tourbook


Weird? Hectic. Was it worth it? Yeah. Is it What you thought it would be? It was pretty different from what I originally thought. It's the same thing, though. Idea to idea, idea to idea. High power, spin and snap ego, cut, recut, bulletin board on bulletin board canvas, forever.


		LOTS OF LITTLE MICE LIVING IN A GIANT CLOCK. BODIES OF WATER FLOATING ABOVE THE GROUND. DA DA CONSPIRACY OF THE RHINELAND, DOO-DAH, DOO-DAH. THE WORLD'S DIRTIEST HOSPITAL/VIOLINS AND PRINTING PRESSES BLEND WITH SUNLIGHT AND THE SMELL OF KRYLON AND US. YARDS OF CANVAS AND MANY ONE-OF-A-KIND ITEMS. FAMOUS DINERS MARK THE LAND WHERE SWEDISH GHOSTS DRINK AND TALK. WHEN THE WAR ENDED, THE BOOTS BEGAN TO PILE UP AT THE FACTORY. THE MACHINERY FROZE MOTIONLESS AND GREW FLOWERS. THE TOP OF THE BUILDING NEVER COMPLETED


Cut, paste, repaste, unusual uses of the obvious, separated and repasted in other configurations. Not many clues to what it once was, but unreasonable not to question?
		REMEMBER DANCING. WE DANGLED OUR LEGS OVER THE SIDE OF A MILKY SMOKEY CLOUD AND ROTATED THE WORLD BELOW US BY KICKING IT. I REMEMBERED DANCING BUT YOU REMEMBERED THAT IT HAD BEEN A WALTZ.
WHAT LITTLE LIGHT THERE WAS STUCK BETWEEN THE GLASS AND THE PLASTIC. YOU PRETENDED TO MAKE A WISH WITH ME, BUT I WAS NOT A SHINY PENNY AND THUSLY, NOT EASY TO THROW. THE FISH IN THE WATER UNDERSTOOD THE JOKE. RIPPLES OF LAUGHTER WAVED ON THE POND, IN THE AIR, ON THE PLASTIC AND WHAT LITTLE LIGHT THERE WAS.
		Composite, composition, sound and sight, pure and unrefined, clipped, pared, promised, attached meaning and inference. In reference, but not in deference to the stigma.

One of several instances where, in the context of a world view, several portions are revealed to be of like or similar taste. Beams in with quips, backs out without deciding. Tension, attention, suspension, senseless.
		Instant gratification? Immediate rewards? Polaroid snapshots! Looking at you through the wide angle lens. You'll see us through the zoom. Snapshots can be lost, like memories, some may fade. Others grow stronger every day.
DIFFUSED THROUGH RANDOM PROJECT: Topographical in nature, philosophical in content. Composite view on congruent realities.
		Titling, retitling, joking, laughter: FOREST FOR THE TREES, FLAVORS MORE THAN COLORS, WISH BOOK, JUMPIN' JUMBO JELLYFISH. All laughable, in free form and free time.
BZZZZZZ. MY THRASHING MORNING ARM ENTANGLED IN THE ELECTRICAL CORD. THE WAKING TABLE WESTCLOCK DIALITE STRIKES EIGHT O'CLOCK AND MY FOREHEAD. YOU WAKE TO THE THRONGS OF MY STARTLED PAIN. WE BOTH REJOICE IN THE LAMP, BESIDE THE ALARM, NOT WEDGED INTO MY SKULL, MAKING MY LAST LIVING MOMENT THE END OF A DREAM AS WELL. GOD, GOOD MORNING. GOOD GOD, MORNING.

World spinning, world turning, world talking at you. Talk talker, speak speaker, tell teller. The words go flying flirting around, spinning swirling on ground, taking shape taking form, talking words talking riddle rhymes spaces times, places people few and forgotten, bought and sold for more thinking stones. Stones that throw, costing varying amounts, worth various amounts, thrown pitched across seas and rivers, oceans of ideas and fire. They sit and wait, so cautiously, thinking, corresponding. Talking to them, to themselves. Never educating enough, never talking enough, always thinking way too much. Sit in the corner, sit by the wall, sit on the fence, taking it all in again. Thinking through the issue, looking through the sheets, living through the beginning, dying through the beginning, reliving the lives. Fast and slow, hot and hottest of all, thoughts of the images that maintain, the maintenance, the decision, the contemplation, the indecision. Question, requestion, decide, decision, division, derision, delusion, thinking thoughts that no one wants to think. They stay in a well, bonded closer to eternity, thinking as much as the next idea at once. The count increases, the combat decreases, the decision sought is the one that is gotten by default. Vanity decisively, winning ultimately, riddling constantly, ridiculing frequently. Coughing up answer, catching the dancers, throwing glares and stances, stanzas blowing through the breezes, watch how she coughs before she sneezes. Routine as it may seem, the mistakes are often twice as true as the other answers that are proposed. The erasing of the decision does not change the outcome, only the perception of receiving the consequence.


		What was the purpose? Was it on purpose? The excess baggage is always checked, fragile or not. Some to understand, some opened under supervision of authorities (in attendance). Maybe best left unsaid, but look closely if you wish. Truth not truisms, falsehoods notwithstanding. Big picture, big portions.
HÜSKER DÜ: BOB MOULD: GUITAR, VOCALS GREG NORTON: BASS, VOCALS GRANT HART: DRUMS, VOCALS Photography by: Daniel Corrigan Dorit Cypis Rob Levine Supplemental images by Hüsker Dü Bookings: Venture Bookings Ltd. Road Production: Bill Batson Steve Fjelstad Lou Giordano John Henderson K.C. Macpherson John McElheny UK: The Agency Road: ZOP ©1987 Reflex Records, Inc. All rights reserved This book is dedicated to the everlasting memory of our manager, colleague and dear friend David Savoy Jr. 1962-1987.