DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #28 - super extended foreplaying

⚠️ mentions of drugs and sexual depictions ⚠️

Well, it's been... a set. And a set later, I feel safe to say that mr. Honda Four not only can ride, but he can also drum. And he looks pretty hot while playing his instrument. A constipated dancing kinda hot, sometimes intense and angry kinda hot, but indeed very hot. He definitely ain't the shittiest drummer in all of Seattle, and I'm somehow relieved to find this out once and for all. He's got this, the drumming and the power hair flips, he knows it, he rocks it and he's real proud of it.

I barely know him, but I'm real proud too.
His lil Cherry pick me up stood by the side of the stage, ten feet away from his slut purple, marble-ish DW drum kit, and chanted him, not Phellus in Chains, for almost a solid hour. I was so close to him, and he was so wired that I could feel his bass vibrating on the soil. And it got me going more than sitting on his motorised, 900cc vibrator on two wheels.

This guy is making me feel real damn weird. And what's funny, is that it's written all over my face. I'm smitten and I love the feeling to hate it. For the whole length of the Phellus in Chains set, my best friends and Starr's latest squeeze giggled like idiots at my silly chanting. They wiped drool off the corners of my mouth, and kept telling me that I look and act even sillier than I naturally am, when I'm smitten. They don't know that I'm high, cocaine and booze are playing a part in this, but I will have to agree with them.

I feel silly. I act silly. I am silly. And genuinely very confused. I wish I could put a damper on my fascination with mr. Honda, but I just can't. Why? Because I get this feeling that he's into me just as I'm into him... and man, it's addictive.

Phellus in Chains stole the stage in so many ways. Their music was on fire. They were on fucking fire as a whole concept, I thought I was at the Lucky Strike factory for a solid part of their set. They're real damn good, nearly as good as my buddies of Soundgarden.
Cuntrell was kinda intense, maybe because of the shit that happened instants before the band hopped on stage, but still delivered a flawless performance. Starr did the horny all the time, and somewhere mid show, he laid on the floor and fucked his bass guitar. His brunette squeeze right next to me went feral at that move, and all I know is that I had to roll her a joint to calm her down. Layne did the rad as hell grandpa on a wheelchair ... and sung his soul out for the entire performance. He could've sang the phonebook, and he would've had me hooked and amazed nonetheless. Man's got a voice that can easily rival Chrissie's beau's. And that's a lot to say, because I'd never fucking heard anyone sing like Chris... before I heard Layne.

Their set began with an angry fucking song about not being able to dam a river. And I'm afraid, but I couldn't catch their drift. No pun intended, or maybe yes. Ambiguous lyrics, but very probably about sex, great music. 7.5 out of 10.

Then they went on with a song about riding above speed limits...  and dying young. Pretty sure that Layne wrote it after having had a near death experience on his huuuuge Honda CBR900RR. That wouldn't have happened, if he was riding a Honda Four like his drummer. Very risk taking, always love a good life threatening ride. Faster we ride, 8 out of 10.

Then they played a song about ... dying? All that's stuck with me about that one is 'aaah! aaaah! Aaaaaaahhh!' Something I'd really like to rep with the drummer, behind closed doors. 10 out of 10 cause it was doomy, but we always love a good, real, heartfelt 'aaaaahhh'.

Then they played a cover of Fugazi's Waiting Room. Sped up, and with alternate lyrics. Very cool, loved the breakdown and Sean's drumming faces towards the end. Gave me war flashbacks of when I was locked into the ladies restroom, and he played the same exact beat on the entrance door. 8 out of 10.