I’m in a large house. J is meeting a drummer. We discuss the feast of St Arkansas, while preparing potatoes. New potatoes, newer potatoes, newest potatoes. Old new potatoes.
I’m in a dark room with a torch, drawing. I write the words “meeting at the library” in long, stringy, surreal letters, the word ‘library’ descends into a detailed scene of tiny ziggurats, and circles of alien, beetle like figures gathered in ritual circles.
My battery is running low. Soon it will all be dark.
St. Arkansas is the 12th album by Pere Ubu