Phrembah (a potato-like mystery) (phrembah) wrote,
Phrembah (a potato-like mystery)
phrembah

So whatever happened to her?

Johnette Napolitano.  The singer with Concrete Blonde.  Joey.  Honey.  I've got.  The money.  That's another ripped off album that I never replaced.  God Is A Bullet.  That was on another album, but it was a masterpiece.  That guitar player of hers was something else.  His guitar sounded like manic orchestra bells or something.

Sat around and downloaded a bunch of MP3s off of Amazon for $.89 each.  I don't even like MP3s, but with every song I hadn't heard for years that I downloaded I thought of another one I hadn't heard for years.  The novelty wore off about $30 into my little orgy of aural gratification.  That's about my limit with gambling, too.  About $25 or $30 down and I go do something else.


. . .

My baby's name is Chabunga Fwung
She is what she is an' she done what she done
She ain't that pretty 'cause she ain't that young
But 'er natchral-born name is Chabunga Fwung*


Some people don't believe that I write poetry, too, in addition to all of the other arts, sciences and vocations that I have mastered.  This Renaissance Nature of mine is a burden, I swear, but I shall endeavor to persevere nonetheless.

. . .

*From the upcoming book, My Baby's Name.

Tags: brain fart, broken pencil poetry, compelling chronicle
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