All hail Pope Lou Reed the Only. His robe is a Velvet Underground. His throne, the mighty city of Berlin. Whose Mary Magdalene’s were transvestite streetwalkers on the wild side. Who turned the other cheek when struck viciously with flowers and miraculously turned one day in New York City, utterly perfect. Who abides in grace and married the glorious angel of experimental heaven, Saint Laurie Anderson. He, who in his early ministry, delivered prenatal punk sermons of sublime beauty. We have all been thus baptized. We, who have loved and honored him with our mortal hearts. We, who are severely bummed out that his show on April 16th, at the Golden State Theatre in Monterey California, has been cancelled. We, who would have washed our own feet and other parts of our corporeal selves, before making the pilgrimage. A pilgrimage we would have made without the use of certain opiates, because we all know that chariots are powered best by horses, not heroin. Let us all give a nod to a divinely inspired rescheduling, if it is possible.
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