Fiona Apple kicks off, Yolandi joins in, her Koekie Thumper followed by sexy Debi Mazar, back from COVID19, her messy Goodfellas cameo in tow, batchin' babania with Ray Liota.
Now Yolandi returns in sandals and salmon sweater, Popeye-eyed and spittin' zef 'bout tightness and moshpits, Afrikaans fightin', hit, kick, bitin'.
She's crouched tiger lowdown for a fokkin throwdown; her only solo, she filmically proves TIGHTNESS IS RIGHTNESS.
SONG STORY
'Girl falls in love with her dope dealer, who's getting out of jail directly comes with promise of something which she can not imagine,' a subject so sore, she'd rather put it behind her.
So she dances, spits rhymes in front of new ZEFF Queen Spears, imperviously donning spray-on, red latex, Britney Spears appears who already proves that which Eve gave admen who gave it back to us doubled, Apple, etc. took away subtly.
Foreigner tells us so:
It feels like the first time.
But ask Eve about Adam. She ain't no adamite.
The reality of love with a stranger tells of intimacy, confiding closely, person unseen, whose counsel and confidence you unhesitatingly give and take.
MAD-worst -- may it never grow off-page -- more the allure, more theoffer.
Unbidden promise or discretion, come privy, one of you, soothing, non-threatening, the other hold the fate of the Lynchian robin in your hand, as Elvis wrote, finally crushing it's fokkin' skull.
Postprandial style, louche equanimity, albeit sanguine, more blandishment, less disestablishment, mined not Nabokovian, Proustian, nor Kafkaesque (who is sound?) -- Poe's clack is just the craic of horses hooves I hear near every city Mews whose harness its Loa, Guede lower under the stick, I Limbo, then around Peristyle, Port au Prince provides two - four canter Miles mentors So What, equanimite, antediluvian, equestrian Spanish sounds, an antique record boutique from outside one makes of the tintinnabulation whose wretches like us, sketch us au plein air, Sketches of Spain, harness mine.
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Doug Meet
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She is crouched Tiger-like in the night, hidden Dragon; lowdown for a fokkin' throwdown in her only solo outing, Ninja's day off, so that she can filmically prove her song is tight. Believe it or not, its theme is the story of her 'falling in love with her dope dealer, whose getting out of jail directly,' carrying with it the promise of something which Yolandi can not imagine, a subject a little bit sore, she dances and spits rhymes in front of her Queen. Impressively, imperviously, spray-on red latex-clad Britney Spears, what Admen gave Eve we already know, because this as Foreigner (band) knows, IT never 'feels like the first time.' The reality for most of us of love with a stranger, feeling most closely the person you have never seen, whose counsel and confidence you unhesitatingly give and take, bolstered by a MAD-worst situation, may it ever grow offpage, more allure, more boundaries offered. Unbidden without promise or discretion come Greeks whose soul-baring gifts, only one of you is privy, only one of you ignorant -- soothing, non-threatening, non-fiction unspools into captive audience and dances. TV dancers discovered too late by boys here, but not in Holland, where they get to do time as they watched -- that tender time 'when all sweet things are born' -- all move with graceless purpose -- I am writing in that postprandial style of louche equanimity, albeit more supine than sanguine, more blandishment than disestablishment, but mined from the Nabokovian Proustian Kafkaesque (who is to name for 'sound'), Poeish clack of h equestrianism, orses hooves whose canter two to four require 'So What' sublime Doug Meet (@dougmeet) on
