flatmate nic just came back from a grueling 36 hour twin peaks marathon (*ahem* aptly named, on lynch's part, after two similarly heighted peaks in san francisco), organized by some hot, cross dressing, dvd-rental-store owning chic. apparently, the organizers opened up the event to any participants saying "if any of you are performers, please feel free to do your thing." midday yesterday, at about hour 8, as far as the show went, i got a call from nick requesting i bring a cable and a specific cassette tape for purposes only known to those partisan.

as i appeared, everyone else slowly oozed from the building, casualy placing lip to fag, hosting body language that would speak differently than their fake bald hair cuts, or tightly cut suits, or out of date fifties gear. there either was a requirement, or everyone unanimously volunteered to dress as characters from the show. long and short, i deliver a handfull of key goods to the performers that they later use to perform on, at 3am (nigh, 17 hours into it) involving a fake guitar and lots of red lipstick.

fastforward twenty four hallucinogenic hours after that, and the audience finds itself sitting in the quite rickedy seat of one carlos benjamin walker. on the table sits an almost empty bottle of teachers brand whiskey, adjacent to an almost empty can of beer, adjacent to an ever-full stereo speaker, currently belching the second part of steve reichs different trains. besides the fact that ive spent the last 20 minutes getting us back to now (by recapping where we were), we have listened so much goodness its rediculous. we heard penderecki. we heard john adams. we heard glass. we heard boulez. we heard...

welcome to the watch house, E2 6ET.