174. In The Studio

“You know if they dropped

the fucking bomb on the planet

and just levelled the place

and you were, like, the only survivor

and you’d be walking along

and at first you’d just see basic destruction,

like collapsed houses and sparking electrical cables

and shit, but as you keep on walking

you’d see, like bodies, scattered here and there,

and maybe they don’t look superficially damaged

but they’re dead alright, and you keep walking

and you see smoking shoes lying in the street,

and bodies, all bald and burnt and shit,

like charred down one side or something,

and everything would be

quiet except for the low whistle of a warm

nuclear wind blowing in from the east,

and then you start seeing more bodies,

piles of them, flesh ripped from their bones,

their eyeballs incinerated in their sockets,

their hands twisted and distorted, skulls

grimacing, rictus, the strangely sweet smell

of burning flesh everywhere, the sky dashed

with red hues, everything dead and useless,

gone and hollow, and you just stand there,

grabbing at our face, screaming, screaming

screaming into a void of nothingness.

OK? Well, that’s exactly how I want your

drum fill to sound, bro.”