THE HOWLING HEX

He struggled down the cobbled staircase, on crutches, to the basement bar. Him and his friend sat close to the stage, watching the blues band jam with fresh electricity. They shared a beer while the crazed-faced singer belted and ran through a berserk set list, toxic memorabilia, it made your fingers want to tap on the silver table.

When they returned home, after a yellow glow walk, she greeted them with a smile, then a blush. They felt bashful, as they were more acquainted with her familiar disposition to a soft, glimmering seriousness. She resumed work on a fragmented puzzle.

He retreated to his room, opened a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and put on Hagerty's Wilson Semiconductors. Of late NMH had been quiet, taking a vacation after Earth Junk's Marble Giants ride to the States. Found sometime anyhow to update his wonderfully strange Howling Hex blog, with it's confounding, truly unfathomable and always inspired ruminations on everything from basketball games to the latest television serials. So what is this? Cowboy rodeo with swarms of guitar knots and reverberation, Texas by way of New Mexico, not really linked to the past or the future, refusing to be tuned into the current. His voice, tuneful and persistent, hovering over the cheerful, stark spaces.

Next up, maybe, Royal Jen, Rad Times.