Bag O'Bones # 12.
~~~~~~ Mid-Summer 2001 Update ~~~~~~
Light Evenings - Pull out the dandelions - Make some wine. Nice !
Next Bones Gigs are as follows :
Weds. 27th June - MacRory's Bar, Easby Road, Bradford. ( 21.15 )
Sun. 5th August - MacRory's.
Remembering Jerry. ( 21.00 )Weds. 12th September - MacRory's. ( 21.15 )
LAFFIN BONES
is a mainly Bradford-based 'Old Git-Band' playing selections from The Grateful Dead repertoire @ MacRory's Bar, Easby Road, Bradford, West Yorkshire. "A bonny lass goes 'roond wi' a glass" to help defray the Astronomical Cost of having to Re-calibrate The Universe on account of the Irregular Cosmic Oscillations occasioned by the Thunderous Tumult of The Dancing Flock of The One-ness on the wooden floor in Mac's at Bones gigs. Hush Puppies, moccasins or bare feet are to be the norm in future. You have been warned.~ This Summer, I are hopin' Swede better than Turnip !! ~
Those rabid footie fans who missed the May gig missed a rare sight - Denny had a new guitar ! - Since then we've had to fix it for him by teaching it the proper chords. Next time should be an improvement . . . AND there should be no footie distractions !
Nice to see the odd new face or two, especially a lass who came all the way from Dead-Headingley, in 'that other West Yorkshire Metropolis to the East', to celebrate her birthday. Nice.
As threatened . . clearly evident lack of popular interest in anything beyond the front cover of this inevitably incestuous and increasingly incomprehensible apology for a website brings you as little as it seems you all want - a blank page to wipe yer bums on or, more accurately, no page at all . . . or rather it would have done if the one & only Dave aka Trevor hadn't surreptitiously inveigled this offering into my possession under cover of a drum solo at our latest gig. Can you believe it ?
How can you when you're not reading ? - Oh, silly me ! . . . Can't say I blame you all . . . At all !
You are blessed . . . you'll never know by how much . . . but here it is anyway for posterity . . .
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Untitled
I was going down the road feeling canny like when I bumped into this wharf rat from some ship of fools in the harbour.
"Have you seen Stella ?" he asked.
"Stella who ?" I said.
"She's a real beauty," he replied, "an American chick, a lady with a fan from Alabama."
"Gerraway", I said.
The sun was going down and I began to feel like a stranger, which was pretty cosmic. His name was Charlie. He told me he'd come from the west looking for a street to shake down. Mama had tried, he said, but the river had been too black and muddy and there had been so many roads to deal with.
"I feel like a stranger", I said, to which he replied, "You feel like a stranger, my Aunt Bertha had estimated that by standing on the Moon it would take eleven years to prophesy which way the wind would blow on any chosen day, not an easy task."
"I'm gonna stay here 'til the morning comes, "I said.
"Yeah ?" he replied incredibly. "Help will be on the way soon."
"Sure looks like rain", I said . . . and fucked off . . . . . .
©DC 2001
cos he knew DC hadn't been himself
at all lately, and they all went to bed.
*
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