Date:    Sat, 7 Mar 1998 10:32:29 -0800
From:    Martin Acaster 
Subject: Ghost Story #21 7/3/97 set 2 A Ghost of the Ghost

Hey there all

well I got a great reminder this week of just why I live where I
do.....driving back up to portland on I-5 just north of eugene...passing
through a wide valley that is lush and oh so green, bordered by snow
capped mountains, the sun dipping low on the horizon, the golden solar
rays passing through the windblown horizontal rain from a thunderhead in
the distance casting a polychromatic arc of light down into the valley
floor all the while a delicate funnel cloud is whirling to my
left...trying to decide to remain aloft (which it did!!! phew) or wreak
havoc on the idyllic valley before me....suddenly swooping down from
miles high not one but two bald eagles take down a sheep in the field to
my right....lamb for dinner tonight.....it was ....to put it
simply...fucking awesome....which brings me to this ghost story.....not
quite as awesome...but a good long one none the less. Thanks to Richard
Plumb for the tapes.

Ghost Story #21 7/3/97 set 2 Serenadenhof, Nurnberg, Germany
A Ghost of a Ghost

The prologue starts on a dime amid cries of tweezer from the crowd....a
sentiment I will always concur with however I find the Ghosts can
sometimes compete....the prologue is a slow mellow groove...the lyrics
are all well pronounced and drawn out...it is almost spoken rather than
sung....the verse break is an equally mellow mc neon cellgap moogaloo
underscored by some snappin and poppin from wing commander gordon. The
ghosts start out emphatic and squealing but deteriorate into a final
girlish chortle...The ghost story itself begins at a much delayed 3:30
or so due to a longer than usual prologue.  It begins as a mellow ring
my bell groove which quickly begins to accelerate into a different place
a funky town if you will.  This is another story from the road...back
with our friend the hitchhiker....trying to make his way home....got to
get down to funkytown...somebody waiting there to ring his bell....the
hitcher walks on...the pornofunk fills his head thinking of her...the
blaring waaaaaaaah of the passing trucks as he walks the shoulder....got
to get down to funkytown....waaaaaahh another truck....nobody is ever
going to stop....waaaaaah another truck....but wait....the hitchers
heart races...his head swims...a car has stopped....the door is open
awaiting his entry...he can hear the technofunk from inside the
vehicle...this has got to be good...the door slams and they pull away
into traffic....it is chaotic yet smoooooth...very smooth...oh yes a
styling ride to funky town....tired the hitcher is lulled to sleep...he
dreams...he is in an episode of taxi...delicate midi flutes fill his
cerebrum as he drifts across the bridge into the city...but this is no
ordinary taxi....it begins to accellerate....down off the bridge zipping
in and out of traffic...he is there already...at her place....he runs
inside...the lobby of the building is chaos a sea of people...smoothly
weaving in and out of this mass of humanity he relaxes as he reaches the
hallway...the one that leads to the door of his love...he knocks....no
answer...panic...where is she...inside he can hear water running...she
must be in the shower...cascading water dripping over her soapy
body...he begins to scratch and claw at the door...he is mad with
passion must get inside...must get inside...his head is spinning
spinning spinning he crumples to the floor....the driver wary of the
sleeping hitchhiker in his passenger seat thinks to himself...man that
must be some dream...all that moaning and panting....santana on the car
stereo gives way to a rollicking bluejazzgrass number ....he weaves
sharply to avoid that possum....whoa that was a close one...almost hit a
possum.....back inside the dreamers head things are becoming darker and
more desperate...a rubber biscuit in his mouth men in black wheeling him
on a gurney down an unlit hallway....he begins to murmur to the
MIB's...I never told you...the story...the story of the Ghost....the
MIB's look puzzled slip a brief dose of that Gin they picked up in maine
a month and a half later into his IV tube everything becomes
slow...drippy...distorted...a slow funkytown city groove begins....it
becomes more and more Ghost like and finally he can tell his story...the
story of the ghost....his voice slowly slipping away becoming alien
distorted...he gives up....the driver shakes him awake....hey man...you
are starting to scare me...mumbling about ghosts and all...I hate to do
this but I'm going to have to ask you to walk the rest of the
way....groggy...the sighing waaaaaah of passing trucks the hitcher finds
himself once again on the side of the road...the sound of the Taxi
pulling off into the distance becomes a bizarre whirring sound...did
that car really just turn into a space ship and fly away...he shakes his
head to the sound of somebody building a pyramid with limestone blocks
so large way off in the distance...finally his eyes open and he sees
before him....Cars Trucks and Buses

who you gonna call
Marty