Today is the fifth anniversary of Farmboyz/Perge Modo.
Lately, I have discovered what I knew all along in a seminal way, that this would be a solitary voyage akin to those made by men on rafts with insufficient provision who find strange clots of painted people on untitled beaches, and return with tales spilling through fabulous whiskers.
I find I have the instincts to decide what among the exotic fruits to consume and what to avoid.
This lengthy prelude, now performed far afield of its inspiration and happily scuttled into improvisation, is bleaching and fading and sinking into the sand. It is overcome, overtaken and perfectly unfinished.