In Boston, playing at a bowling alley tonight. Can’t wait to see the havoc Monotonix will reap in this motherfucker. I’m visualizing: plenty of smashed and flying things; Ami head-firsting down the lanes and the gutters; fear in the eyes of these New English.

New York was a T-I-M-E time. Wild. There’s a reason why I haven’t written till now, and it’s not for the dearth of material. First show was at an odd venue with a couple botchy ball courts (new recurring tour theme? Gentlemanly sports?), and it as a space was definitely atmospherically tuned to the Booj-crowd. Tiny stage, too. Horns out front, so I had the flesh barrier to contend with, and the very-bright lights were blinding me the whole set through. The show was fun nevertheless, but I heard from our roadie/throat-singer Curtis that it sounded like shit. Afterward I disembarked from the tribe to stay with some old North Carolina homies in Fort Greene. Lovely time – stayed up 'til 5 a.m., hanging and drinking and listening to jams.

Last night’s show was flat-out GREAT. Played with a skronky band of Ayler-obsessed oldsters featuring Thurston Moore’s baby bro on a shiny Peavey Axe. They were called Hat City Intuitive, and joined us to play Ayler’s “Bells” to kick off our set. We wailed, and I saw a bunch of old comrades. Papa Crazee from Oneida and Oakley Hall was there, and I ain’t seen him since back in the Greensboro days. His other band, Soldiers of Fortune, was supposed to play, but they had to bail. I hear they’re great, and VICE was talking about doing a record with them. Anyway, it was great to hang with him, and he was stoked on the Dark Meat. Great cat.

Anyway, our show was pure chaos, we killed it, everyone was bowled over. We even had some fat guy moshing, which I’ve never seen in jaded, hip Brooklyn (my friend Rebecca, who’s a sweetheart and a genius writer, too, just had ankle surgery and is thusly hobbled. I looked down mid-set to see her going to his big ass with her cane; it was hard not to loose the groove laughing too hard at that vision) The joint was sold out, too, so we made plenty to pay out to individuals. Everyone was pleased as puddin'. I stayed up all night having too much fun with New York buddies so now I feel like the bottom of somebody’s shoes. Moody and mean-feeling.

I’ll take it out on these Bean-towners tonight.

Jim McHugh