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| Artist Statistics |
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Artistopia Rank : 6
Member Since : 2/2005
Last Login : 1/9/2012
Views : 136,047
Songs : 264
Events : 2
Alliances : 54
Releases : 29
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Artistopia URL :
http://www.artistopia.com/bohannon |
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| Latest Music By Bohannon |
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Bohannon Canon (The)
Published Date : 01-01-10
Total Downloads : 2,837
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News Article |
Artist News Home |
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Note From Bohannon Surfaces; Authenticity Questioned; Bungalow |
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| Published on 11/24/2005 |
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| By Pernes Tounia |
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I didn't buy it from the beginning. Bohannon dead? In a one-passenger car accident? Shades of James Dean? Puh-lease.
And I was certain it was him, that same night, on the Hallatachee bridge. Not long after his Cutlass hit and burst on the rocky shoreline. Watching the river like a dog chases a car. Wanting to go, but not invited. “Death, take me away!” Calgon forever.
Bohannon was a frustrated 'artist.” Frightened of a life unfulfilled with celebrity, and living it out in unbelievable obscurity - a scrapper, but forgettable.
Bohannon wouldn't have it. He needed more. He needed, like the bully or the superstar, attention.
And so, I figured, he masterminded his bogus death and sacrificed his holy Oldsmobile, all in order to have someone – anywhere - exclaim, “Wow, there goes a good guy. Mr. Creative. A genius times three.”
But that obscurity enclosed him like the shroud of yearning for something sweet adrift in the salty sea. It was endless.
Until I got the note.
Left for me
at the front desk of the Paris Hilton. I immediately knew it was authentic. It said:
“Dude, help.
I'm in a bind.
I woke up in this city absolutely unaware as to how I've got here. What's happened? Has the world gone mad? Is Bohannon... okay? My career. Where's Urquell?”
[Urquell was on her way to Bern; tricked by the consulate and unable to secure the proper forms.]
The note was matted and thin. “I was at the buck n bass hole freakin swimming in my fifth or sixth bud,” Bohannon wrote, “totally unnoticing a great band – the The Outhouse Soldiers – on stage.”
The concierge – the hotel lobbyist – begged for a tip with his brown, swarthy eyes; I wandered over near the fountain. Champagne flowed somewhere, but I drown in tears, of anticipation, to read the rest of your damn note!!
He went on, “A man walked into the bar, with a knit cap on his head, and nobody laughed. His anger said black-hole-like prose. I tuned to him slowly, as I was drunk and in a hippy haze, his kilohertz far off the rational dial. But that stopped quick. This was not your usual antagonist, angry guy, killer, child molester, mass murderer, genocidal maniac.
No.
This was the God's honest Devil.”
And Giles? He was alive. Goat, tell it on a mountain. En Claudia Res. But that's another story.
Pernes Tounia
Sharp Magazine
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| Article Credits and References |
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| No Credits or References were provided by publisher |
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