When Lantz began to play, after an introduction in which I explained he was recovering from an incident in a Vero Beach open mic, I told the crowd that he was always in severe pain when he performed. Then, the music began, and it was cacophonous and strange. Lantz himself was the first person to leave the building. He couldn't stand himself. Others left, but some were resilient and refused to allow the profundity of the music send them running like little frightened kittens into the wet streets.
It occurred to me: what are you running to? You think the current administration is comfort compared to this? You think war and the abuse of words, the horrible things we do to the ones we love are some respite from this music we were all listening to? You think you'll find safe haven in the bosom of America, from war? To me, the most beautiful thing was to be in that tiny room with the resonating sounds of Lantz's sax echoing over the audio-tapestry of sandpaper and laments of the little girl from Alice and Wonderland, who couldn't find her way back up the hole to the safety of her banality, and her crappy abusive sister, and God knows what else in that book...maybe that fellow who stalked her and wrote it.
Run, bitches. Run, lilies. Run, boys, run.
The Reverend Angeldust's Tabernacle of Hedonism with your Host, Tom Miler - the Greatest Acting School in the World.