The Birdsnest Downstairs

The Birdsnest Downstairs Before all else, I, the author of these words, with a little fanciful responsibility for my own complicated prejudices, tell you, with all the responsibility of my breast, that the following words are selfish, and that, while apologizing, I hope you will forgive them, that they have no beginning or end, that they do not come from the world, and that, if you would like to see it, you will take with you your forgiveness, and that, if you can, with the humor of a surgeon, it would be well, or, before it is too late, to let them go. It would be nice to have a surgeon's sense of humor, or to let them go before it's too late, and it would be sensible to leave them unattended. The situation was something like this: Originally, a van, outside of which were mountains and trees, all moving, and inside of which were six people, seated on their asses, not moving much, and busy as bees, each stinger with a different composition of toxins, and two of these little creatures could kill a cow, a buffalo, a big buffalo, with their horns bent back and their black skins, and their horns bent back, with their black skins. Horns bent back, black skin, compassionate eyes the size of a bee's, tearful eyes, the buffalo, no matter how big, is only a small animal, and small animals should be under trees, in the shade, and so should birds, but the southwestern fog filled the room until about 19:20 p.m., and the gusty winds, with enough frenzy to roll stones, blew briefly along the mountain paths, and the quiet, the out-of-timing, the sleeping, the lovely, the poor, yet another small creature was left, with the gang, with only the last glimmer of the sun to shine, and with only the last glow of the sun to shine. In a sky with only the last rays of the sun left, trading the night for a few stars, so it's all right, the woods are dark, the temples are dark, the frowns of the statues are dark, and the frowns of the statues are dark, and they're not seen, so they're just spread out, and the droppings on the ground, when they're together, a little white one, counts only as the moment when one of them takes a certain dump, and that one blooming white wave counts as the day and the night of their lives and their deaths, in the back corners of the land, out of sight, out of mind, and out of mind. The wall is white, the color of a cow's bones, not exactly the same, but about the same, and the remaining thirty percent of the electricity, it tells you, with a little energy, is almost enough, though not exactly the same, it means the color of the wall and the color of a cow's bones, and bees are something else, bees are more or less black, though many have shaken their heads at the idea, among them many serious physicists, and Newton still forgives the fallacy, but the color of the bones and the color of the wall are all the same in time. The color of the bones and the color of the wall change in time, and towards eight o'clock in the evening, they sink into blackness, and the moon, that soft, volatile orange, which is so clever that it tends to the night, though sometimes it visits the daytime, and if you call it volatile, which it doesn't care for, and usually doesn't, the bees, the bones, and so on, are mixed up into a single one, and there is no more of them, and no more of it, and at this moment, I am obliged to stand up here, and interrupt your dreams, and I have to speak for all of them. That's the real meaning of almost enough, and now look to the two vehicles that look like loaves of bread, where hunger belongs to mankind, where two bare asses crouch side by side, where there is no staircase, where the springs in the center of the platform bubble with mist, and where they rise forever and ever, above the trees, but not over anything, and where the men in the vehicles are underneath them because they've finished getting out, and they've got to get out, and they've got to get out. ——Wutong, 2025.2.10 Evening Acid Lumo is a Wuhan-based quirky, unlimited-membership, unlimited-genre improv band. The album was recorded live on January 2, 2025 at TheFeedback in Wuhan. One of the most dizzying Acid Lumo shows ever, full of sound collages, cell phone games, electronic effects, and ghostly wailing.