The Red Jester 2005 City night aligned with pleasure, deep aligned with crumbling pasts. Go, we go like dancers, stretched enough to spin. Frozen by the rock star near my feet, smoke creep crawlin’ to my lungs as the noise crick cracks through my ears. He says, the rose is to lichen as the squid is to wolf, and truth is to history as egg is to stone. But I forget these things in the crisp enveloping kick of Jack’s guitar, giving up to the sonic kill of the red jester and the fly upon the wall.