Sometimes you get a 24-hour spell where everything feels like a mad surreal nightmare and you end up seriously contemplating spending the rest of your life as a monk sitting under icy waterfalls naked on a lonely mountain and eating nothing but nuts and honey.
The original Loft live house in Shinjuku was a great punk dive with a history of classic gigs. Loft's new venue has a very good live area, but the adjoining bar room is a sad sell-out, and I felt like trashing the place. They've got those uncool American tin plates pinned to the wall advertising Coke and Uncle Ted's Molasses or whatever, and whenever I turned a corner I was terrified I was gonna come face to face with a nauseating Norman Rockwell poster -- and naturally throw up all over it.
Maybe it's something to do with sponsors, but when you're sitting there waiting for some punk bands and are forced to endure Celine Dion on the TV, someone, somewhere, is taking the piss. Warren had to hold me back from putting a chair through the screen. I'm not kidding.
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