It was Saturday morning our dawning early light 7:30 A.M., me and Ray Zag awakened in my pad after a long night’s eternity spent at a hill-strewn park that sat beside the mystic river, the dirty rust-clenched oil tanks of Chelsea across the river, decaying in there industrial hate. We sat and smelled the sweet ocean scent, I placed my hands on the cool grass as we discussed paternal affairs among the brilliant writings of Jack, Kindred Brother of the Massachusetts night. We sipped our 40’s of booze and enjoyed the cool radiance that enwrapped us.
Earlier that night we galloped in musical mayhem beauty with Dave Herrera. Madman, Psycho of the drum kit that reflects everything in the pulsations of his holy drumming. He took off for a party with his family after the jam session, eating and drinking exuberant madness that clocked in at some odd time.
For two weeks now at the time of this very writing our Buddy Zirp has been missing. Everyone worries and no one has any notion of what to think or believe anymore, no word or vision has crossed any of us, not even in passing. Zirp was the main topic of discussion at the session, departed bass player as we puffed grass and attempted to enjoy ourselves fully. We , A rock and roll band with experimental bends, we now felt as though wandering mood less without his pure unforced humor and skewered view of life. Zirp got a face that immediately affects the immediacy of his brain patterns. In the thirteen years I’ve known him there was never a point were he said “now you’ve gone too far Lou, I can’t walk with you down that road.” never was he judge or jury, always friend, fellow traveler, avid seeker of impassioned fury, he had held more jobs than any of us, it was as if he equated steady work with prison, and Zirp could never keep his soul chained up 40 hours a week like the rest of us somehow had to.
Me and Zag would often talk about taking a camping trip to the wilds of New Hampshire, secret lost heaven. we’d drive up in his ‘92 corolla, with dreams and Acoustic guitars and bongos and magic mushrooms and marijuana and music and ZAM! Blaring Zappa as we shot down the road, discussing Jung like there was no fucking reason.
Me and Zag always riff on great people as a topic of conversation, just like we’ll take a Iommi riff as a jumping off point for guitar improvisation. We are obsessed with great people: Phil Lynott, Zappa, Johnny Thunders, Keroauc, Bill Murray, Belushi ,Patti Smith, Dimebag, personalities, larger than life personas, and all that.
Conversations with Ray Zag at Outer Order, he would recite prose poems that would send your head on Owl-driven trips to beyond but this was a reflection of his infernal internal eternal war-torn world.
Before you even knew he had entered your mind he was back out. Onto another abhorrent void nothing ahh. The city constructed by the condemned, what other men could build walls so full of the anguish of promises destroyed by self-destruction and the worst kind of delusions.The delusions not tossed onto the self by external sources but the Delusion perpetuated by the self unto the self, what a damaging delusion this is, thus , and so much more destructive because it depletes us. And you know this owl is one-eyed, were he seeks he never misses, and similarly is driven by a one-track kind of mindset.
In A puff Of Smoke out of Eternity Nowhere Zirp showed up at my pad one day. No Explanations needed, None given. He was on some Deep Head Sabbatical and replenishing his life forces. We Picked up where we left off as a Quartet, joined in musical fury at Outer Order Studios, Ripping through our setlist like we had Hellhounds on our trail.
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