Alien@T Ceremony

Ok.....screw logic, forget the hour, day, week.....don't believe everything you read, especially online. It's always time. I thought maybe a pre-emptive postscript xmas/new year strike would do the job......it almost worked last year, so...... nothing to lose this time except maybe what's left of my feverish imagination's wildest dreams, and they're pretty much knackered or at least on temporary hold these days.
But why can parties be so boring?
The people?
The excess?
The ritualistic nature of these semi-inherited archetypal tribal gatherings has become so predictable it baffles me let alone the experts - there I am drinking cups of tea while the booze/dope/wizz/coke/e-heads make out real kool all around me.......well I did smoke a load of weed myself, but 5am arrives and all the idiots have passed out or at least dissolved into the night, and I AM BUZZING dear friends......crystal clear cannabinoid clarity cutting straight through the arty farty tarty party not so hearty state of under-life's clouded vision, thinly (sometimes very thickly) disguised as hipness, one of the few truly inner qualities left once the fancy packaging is taken away for recycling.
Booked to jam some nu-jazz grooves with DJ crew The Illuminati, but the arty party dwellers want Michael Jackson, they don't want living breathing humans spoiling their fake fun suntan over-exposure; it's too real. Then I had to hang around until 9am to make my move out into the snow/sleet/icy bleakness, which gave me plenty of time to observe, notate, record, and un-dig the inner remnants and workings of the rapidly coming down last guests & (g)hosts, (although I have to say the main mein host was ok). Not a very pleasant job but someone has to do it & it is a job + a half & it is mass culture and we can only control it by not taking the external manifestations of the control bureau too seriously, or we blow our cover.
Alternatively........

FCUK / SCUX