Tenet Returns

Well hey they done it again –

on Saturday the 25th day of October the movers and groovers of this so-called Tenet Collective went and struck these Kerrytown Streets once more, Mr. Leg Champii and all the various Special Knees once again beginning at the Mail Box early with a low key acoustic jam session on the floor and drawings on walls, all kinds of landscapes, the clock stretches and the word spreads and the crowd gathers, everybody warmin up and the Zines and the CDs laced with incandescent sounds all dished out, the house hums and you can see it in the air all quivering anticipation in the dim intensifying Night –

and off they went, destination Ingalls Mall, the band and dancing hoop of flame leading crowd to fountain where there was a hush into quiet, a gloomfaced seer sat waiting, severe and still and here he told the fortunes of him and her and them from cards, a sphere glowed whitely on the end of his holy Deck, there were whispers and everybody craned on their toes and leaned in –

and onwards back to them Fuk Boys’ Lair, there was a lost drummer and fellow wanderers standing there to bring em in for the screening of a short film by Champii Himself, a cinematic story affectionately titled A Womb to call Womb; downstairs the music plays softly and the screenfolk murmurs and discusses sweet mysteries in low tones, showed it twice for all to see, the crowd shifting in the LCD lowsun panorama basement and bubbling upwards to surfaces of cool dank hardwind and the moon’s echo in the cloudy vast –

and here the final stop, the crowd all boomerangs back to the Box, the Knees tapping on drums and stuff, whisper taps and flicks of little beats, the whole thing a whisper party (in attempt to avoid or at least delay the appearance of cops), the main room now dim and tense, a massochistic ritual about to go down where one man stands all blankfaced and glassy empty eyes, another man takes his staple gun and chunks and chunks away at Man One’s stomach, kichak kichack kichak is how it went and both of their faces remained a shroudy blank and it was raw and brutal even and the congregation flinched and most kept watching all cringing –

and here is where the night was meant to end by fading into whispers as it began but this is not that story, instead the corner lamps are out and all that’s left is Technicolor watersurface ripples and golden neon sound, the night erupting into kicks and celebrations of successful journeys, halloos and smoke, smashing of small porch things, the crowd believing the performance carries on – THIS being the electric thread began last time, last month, last year, keeps going, everybody keeps humming and the vibes are back like they were never gone, everybody diggin it all and wanting to be involved and wanting to see things happen, all riding this wave of creative happenings and makin it happen together, makin things happen –

so til next time keep the heads up and the eyes open and the ears at the ready and when you see us marching by just hitch a ride – One and All