By Detroit Jack, Phallus Press Writer - Fri. April 24, 5:40am PT
Photos by Detroit Jack and David Farve
Seized in the artistry of guitar linguistics . . . , paralyzed by the waves of soul between strings thick and thin.
A wink, smile, frowns of tears and laughter, an acknowledgment of life spent and spoken through cords of love.
Spellbound, the beat, the imperfect, perfectly picked fret by fret . . . , there is no other garage god in the Tonic temple high on the plateau . . . , a crest of clear flowing beauty, reflected in Pierced Arrows under a Dead Moon.
How fortunate were we, to be raptured by those long lived years, culminating at the dusk of legends in a river valley, known as Portland.
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