I don’t keep up with the Post-Dead, except faintly: through the post titles on Reddit, or from @’s on Twitter. I knew of someone ostensibly named Jeff Chiamenti, but I knew neither his form nor his function.
It turns out he’s a motherfucker. Like, he showed up for the audition and someone said, “I hear you play the piano.” And he said,
“No, I motherfuck the piano. This is both my form and my function: it is what I do because it is who I am. And it is who I am because it is what I do. My name is Jeff Chappaquiddick and I motherfuck pianos.”
Not his name.
Not a word.
–I’m watching Weir Here, which is a homophonic joke that someone who wanted cocaine laughed at once which Bobby has used as the title for everything he’s done since then, live on the interweb. It is in high quality video, and again: live. The sound is as good as any official live release from the Dead.
Live, wireless, just exactly perfect.
This internet thing? Very soon, it’s going to become miraculous. Very soon, it’s going to get deeply strange and we might have to start making choices.
Also, Bobby, we need to talk about the manpris.