By Ian S. Port
By Tony Ware
By Emma Silvers
By Gary Moskowitz
By Alee Karim
By Ian S. Port
By Ian S. Port
By Derek Opperman
Stark Raving Loser Last Thursday night, April 24, California Cowboys, Comfy Chair, Cream of Wee Gee, Dizzybam, Stark Raving Brad, and Stem competed in Disc Makers' second annual Northern California Independent Music World Series. The $25,000 prize, made up of equipment and studio time, went to California Cowboys. Said loser Stark Raving Brad of Stark Raving Brad -- who was savvy enough to provide Riff Raff with a concession speech before the contest even happened -- "I was so excited when I found out that I made balloon animals out of my own intestines. ... My teeth still itch!" Now there's a good sport. (S.T.)
The Young and the X-less, Part 5 Just when you thought it would never happen, the male and female love interests in Douglas Rushkoff's forthcoming novel, Ecstasy Club ("Destined," as the publisher says, "to be a cult classic"), finally git it awnn! (Albeit under the influence of hallucinogens.) Hot stuff coming through! (M.B.)
She lied back onto an Indian tapestry, and her body holding its form seemed a miracle to me. Arched, curved, white, so soft. This was real. I pressed myself against her skin. I felt its pressure against my own. Its gentle resistance. Resistance? Am I raping her? No, I told myself, there's another human being here. No resistance at all would just mean no person was there. I looked at her face. No fear, no pain. Just openness.
We were fully naked together for the first time. I shivered -- not nervous or cold but electrified. I had goosebumps and my hair stood on end. I felt my hand move down to the small of her back and pull her towards me by instinct. She was pulling me inside her at the same time. There was nothing we could do but follow along as our bodies mated.
This was union. I melted into her like wax until there was only one being. Pure love. No thrust or friction. Just a pulse, a charge, a vibrant perfection. The Garden of Eden. The world was whole.
Imperceptibly our shared-being changed state. It was evolving. Forming something new. Creation. As we came the universe came with us. I could feel the flow from me to her. I was aware of my essence entering her and following through. Summoned by her womb. Pulled by the great attractor at the end of time towards a higher level of being. The future.
The egg opened to accept its chosen partner. I felt it happen. Duncan was right. Something magical was conceived that night. A fetus had materialized. A new generation.
Then we heard the explosion.
Riff Raff riffraff: Robert Arriaga (R.A.), Michael Batty (M.B.), Johnny DiPaola (J.D.P.), Jeff Stark (J.S.), Silke Tudor (S.T.), and Bill Wyman (B.W.). Send Bay Area music news, band stories, or petty gripes to firstname.lastname@example.org, or mail it to Riff Raff, c/o SF Weekly. No flack, please.