Operations have moved here:
More to come soon!
See also here, for what I’ve been doing for the last year and a half:
Ten-page story from 2009 as told by Briantist himself. I had just gotten fired from my job and had begun experimenting with inking with dip pens, and so after spending days on end doing that, I had a really visceral nightmare where I was drinking diluted ink instead of coffee and I woke up with this weird nauseous feeling and a bad taste in my mouth that stayed there for days and I can still conjure up if I really want to.
He and I lived around the corner from our friends’ house (the Honey Hive) and were going over there almost nightly to hang out and play music and (mostly) drink (again, I was unemployed). The narration of the story itself is a conflation of two nights: one when he got really drunk and told this story (as he did often when drunk) and another night when I got really drunk and ended up with a stick-and-poke tattoo and going home with Briantist to make eggs with peanut butter. And he did break into my room while I was in England. All true.
PLAYBOY: What about the chant at the end of the song: “Smoke pot, smoke pot, everybody smoke pot”?
LENNON: No, no, no. I had this whole choir saying, “Everybody’s got one, everybody’s got one.” But when you get 30 people, male and female, on top of 30 cellos and on top of the Beatles’ rock-‘n’-roll rhythm section, you can’t hear what they’re saying.
PLAYBOY: What does “everybody got”?
LENNON: Anything. You name it. One penis, one vagina, one asshole — you name it.