Once upon a time, when America was supposedly goofing great again and the world was nervous, there roamed across the plains in trains and automobiles finger snapping bipedal ghosts of Bitcoin future all swinging to their different drummers in black and white and living color shouting, "Come, they told me." And so snap, crackle, Pops, they did! and were bummed by the action to their reaction 'cause their jam just didn't jelly like that. So they took their action and grabbed the old grey beret by his nasty ass old bearded self and said, "Go hither and dither yon yer funky face and cooked book, crook... you're harshing my mellow, Tom. Don't want to toast our gooey centers with your flamethrowers of 'believe me' and 'huge', hit the road, toad, and don't you come back no more with your combover con, Don. Skeedaddle with your rattle, go rattle some other scene!!!" And the boppin' bipeds hit it and beat feet for the coast with the most, setting themselves against the laughing landscape traversing silly-cone valleys, charred deserts of real housewives re-al-it-tea and Jersey shores ruled by slow roasted Jabba giants squatting in their fast food huts.
Go beat in the long night. Go beat on the blistering news. Go beat the street sisters and brothers, broadcast your soul. Come kindred networks, cast your nets wide, spin your platters, join the chatter.
Get ye to Beyond Baroque come March to commune with like minded unlikes, those that choose not to click and grin, dick and sin, but would rather live in sincere sin and say yay verily warily blithe robot spirits, indeed the beat goes on forever into that dark drink as the juke jumps and just goes on, and on, and on, and on... so let us be on together and beware the boogie folk bearing killing jokes of partisan prattle and turkey neck reformation, for surely the dark must fall and we must not fall for it but rather dig IT! Dig the light all the way to China 'cause baby the rain must fall, see? Seesaw see thru deja vu all over again in the shadows, and wasn't it you I seesawed on the sea shore at the red scare picnic the other day? Dig that Russian dressing. Dig that Russian bread, Fred. Putin is the Facebook bomb. Kim Jong is the nuclear bomb. Donald shithole is the unclear bomb, quack! The bomb is the bomb, fuck!
Gregory Corso is the BOMB, and wasn't it you swearing allegiance to the angry flag of a fake sun blowing swing low?
I know, I know, I know, you know? You know I know, don't you? Yes, of course you know.
So go. Go now. Know now. So go know now... go know now for man and know all kindred and kind. Go sit on the can and can-can for man because the candy man can and he mixes it with love and makes the word taste good.
Jack the Forever K with Steve Allen, 1959.
Beyond Beat 2018
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