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Proktor Cylex - Live At The Victoria

from Live At The Victoria by Thumpermonkey

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When she and I were first introduced by the Dean, it became clear to me that we were both in attendance at the Canadian Institute of Incendiary Morphology for quite different reasons. She'd stared on, duck-faced, as the Professor reminisced about his viewing of Southgate's millennial frivolity; a mechanism that would brand a prediction of the weather forecast onto food prior to consumption. She'd angrily coughed her vol-au-vent into a handkerchief; after all, this was a house of research - and that was her tell. The false piety of a woman secretly taking terrible pleasure in her work. I proceeded to get her drunk. This is how it starts; I don't get off on it. I get off on you; you getting off on it.She told me about her visions; visitations from a nineteen-thirteen Lloyd Groff Copeman, on some nights, a nineteen-nineteen Charles Strite with an intact nichrome filament. Both would sear stigmata onto her palms that faded by sundown. When I declared ownership of a working Scharfenberg Sunbeam T-9, I could almost sense the blood surging to the skin on her chest. That night we purchased bread on the black market and visited my collection. How she wept. And while our relations became egregiously sensual, it became clear she was merely trying to engender an academic convert. Ah, my little Jerónimo de Aguilar, marooned with her ideals amongst the heathens, obsession pushing her beyond conventional physical satisfaction. Inevitably, she began spending more and more time with my machines. I returned home one night to find a corpse, surrounded by enough oxidised toast to fill every grain silo in the Tower of Babel. Wir braten unser brot unter ihrem heiligen feuer. You shriek when it's at your throat, but can't resist when it's driving the car.

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from Live At The Victoria, released October 11, 2019

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Thumpermonkey London, UK

A person in space, walking, or adrift, but safe, exploring, freedom, discovery.

A clockwork piano contraption, like a giant ballerina box, but turning a big totem pole, around which smart office dressed people slowly dance with dead glazed eyes as a slightly out of tune slow Satie-like Lydian melody loops round.

White men in pith helmets hunting large animals to extinction.
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