord. Maybe t
His fingers had been stained with paint and he was dressed in all white, down
- but then I made the mistake of taking him to one of the Iguana Knees'
ie. He would collect cast-off shoes from the gutter and cardboard from recycling bins, then go dumpster-diving for more materials. Come morning, the haphazard objects would be forged and soldered and sewn together into new creations and displayed in