Newsgroup: it.arti.musica.rock
Titolo: [Un disco bizzarro scaricabile] interamente qui...

http://www.comfortstand.com/catalog/020/index.html
Con libretto scaricabile pure.
Il contenuto com'è? Date una letta qui:
Space. Twisting through a neighborhood of quasars on the
other side of our galaxy. Colossal re-composition of the
senses Doc Who style with a splash of Rimbaud. Blue.
Pulsating radio waves and jumbled azure noise spin her on
cosmic spit like a spellbound trance lamb beyond between
Mars and Jupiter into the Belt. They call her JJ Heartbreak.
Asteroids. 3-D Atari thunder. She dodge jagged
mountain-sized shards. No ship. Green amber space suit shoot
her through this maze of renegade stardust. Pink. Sanctuary
in a nebula. Resting a moment among foetal stars awaiting
birth and rebirth- stars in the process of forgetting what
was, meditating in the womb, burning off karma. Aborted. She
fall screaming silently through a gap in the continuum.
Vacuum. Distant lights. The undulations hit her sonic trauma
hijack. She speed now to the edge of time. Frog. From some
dead satellite, the voice of Charles de Gaulle,
post-post-World War II. A call to the Polynesian savages:
[Babblefish] "Come to Tahiti! For work, abundance." A dirty
trick. A universal lie skittering its way to the border of
the universe, spewing immeasurable zero gravity holographic
Gitanes and Brigitte Bardot dolls in its wake. Blender. Back
to Milky Way. Doll trauma drive her to drink in Coma
Berenices. Exotic niche in the finite expansion. What is
this? Some sort of interstellar sex donkey playing a
theremin for her pleasure while she sip Bossa Nova Borealis
next to succulent rugby player from South Africa, Earth.
Nebulosity. A schooner fashioned from crispy magellanic
clouds, propelled by the power of her will. It is happy hour
in constellation Carina. Rough and tumble sailors of the
ether pound a concoction known as Dr. Funk (a recipe that
travelled the vast distance from Papeete, Earth)- all this
while throwing titanium coins at android pole dancers.
Unidentifiable odor. There are sounds- remarkably tasteful
and swingin' for the atmosphere. After dancing the ReEntry
with three Martian freedom fighters on Canopus, she jump.
Comet. Neptunian ice mountain like superior bullet train
convey her to Centaurus Arm, secret home of the Galactic
Security Agency.glorified thieves. Entrance is through
unassuming, seedy massage parlor- British style. (Earth
appears to be the trendsetter in this spiral disc.) Again,
these tunes that scream (subtly) for attention. Their
futuristic harmonies are what make them so very now.
Timeless, as 'now' is now is what was is what shall be in
outer space. Power. The sounds permeate myriad planes,
rearranging chemical compositions, changing spacegoats into
blue giants, scapegoats into Spam, illiterate world leaders
into interplanetary outhouses. The massage parlor implodes.
This is the new weapon. This is HAARP by the creatures for
the creatures. In the wrong hands, ultra gamma annihilation.
In the right hands, utopian twisterama groove pill, to be
taken aurally. Signals. The universe is filled with them,
though none so potent as this massive sonar incantation. She
run through wreckage, master copies in tow. Run run like six
million dollar man on speed until she fly off Centaurus Arm-
this star-hopping, ageless flower child with pink Venusian
tresses and moonbeams for eyes. Pitchpole. Tumbling over
Spica and Aldebaran, she stay the course, straight toward a
human. A man floating yet standing upright, wearing a poker
face, surrounded by doors off their hinges, and spirals. He
is pointing at something she can't make out. He recognizes
her. As the dulcet tones that surround her reach his ears,
the ever stoic countenance morphs into a smile, the stiff
limbs bend into a breakdance, and he moonwalks her way,
pointing maniacally to the signpost up ahead. "JJ
Heartbreak!" screams Mr. Serling, "JJ Heartbreak! Next
stop.. next stop..the Comfort Stand.." and he disintegrates.
It's all part of the Cosmic Retardation. Contort. She
cartwheel over to that moondust oasis and drop the masters
in their laps. From them to you, a gift from the stellar
fields. Use it for love, not war.
bye
Martin Denny

 Con libretto scaricabile pure.
Se poi voleste esagerare... 
http://www.comfortstand.com/index.html


inestimabile. ci passerņ l'estate, gią lo so.
li voglio tutti.
fiondatevi su R Stevie Moore,
http://www.comfortstand.com/catalog/008/index.html
tra i pochi di cui giassņ
baci stanziali..
NP- AA.VV.- Night Recordings from Bali